O'erfpread the fea, and ftop up every port;

Cato fhall open to himself a paffage,
And mock thy hopes.

PORTIU S.

O Sir, forgive your son,

father!

Whofe grief hangs heavy on him! O my
How am I fure it is not the last time,
I e'er shall call you fo? be not difpleas'd,
O be not angry with me whilft I weep,
And, in the anguish of my heart, beseech you
To quit the dreadful purpose of your foul!

CATO.

Thou hast been ever good and dutiful.

[Embracing him.

Weep not, my fon. All will be well again.
The righteous gods, whom I have fought to please,
Will fuccour Cato, and preserve his children.

PORTI U S.

Your words give comfort to my drooping heart. САТО.

Portius, thou may'ft rely upon my conduct. Thy father will not act what misbecomes him. But go, my fon, and fee if aught be wanting Among thy father's friends; fee them embark'd; And tell me if the winds and feas befriend them. My foul is quite weigh'd down with care, and asks The foft refreshment of a moment's fleep.

PORTIU S.

My thoughts are more at ease, my heart revives.

SCENE

S CEN E III.

PORTIUS and MARCI A.

PORTI U S.

O Marcia, O my fifter, ftill there's hope! Our father will not caft away a life

So needful to us all, and to his country.

He is retir'd to reft, and feems to cherish

Thoughts full of peace. He has dispatcht me

hence

With orders, that bespeak a mind compos'd,
And studious for the fafety of his friends.
Marcia, take care that none disturb his flumbers.
MARCI A.

O ye immortal powers, that guard the just,
Watch round his couch, and foften his repofe,
Banish his forrows, and becalm his foul
With easy dreams; remember all his virtues!
And show mankind that goodness is your care.

SCENE IV.

LUCIA and MARCI A.

LUCIA.

Where is your father, Marcia, where is Cato?

MARCI A.

Lucia, fpeak low, he is retir'd to rest.

Lucia, I feel a gently-dawning hope

Rife in my foul. We fhall be happy ftill.

LUCIA.

Alas, I tremble when I think on Cato,
In every view, in every thought I tremble!
Cato is ftern, and awful as a god;

He knows not how to wink at human frailty,
Or pardon weakness that he never felt.
MARCI A.

Though ftern and awful to the foes of Rome,
He is all goodness, Lucia, always mild,
Compaffionate, and gentle to his friends.
Fill'd with domestic tenderness, the best,
The kindeft father! I have ever found him
Easy, and good, and bounteous to my wishes.
LUCIA.

'Tis his confent alone can make us bleft.

Marcia, we both are equally involv'd
In the fame intricate, perplext, distress.
The cruel hand of fate, that has destroy'd
Thy brother Marcus, whom we both lament-

MARCIA.

And ever shall lament, unhappy youth!

LUCIA.

Has fet my foul at large, and now I ftand Loofe of my vow. But who knows Cato's thoughts; Who knows how yet he may difpofe of Portius, Or how he has determin'd of thyself?

MARCIA.

Let him but live! commit the reft to heaven.

Enter

Enter LuCIUS.

LUCIU S.

Sweet are the flumbers of the virtuous man! O Marcia, I have feen thy godlike father: Some power invifible fupports his foul, And bears it up in all its wonted greatness. A kind refreshing fleep is fallen upon him: I saw him ftretch'd at ease, his fancy loft In pleafing dreams; as I drew near his couch, He fmil'd, and cry'd, Cefar thou canst not hurt me. MARC 1 A.

His mind ftill labours with fome dreadful thought.

LUCIU S.

Lucia, why all this grief, these floods of forrow? Dry up thy tears, my child, we are all fafe

While Cato lives

his prefence will protect us.

Enter JUB A.

JUBA.

Lucius, the horsemen are return'd from viewing The number, ftrength, and pofture of our foes, Who now incamp within a fhort hour's march. On the high point of yon bright western tower We ken them from afar, the fetting fun Plays on their fhining arms and burnish'd helmets, And covers all the field with gleams of fire.

LUCIU S..

Marcia, 'tis time we should awake thy father.

Cafar is ftill difpos'd to give us terms,

And waits at diftance 'till he hears from Cato,

1

Enter PORTIUS.

Portius, thy looks fpeak fomewhat of importance. What tidings doft thou bring? methinks I fee Unusual gladness sparkling in thy eyes.

PORTIU S.

As I was hafting to the port, where now
My father's friends, impatient for a paffage,
Accuse the ling'ring winds, a fail arrived
From Pompey's fon, who through the realms of
Spain

Calls out for vengeance on his father's death,
And roufes the whole nation up to arms.

Were Cato at their head, once more might Rome
Affert her rights, and claim her liberty.

But hark! what means that groan! O give me waya And let me fly into my father's prefence.

LUCIU S.

Cato, amidst his flumbers, thinks on Rome, And in the wild diforder of his foul

Mourns o'er his country-hah! a fecond groan!Heaven guard us all

MARCI A.

Alas, 'tis not the voice

Of one who fleeps! 'tis agonizing pain,

'Tis death is in that found

Enter