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Who now encamp within a short hour's march;
On the high point of yon bright western tower
We ken them from afar, the setting sun
Plays on their shining arms and burnish'd helmets,
And covers all the field with gleams of fire.
Lucius. Marcia, 'tis time we should awake thy father.
Cæsar is still dispos'd to give us terms,
And waits at distance 'till he hears from Cato.
Portius, thy looks speak somewhat of importance.
What tidings dost thou bring? Methinks I see
Unusual gladness sparkling in thy eyes.
Por. As I was hasting to the port, where now
My father's friends, impatient for a passage,
Accuse the ling'ring winds, a sail arriv'd
From Pompey's son, who through the realms of Spain
Çalls out for vengeance on his father's death,
And rouses the whole nation up to arms.
Were Cato al their head, once more might Rome
Assert her rights, and claim her liberty.
But, hark! what means that groan! Oh, give me way,
And let me fly into my father's presence. [Exit.
Lucius. Cato, amidst his slumbers, thinks on Rome, And in the wild disorder of his soul Mourns o'er his country. Hah! a second groanHeav'n guard us alli
Mar. Alas! 'tis not the voice Of one who sleeps; 'tis agonizing pain, 'Tis death is in that sound.
Por. Oh, sight of woe !
Oh, Marcia, what we fear'd is come to pass!
Cato is fallen upon his sword.
Lucius. Oh, Portius,
Hide all the horrors of thy mournful tale,
And let us guess the rest.
Por. I've rais'd him up,
And plac'd him in his chair, where, pale and faint,
gasps for breath, and as his life flows from him, Demands to see his friends. His servants weeping, Obsequious to his order, bear him hither.
Mar. Oh, Heav'n! assist me in this dreadful hour, To pay the last sad duties to my father. “ Fub. These are thy triumphs, thy exploits, 0
" Lucius. Now is Rome fall'n indeed!”
[Cato brought on in a chair.
Calo. Here set me down
Portius, come near me-Are my friends embark'd ?
Can any thing be thought of for their service ?
Whilst I yet live, let me not live in vain.
Oh, Lucius, art thou here? - Thou art too good-
Let this our friendship live between our children,
Make Portius happy in thy daughter Lucia.
Alas! poor man, he weepsl-Marcia, my daughter-
Oh, bend me forward !--Juba loves thee, Marcia.
A senator of Rome, while Rome surviv'd,
Would not have match'd his daughter with a king,
But Cæsar's arms have thrown down all distinction;
Whoe'er is brave and virtuous is a Roman-
-I'm sick to death—Oh, when shall I get loose
From this vain world, th’abode of guilt and sorrow!
-And yet, methinks, a beam of light breaks in
On my departing soul. Alas, I fear
I've been too hasty. Oh, ye Powers, that search
The heart of man, and weigh his inmost thoughts,
If I have done amiss, impute it not!-
The best may err, but you are good, and-Oh! [Dics.
Lucius. There fled the greatest soul that ever warm'd
A Roman breast; oh, Cato! oh, my friend !
Thy will shall be religiously observ'd.
But let us bear this awful corpse to Cæsar,
And lay it in his sight, that it may stand
A fence betwixt us and the victor's wrath ;
Cato, though dead, shall still protect his friends.
From hence, let fierce contending nations know
What dire effects from civil discord flow :
'Tis this that shakes our country with alarms,
And gives up Rome a prey to Roman arms,
Produces fraud, and cruelty, and strife,
And robs the guilty world of Cato's life.
WHAT odd fantastic things we women do ?
Who wou'd not listen when young lovers wooe?
But die a maid, yet have the choice of two!
Ladies are often cruel to their cost:
To give you pain, themselves they punish most.
Vows of virginity should well be weighd;
Too oft they're cancell'd, though in convents made.
Wou'd you revenge such rash resolves—you may
Be spiteful and believe the thing we say,
We hate you when you're easily said nay.
How needless, if you knew us, were your fears?
Let love have eyes, and beauty will have ears.
Our hearts are formod as you yourselves would chuse,
Too proud to ask, too humble to refuse :
We give to merit, and to wealth we sell:
He sighs with most success that settles well.
The woes of wedlock with the joys we mix:
'Tis best repenting in a coach and six.
Blame not our conduct, since we but pursue
Those lively lessons we have learnt from you.
Your breasts no more the
fire of beauty warms, But wicked wealth usurps the pow'r of charms,
What pains to get the gaudy things you hate,
To swell in show, and be a wretch in state.
At plays you ogle, at the ring you bow ;
E'en churches are no sanctuaries now:
There golden idols all your vows receive,
She is no goddess that has nought to give.
Oh, may once more the happy age appear,
When words were artless, and the thoughts sincere:
When gold and grandeur were unenvy'd things,
And courts less coveted than
and springs : Love then shall only mourn when truth complains, And constancy feel transport in its chains : Sighs with success their own soft anguish tell, And eyes shall utter what the lips conceal: Virtue again to its bright station climb, And beauty
fear no enemy but time ; The fair shall listen to desert alone, And ev'ry Lucia find a Cato's son.