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ADDISON JOSEPH ADDISON was born May 21, 1672, at Milston, of which his father was then Rector, near Ambrosebury in Wiltshire. He was early sent to school, there, under the care of the Rev. Mr. Naish; from whence he was resored le Salisbury school, and then to the Charterhouse, under the tuition of the learned Dr. Ellis. Here he first trotracted an intimacy, will Mr. Steele, which continued almost to his death. At fiftoen he was entered of Queen's fallege, Oxford, and in about two years admitted to the degrees of bachelor and master of aris in that college; et tich time be was celebrated for his latin poems, to be found in a second volume of the Musae Britanicae, collected by Addison. Being at the university, he was upon the point of coding to the desires of his father and several of his friends, tá enter isto holy

orders; but having, through Mr. Congreve's means, become a favourite of Lord Halifax, he was prevailed apon bg that nobleman, to give up the design. He successively filled the pablic stations, in 1709, of Commissioner of the Appeals in the Excise; 1707, Under-Secretary of State ; 1709, Secretary of Ireland, and Keeper of the Records in Ireland; 1743 (the grand climacteric of Addison's reputation, Cato appeared) Secretary to the Lords' Jastices; 1714 ono of the Lords Commissioners of Trade; and at last, 1717, one of the first Secrelaries of State.. Dr. Johnson says, "For Cais ssplayment he might justly be supposed qualified by long practice of business, and by his regular ascent through athleez ofhoes; but expectation is often disappointed; it is universally confessed, that he was unequal to the duties of pece. In the House of Commons he could not speak, and therefore, was useless to the defence of the Governacne. Is the office, says Pope, he could not issue an order without losing his time in quest of fine expressions." He sofoted his dismissal with a pension of 1500 pounds a year. He married the Countess Dowager of Warwick, 1716; & as said to have first known ber by becoming tutor to her son. Johnson says, "The Lady was at last prevailed şen to marry him, on terms much like those, on which a Turkish princess is espoused, to whom the sallan is reparted to pronounce, Daughter, 1 give thee this man for thy slave. The marriage made no addition to his happiseas; it neither made tbet nor found them equal." In 1718 - 19, he had a severe dispute on The Peerage Bill with Steele, who, inveterate in his political opinions, supported them in a pamphlet called The Plebeian, which Addises answered by another, under the title of T'he Old Whig. Some epithels, let drop by Addison, answered by a cutting quotation from Cato, by Steele, were the cause of their friendship's being dissolved; and every person acquainted with the friendly terms on which these two great men had lived so long, must regret, that they ahould finally part in esrimonious opposition. Addison died of au asthma and dropsy, on the 17th June, 1719, aged 48, leaving only one daagble behind him. The general esteem ia which his productions, both serious and humorous in The Spectator, The Tarter, and The Guardian are held, "pleads (as Spakspeare says), like engels, trumpel-tongued, in their behalf” As • poet, bis Cato, in the dramatic, and his Campaign, in the heroic way, will ever maintain a place among the first-ralo Porks of cither kind.-And a good man's death displays the character of his life. At his last hour, be sent for a redatum ef his, young Lord Warwick, whose youth he supposed might be influenced by an awful lesson, when, taking kell of the young man's hand, he said “See in what peace a Christian can die!" and immediately expired.

CATO, ACTED at Drury Lane, 1715. It is one of the first of our dramatic poems, and was performed 18 nights succeserely; this very successful run for a tragedy, is attributed by Dennis, who wrole a very biller critique upon Calo, to proceed from Addison's having raised prejndices in his own favour, by false positions of preparatory criticism; and with bia having poisoned the lown by contradicting, in The Spectator, the established rule of poetical justice, because his own kers, with all his virtues, was to fall before a tyrant. Johnson says, "the fact is certain; the motives we mast goess Steele packed an audience. The danger was soon over. The whole nation was, , at that time, on firo with laction. The Whigs applauded every line, in which liberly was mentioned, as a satiro ou the Tories; and the Toris ecbued every clap, to shew, that the satire was unfelt." It was ushered into notice by eight complimentary copues el terses to the author, among which, one by Steelc, leads the van; besides a prologne by Pope, and an epilogne by Dr. Garth: Dr. Joboson, with the abovementioned persons, nay, even Dennis's gall, has marked this tragedy a British classic, and a succession of audiences for above u century has proved, that it has deserved "Golden opinines from all sorts of people." Johnson ubseryes, “of a work so much read, it is difficult to say any thing new. About things ea which the public thinks kng, it cominonly attains to think right; and of Cato it has been not unjustly delermeed, that it is rather a poem in dialogue than a drama; rather a succession of just sentiments in elegant lanfrage, than a representation of natural ailections, or of any state probable or possible in human life. Nothing here exciles or assuages emotion; here is no magical power of raising phantastic terror or exciting wild anxiety. The events we expected witbout solicitude, and remembered withont joy or sorrow. of the agents we have no care. Cato is . being above our solicitude, a man of whom "the gods take care," and whom we leave to their care with heedless cuadeace. To the rest, neither gods nor men can have much attention ; for there is not one amongst them, that strungly attracts cith affection or esteem. But they are made the vehicles of such sentiments and such expressions that there if scarcely a scene in the play, which the reader does not wish to impress upon his memory.







SCENE.--The Governor's Palace in Ulica,

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And heavily in clouds brings on the day, SCENE 1.-A Hall.

The great, th' important day, big with the fate Enter PORTIUS and MARCUS. of Cato and of Rome-our father's death The dawn is overcast, the morning Would fill up all the guilt of civil war, low'rs,

And close the scene of blood. Already Caesar



Has ravag'd more than half the globe, and sees Love is not to be reason'd down, or lost
Mankind grown thin by his destructive sword: In high ambition and a thirst of greatness;
Should he go further, numbers would be wanting 'Tis second life, that grows into the soul,
To form new battles, and support his crimes. Warms every vein, and beats in every pulse:
Ye gods, what havoc does ambition make I feel it here: my resolution melts-
Among your works!

Por. Behold young Juba, the Numidian Marc. Thy steady temper, Portius,

prince, Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Caesar, With how much care he forms himself to glory, In the calm lights of mild philosophy; And breaks the fierceness of his native temper, I'm tortur'd, e'en to madness, when I think To copy out our father's bright example. On the proud victor: ev'ry time he's nam'd He loves our sister Marcia, greatly loves her; Pharsalia rises lo my view!-I see

His eyes, bis looks, his actions, all betray it; Th' insulting tyrant, prancing o'er the field, But still the smother'd fondness burns within Strew'd with "Rome's citizens, and drench'd

bim: in slaughter;

When most it swells, and labours for a vent, His horses hoofs wet with patrician blood! The sense of honour, and desire of fame, Oh, Portius! is not there some chosen curse, Drive the big passion back into his heart. Some hidden thunder in the stores of hear'n, Wbat, shall an African, shall Juba's heir Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man Reproach great Cato's son, and show the world Who owes his greatness to his country's ruin? A virtue wanting in a Roman soul? Por. Believe me, Marcus, 'tis an impious Marc. Portius, no more! your words leave greatness,

stings behind them. And mix'd with too much horror to he envied: Whene'er did Juba, or did Portius, show flow does the lustre of our father's actions, A virtue that has cast me at a distance, Through the dark cloud of ills that cover bim, And thrown mc out in the pursuits of honour? Break out, and burn with more triumphant Por. Oh, Marcus! did I know the way to

brightness! His sufferings shine, and spread a glory round Thy troubled heart, and mitigate thy, pains, him;

Marcus, believe me, I could die to do it. Greatly unfortunate, he fights the cause Marc. Thou best of brothers, and thou best Of honour, virtue, liberty, and Rome.

of friends! Marc. Who knows not this? But what can Pardon a weak, distemper'd soul, that swells Cato do

With sudden gusts, and sinks as soon in calms, Against a world, a base, degen'rate world, The sport of passions. But Sempronius comes: That courts the yoke, and bows the neck to He must not find this softness hanging on me. Caesar?

[Exit. Pent up in Utica, be vainly forms

Enter SEMPRONIUS. A poor epitome of Roman greatness,

Sem. Conspiracies no sooner should be And, cover'd with Numidian guards, directs

form'd A feeble army, and an empty senate, Than executed. What means Portius here? Remnants of mighty battles fought in vain. I like not that cold youth. I must dissemble, By heav'n, such virtues, join'd with such success, And speak a language foreign to my heart. Distracts my very soul! our father's fortune

[Aside. Would almost templ us to renounce his precepts. Good morrow, Portius; let us once embrace, Por. Remember what our father oft has Once more embrace, while yet we both are free.


should we thus express our The ways of heav'n are dark and intricate;

friendship, Puzzled'in mazes, and perplex'd with errors, Each might receive a slave into his arms. Our understanding traces them in vain, This sun, perhaps, this morning sun's the last, Lost and bewilderd in the fruitless search; That e'er shall rise on Roman liberty. Nor sees with how much art the windings run, Por. My father has this morning call'd toNor where the regular confusion ends.

gether Marc. These are suggestions of a mind at To this poor ball, bis little Roman senate

(The leavings of Pharsalia), lo consult Oh, Portius, didst tbou taste but half the griefs If he can yet oppose the mighty torrent That wring my soul, thou couldst not talk That bears down Rome and all her gods before it, thus coldly.

Or must at length give up the world to Caesar. Passion unpitied, and successless love, Sem. Not all the pomp and majesty of Rome Plant daggers in my heart, and aggravate Can raise her senate more than Cato's presence. My other griefs.- Were but my Lucia kind- His virtues render our assembly awful, Por. Thou seest not that thy brother is thy They strike with something like religious fear, rival;

And make evin Caesar tremble at the head But I must hide it, for I know thy temper.

Of armies flush'd with conquest. Oh, my [Aside.

Portius! Now, Marcus, now thy virtue's on the proof, Could I but call that wondrous man my father, Put forth thy utmost strength, work ev'ry nerve, Would but thy sister Marcia be propitious And call up all thy father in thy soul: To thy friend's vows, I might be blest indeed! To quell the tyrant love, and guard thy heart Por. Alas, Sempronius! wouldst thou talk On this wcak side, where most our nature fails,

of love Would be a conquest worthy Cato's son. To Marcia, wbilst her father's life's in danger?

Mart. Alas, the counsel which I cannot take, Thou might'st as well court the pale, tremInstead of healing, but upbraids my weakness.

bling vestal,

told us:



on Juba.


When she beholds the holy flame expiring. Syph. But is it true, Sempronius, ibat your

Sem. The more I see the wonders of ihy race, The more I'm charm’d." Thou must take heed, Is call'd together? Gods! thou must be cautious; my Portius;

Cato has piercing eyes, and will discern The world has all its eyes on Cato's son; Our frauds, unless they're cover'd thick with art. Thy father's merit sets ihee up to view, Sem. Let me alone, good Syphax, I'll conceal And shows thee in the fairest point of light, My thoughts in passion ('tis the surest way); To make thy virtues or thy faulis conspicuous. Til bellow out for Rome, and for my country, Por. Well dost thou seem to check my And mouth at Caesar, till I shake the senate. ling'ring here

Your cold hypocrisy's a stale device, On this important hour-I'll straight away, A worn-out trick: wouldst thou be thought And while the fathers of the senate meet

in earnest, In close debate, to weigh th' events of war, Clothe thy feign'd zeal in rage, in fire, in fury! Fill animate the soldiers' drooping courage Syph. In troth, thou’rt able to instruct grey With love of freedom, and contempt of life;

hairs, 11 thunder in their ears their country's cause, and teach the wily African deceit. And try to rouse up all that's Roman in them. Sem. Once more be sure to try thy skill 'Tis not in mortals to command success, But we'll do more, Sempronius; we'll deserve Meanwhile I'll hasten to my Roman soldiers, it.

[Exil. Inflame the mutiny, and, underhand, Sem. Curse on the stripling! how he apes Blow up their discontents, till they break out his sire!

Unlook'd for, and discharge themselves on Cato. Ambitiously sententious-But I wonder Remember, Syphax, we must work in haste; Old Syphax comes not, his Numidian genius Oh, think what anxious moments pass

belween Is well dispos'd to mischief, were he prompu The birth of plots, and their last fatal periods ! Aad eager on it; but he must be spurr'd, Oh, 'lis a dreadful interval of time, And erry moment quicken'd to the course. Filld up with horror all, and big with death! Cato has us'd me ill; he has refus'd Destruction hangs on ev'ry word we speak, His daughter Marcia lo my ardent vows. On every thought, till the concluding stroké Besides, his bafiled arms and ruind cause, Determines all, and closes our design. [Exit. dre bars to my ambition. Caesar's favour, Syph. I'll try if yet I can reduce to reason That show'ss down greatness on his friends, This headstrong youth, and make him spurn will raise me

at Cato. To Rome's first honours. If I give up Calo, The time is short; Caesar comes rushing on I daim, in my reward, bis captive daughter. But Syphax comes

But hold! young Juba sees me, and approaches!

Enter JUBA.
Enter Syphax.

Juba. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone. Syph. Sempronius, all is ready;

I have observ'd of late thy looks are fallin, Pre sounded my Numidians, man by man, O'ercast with gloomy cares and discontent; fad find them ripe for a revolt: they all Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee, tell me, Complain aloud of Cato's discipline,

What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in \ed wait but the command to change their

frowns, master.

And turn thine eye thus coldly on thy prince? Sem. Believe me, Syphax, there's no time

Syph. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my lo waste:

thoughts, Ev'n while we speak, our conqueror comes on, Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face,

dod gathers ground upon us ev'ry moment. When discontent sits heavy at my heart; Alas! thou know'st noi Caesar's active soul,

I have not yet so much the Roman in me. With what a dreadful course he rushes on

Juba. Why dost thou cast out such unFrom war to war. In vain bas nature forni'd

gen'rous terms Mountains and oceans to oppose his passage; Against the lords and sov'reigns of the world ? He bounds o'er all;

Dost thou not see mankind fall down before One day more

them, Wil set the victor thund'ring at our gates. And own the force of their superior virtue ? But, tell me, hast thou yet drawer o'er young

Syph. Gods! where's the worth that sels Juba?

these people up That still would recommend thee more to Caesar, Above your own Numidia's lawny sons? And challenge belter terms.

Do they with tougher sinews bend the bow? Syph. Alas! he's lost!

Or flies the jav'lin swifter to its mark, He's lost, Sempronius; all his thoughts are full Launch'd from the vigour of a Roman arm? Of Calo's virtues-But I'll try once more Who like our active African instructs (For er'ry instant I expect him here), The fiery sleed, and trains him to his hand ? if yet I can subdue those stubborn principles Or guides in troops th? embattled elephant Of faith and honour, and I know not what, Laden with war? 'These, these are arts, my That have corrupted bis Numidian temper,

prince, Ind struck th' infection into all his soul. In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome.

Sem. Be sure to press upon him ev'ry motive. Juba. These all are virtues of a meaner rank: Jaba's surrender, since his father's death, Perfections that are plac'd in bones and nerves. Would give up Afric into Caesar's hands, A Roman soul is bent on higher views. And make him lord of half the burning zone. To make man mild, and sociable to mau;

upon him!

To cultivale the wild, licentious savage, Juba. Alas! thy story melts away my soul! And break our fierce barbarians into men. That best of fathers! how shall I discharge Turn up thy eyes to Cato;

The gratitude and duty that I owe him?' There may'st thou see to what a godlike height Syph. By laying up his counsels in your The Roman virtucs lift up mortal man.

heart. While good, and just, and anxious for his friends, Juba. His counsels bade me yield to thy He's still severely bent against himself;

direction. And when his fortune sets before him all Syph. Alas! my prince, I'd guide you to The pomps. and pleasures that his soul can wish,

your safety. His rigid virtue will accept of nonc.

Juba. I do believe thou wouldst; but tell Syph. Believe me, prince, there's not an

me how, African

Syph. Fly from the fate that follows CaeThat traverses our vast Numidian deserls

sar's foes. In quest of prey, and lives upon bis bow, Juba. My father scorn'd to do it. But better practises those boasted virtues. Syph. And therefore died. Coarse are his meals, the fortune of the chase; Juba. Better to die ten thousand thousand Amidst the running stream he slakes his thirst;

deaths, Toils all the day, and at th' approach of night, Than wonnd my honour. On the first friendly bank he throws him down, Syph. Rather say your love. Or rests his head upon a rock till morn; Juba. Syphax, I've promis'd to preserve my Then rises fresh, pursues his wonted game;

temper. And if the following day he chance to find Why wilt thou urge me to confess a fame A new repast, or an untasted spring, I long have stifled, and would fain conceal ? Blesses his stars, and thinks it luxury.

Syph. Believe me, prince, though hard to Juba. Thy prejudices, Sypbas, won't discern

conquer love, What virtues grow from ignorance and choice, 'Tis easy to divert and break its forcc. Nor how the hero differs from the brute. Absence might cure it, or a second mistress Where shall we find the man that bears af- Light up another flame, and put out this. fliction,

The glowing dames of Zama's royal court Great and majestic in bis griess, like Cato? Have faces flush'd with more exalted charms ; How does he rise against a load of woes, Were you with these, my prince, you'd soon And thank the gods that threw the weight


The pale, unripen'd beauties of the north. Syph. 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughti- Juba. 'Tis not a set of features, or complexion, ness of soul;

The tincture of a skin, that I admire: I think the Romans call it stoicism.

Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover, Had not your royal father thought so highly Fades in his eye, and palls upon the sense. Of Roman virtue, and of Cato's cause,

The virtuous Marcia tow'rs above her sex: Fle had not fall’n by a slave's hand inglorious; True, she is fair, (oh, how divinely fair!) Nor would his slaughter'd armies now have lain But still the lovely maid improves her charms On Afric's sands, disfigur'd with their wounds, With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom, To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia. And sanctity of manners; Cato's soul Juba. Why dost thou call my sorrows up Shines out in ev'ry thing she acts or speaks, afresh?

While winning mildness and attractive smiles My father's name brings tears into my eyes. Dwell in her looks, and with becoming grace, Syph. Ob, that you'd profit by your father's Soften the rigour of her father's virtue. ills !

Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton Juba. What wouldst thou have me do?

in her praise! Syph. Abandon Calo.

But, on my knees, I beg you would considerJuba. Syphas, I should be more than twice Juba. Ila! Syphax, is'i not she?--She moves

an orphan, By such a loss.

And with her Lucia, Lucius's fair daughter. Syph. Ay, there's the tie that binds you! My heart beats thick-I prythee, Syphax, leave You long to call him father. Marcia's charms Work in your beart unseen, and plead for Cato. Syph. Ten thousand curses fasten on them No wonder you are deaf to all I say.

both! Juba. Syphax, your zeal becomes impor- Now will the woman, with a single glance, tunate;

Undo what I've been lab'ring all this while. I've hitherto permitted it to rave,

[Exit. And talk at large; but learn to keep it in,

Enter MARCIA and Lucia. Lest it should take more freedom than I'll give it, Juba. Hail, charming maid! how does thy Syph. Sir, your great father never us'd

beauty smooth

The face of war, and make ev'n horror smile! Alas, he's dead! but can you e'er forget At sight of thee my beart shakes off its sorrows; The tender sorrows,

I feel a dawn of joy break in upon me, And repeated blessings,

And for awhile forget th' approach of Caesar. Which you drew from him in your

last fare- Marcia. I should be griev'd, young prince, well?

to think my presence The good old king, al parting, wrung my band Unbent your thoughts, and slacken'd them (His cyes brimful of tears), then, sighing, cry'd,

to arms, Priythee be careful of my son!-Alis grief Wbile, warm with slaughter, our victorious foe Swelld up so high, he could not utter more. Threatens aloud, and calls you to the field.

this way;


me thus.

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