« FöregåendeFortsätt »
Cato is stern and awful as a god;
Lucia. 'Tis his consent alone, can make us blest.
Marcia. And ever shall lament; unhappy youth !
Lucia. Has set my soul at large, and now I stand Loose of my vow. But who knows Cato's thoughts? Who knows how yet he may dispose of Portius, Or how he has determin’d of thyself? Marcia. Let him but live, commit the rest to
Luc. Sweet are the slumbers of the virtuous man! Oh, Marcia, I have seen thy godlike father! Some power invisible supports his soul, And bears it up in all its wonted greatness. A kind, refreshing sleep is falln upon him: I saw him stretch'd at ease ; his fancy lost In pleasing dreams; as I drew near his couch, He smild, and cry'd, “ Cæsar, thou canst not hurt Enter Juga.
me.” Marcia. His mind still labours with some dreadful
Jub. Lucius, the horsemen are return'd from view.
ing The number, strength, and posture, of our foes, 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, Ana covers all the field with gleams of fire.
Luc. Marcia, 'tis time we should awake thy father,
Por. As I was hasting to the port, where now
Spain, Calls out for vengeance on his father's death, And rouses the whole nation up to arms. Were Cato at 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! [Erit.
Luc. Cạto, amidst his slunibers, thinks on Rome, And, in the wild disorder of his soul, Mourns o'er his country.—Ah, a second groan Heav'n guard us all!
Marcia. Alas, 'tis not the voice · Of one who sleeps; 'tis agonizing pain,
"Tis death is in that sound
in a Chair.
Por. Oh, sight of woe !
his sword !
Por. I've rais'd him up,
hour, To pay the last sad duties to
father! Cato brought on, Cato. Here set me downPortius, come near me—Are my friends embark'd ! Can any thing be thought of for their service ? Whilst 1 yet live, let me not live in vainOh, Lucius! art thou here ? - Thou art too goodLet this our friendship live between our children, Make Portia happy, in thy daughter Lucia Marcia, my daughter Oh, bend me forward- -Juba loves thee, MarciaA senator of Rome, while Rome surviv'd, Would not have match'd his daughter with a kingBut Cæsar's arms have thrown down all distinctionI'm sick to death- -Oh, when shall I
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 notThe best may err, but you are good, and- -Oh!
Por. There Aed the greatest soul, that ever warm'd A Roman breast:
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.