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But see young Juba ; the good youth appears,
Luc. Alas, poor princel his fate deserves compassion.
Cato. What's thy crime?
soul. Jub. Hast thou not heard of my false countrymen? Cato. Alas, young princel falsehood and fraud shoot
up in ev'ry soil, The product of all climes-Rome has its Cæsars.
Jub, 'Tis generous thus to comfort the distress'd.
Cato. 'Tis just to give applause where 'tis deserv'd; Thy virtue, prince, has stood the test of fortune, Like purest gold, that, tortur'd in the furnace, Comes out more bright, and brings forth all its weight.
Jub. What shall I answer thee? “My ravish'd heart
O'erflows with secret joy:" I'd rather gain Thy praise, O Catol than Numidia's empire.
Cato. Hah! what has he done?
Por. Scarce had I left my father, but I met him
Cato. I'm satisfy'd.
Por. Nor did he fall before
Cato. Thanks to the gods, my boy has done his duty. - Portius, when I am dead, be sure you place His urn near mine.
Por. Long may they keep asunder!
Luc. Oh, Cato, arm thy soul with all its patience; See where the corpse of thy dead son approaches ! The citizens and senators, alarm’d, Have gather'd round it, and attend it weeping.
CATO, meeting the corpse.
I should have blush'd if Cato's house had stood
Jub. Was ever man like this!
Cato. Alas, my friends,
hearts. 'Tis Rome requires our tears,
Jub. Behold that upright man! Rome fills his eyes With tears that flow'd not o'er his own dead son.
[Aside. Caro. Whate'er the Roman virtue has subdu’d, The sun's whole course, the day and year are Cæsar's: For him the self-devoted Decii dy'd, The Fabii fell, and the great Scipios conquer'd; Ev'n Pompey fought for Cæsar. Oh, my friends, How is the toil of fate, the work of ages, The Roman empire, fall'n! Oh, curst ambition! Fall'n into Cæsar's hand! Our great forefathers Had left him nought to conquer but his country.
Jub. While Cato lives Cæsar will blush to see Mankind inslav’d, and be asham’d of empire.
Cato. Cæsar asham'd! has he not seen Pharsalia! Luc. Cato, 'tis time thou save thyself and us.
Cato. Lose not a thought on me, I'm out of danger, Heav'n will not leave me in the victor's hand.
Cæsar shall never say he conquer'd Cato.
heart With anxious thoughts: a thousand secret terrors Rise in my soul. How shall I save my friends? 'Tis now, O Cæsar, I begin to fear theel
Luc. Cæsar has mercy if we ask it of him.
Cato. Then ask it, I conjure you! let him know
Jub. If I forsake thee
Cato. Thy virtues, prince, if I foresee aright,
When vice prevails, and impious men bear sway,
Por. I hope my father does not recommend
Cato. Farewell, my friends! If there be any of you Who dare not trust the victor's clemency, Know there are ships prepar'd by my command (Their sails already op'ning to the winds), That shall convey you to the wish'd-for port. Is there aught else, my friends, I can do for you? The conqueror draws near. Once more farewell! If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet In happier climes, and on a safer shore, Where Cæsar never shall approach us more.
[Pointing to his dead son. There, the brave youth, with love of virtue fir'd, Who greatly in his country's cause expir'd, Shall know he conquer’d. The firm partiot there, Who made the welfare of mankind his care, Though still by faction, vice, and fortune crost, Shall find the gen'rous labour was not lost. [Exeunt.
ACT V. SCENE I.
Cato solus, sitting in a thoughtful posture: in his hand
Plato's book on the Immortality of the Soul.
A drawn sword on the table by him.