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Men, Cato, - - - - - - Mr. Kemble. LUCIUS,
S Mr. Packer. SEMPRONIUS, senator s, Senators.
Mr. Barrymore. JUBA, Prince of Numidia,
Mr. Bannister, Jun. Syphax, General of the Numidians, Mr. Aickin. PORTIUS,
S Mr. Palmer.
Women. MARCIA, Daughter to Cato, . . Mrs. Ward. LUCIA, Daughter to Lucius, - - Miss E. Kemble.
Men. CATO, • - - - - Mr. Sheridan. Lucius, } Senators.
Mr. L'Estrange. SEMPRONIUS, venators.
- Mr. Clarke. JUBA, Prince of Numidia, - - Mr. Wroughton. Syphax, Gencral of the Numidians, - Mr. Hull. PORTIUS, usz
S Mr. Aickin.
Women. Marcia, Daughter to Cato, - - Mrs. Hartley. LUCIA, Daughter to Lucius, - - Mrs. Jackson.
SCENE, A Hall in the Governor's Palace in Utica.
ACT 1. SCENE I.
Enter Portius and MARCUS,
Portius. The dawn is over-cast, the morning low'rs, And heavily in clouds brings on the day, The great, th' important day, big with the fate Of Cato and of Rome our father's death Would fill up all the guilt of civil war, And close the scene of blood. Already Cæsar Has ravag'd more than half the globe, and sees Mankind grown thin by his destructive sword: Should he go farther, numbers would be wanting To form new battles, and support his crimes. Ye gods, what havock does ambition make Among your works!
Marc. Thy steady temper, Portius, Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Cæsar, In the calm lights of mild philosophy; I'm tortur'd, ev'n to madness, when I think
On the proud victor: ev'ry time he's nam'd
Por. Believe me, Marcus, 'tis an impious greatness,
Marc. Who knows not this! But what can Cato do Against a world, a base, degen’rate world, That courts the yoke, and bows the neck to Cæsar Pent up in Utica, he vainly forms A poor epitome of Roman greatness, And, cover'd with Numidian guards, directs A feeble army, and an empty senate, Remnants of mighty battles fought in vain. By Heav'n, such virtues, join'd with such success,
Distracts my very soul! our father's fortune
Por. Remember what our father oft has told us:
Marc. These are suggestions of a mind at ease : Oh, Portius, didst thou taste but half the griefs That wring my soul, thou couldst not talk thus coldly. Passion unpitied, and successless love, Plant daggers in my heart, and aggravate My other griefs. Were but my Lucia kind
Por. Thou seest not that thy brother is thy rival; But I must hide it, for I know thy temper. [Aside. Now, Marcus, now thy virtue's on the proof: Put forth thy utmost strength, work ev'ry nerve, And call up all thy father in thy soul : To quell the tyrant, love, and guard thy heart On this weak side, where most our nature fails, Would be a conquest worthy Cato's son.
Marc. Portius, the counsel which I cannot take, Instead of healing, but upbraids my weakness. Bid me for honour plunge into a war Of thickest foes, and rush on certain death, Then shalt thou see that Marcus is not slow To follow glory, and confess his father.
Love is not to be reason'd down, or lost
Por. Behold young Juba, the Numidian prince,
Por. Marcus, I know thy gen'rous temper well;
pity. Por. Heav'n knows I pity thee. Behold my eyes