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all Rome will be in tears.

[Exit. Sem.

Cato, we thank thee The mighty genius of immortal Rome speaks in thy voice, thy soul breathes liberty: Cæsar will shrink to hear the words thou utter'st, and shudder in the midst of all his conquests.

luc. The senate owns it's gratitude to Cato, who with so great a soul' consults it's safety, and guards our lives while he neglects his own.

Sem. Sempronius gives no thanks on this account. Lucius seems fond of life; but what is life? 'T is not to stalk about, and draw fresh air from time to time, or gaze upon the sun; 't is to be free. When liberty is gone, life grows insipid, and has lost it's relish. O could my dying hand but lodge a sword in Cæsar's bosom, and revenge my country, by heavens I could enjoy the pangs of death, and smile in agony. Luc.

Others perhaps may serve their country with as warm a zeal, though 't is not kindled into so much rage.

Sem. This sober conduct is a mighty virtue in luke-warm patriots. Cato.

Come! no more, Sempronius: all here are friends to Rome, and to each other. Let us not weaken still the weaker side, by our divisions.

Sem. . Cato, my resentments are sacrific'd to Rome I stand reprov'd.

Cato: Fathers, 't is time you come to a resolve.

Luc. Cato, we all go into your opinion.. Cæsar's behaviour has convinc'd the senate we ought to hold it out till terms arrive.

Sem. We ought to hold it out till death; but, Cato, my private voice is drowu'd amid the senate's.

Cato. Then let us rise, my friends, and strive to fill this little interval, this pause of life, (while yet our liberty and fates are doubtful) with resolution, friendship, Roman bravery, and all the virtues we can crowd into it; that heaven may say, it ought to be prolong'd. Fathers, farewell The young Numidian prince' comes forward, and expects to know our councils.

[Ex. Sen. Enter JUBA. Cato. Juba, the Roman senate has resolvd, till time give, better prospects, still to keep the sword unsheath'd, and turn it's edge on Cæsar.

Jub. The resolution fits a Roman senate. But, Cato, lend me for a while thy patience, and condescend to hear a young man speak.

My father, when some days before his death he order'd me to march for Utica (alas ! I thought not then his death so near!) wept o'er me, press'd me in his aged arms, and as his griefs gave way, My son, said he, whatever fortune shall befal thy father, be Cato's friend; he 'll train thee up to great and virtuous deeds: do but observe him well, thou'lt shun misfortunes, or thou'lt learn to bear them,

Cato. Juba, thy father was a worthy prince, and merited, alas! a better face; but heaven thought otherwise. Jub,

My father's fate, in spite of all the fortitude that shines before my face, in Cato's great example, subdues my soul, and fills my eyes with tears.

Cato. It is an honest sorrow, and becomes thee.

Jub. My father drew respect from foreign climes: the kings of Afric sought him for their friend, kings far remote, that rules, as fame reports, behind the hidden sources of the Nile, in distant worlds, on t' other side the sun : oft have their black ambassadors appear'd, loaden with gifts, and fill'd the courts of Zama.

Cato. I am no stranger to thy father's greatness.

Jub. I would not boast the greatness of my father, but point out new alliances to Cato, Had we not better leave this Utica, to arm Numidia in our cause, and court th' assistance of my father's powerful friends? Did they know Cato, our remotest kings would pour embattled multitades about him; their swarthy hosts would darken all our plains, doubling the native horror of the war, and making death more grim. Cato.

And canst thou think Cato will fly before the sword of Cæsar? reduc'd, like Hannibal, to seek relief from court to court, and wander up and down, a vagabond in Afric! Jub.

Cato, perhaps I'm too officious; but my forward cares would fain preserve a life of so much value. My heart is wounded, when I see such virtue afflicted by the weight of such misfortunes,

Cato. Thy nobleness of soul obliges me. But know, young prince, that valour soars above what the world calls misfortune and affliction. These are not ills; else would they never fall on heaven's first favourites, and the best of men: the gods, in bounty, work up storms about us,

Cato.

at give mankind occasion to exert jeir hidden strength, and throw out into practice irtues, that shun the day, and lie conceald the smooth seasons, and the calms of life. Jub, I'm charm'd whene'er thou' talk'st! I pant

for virtue! id all my soul endeavours at perfection. Cato, Dost thou love watchings, abstinence and

toil, . . borious virtues all? learn them from Cato; ccess and fortune must thou learn from Cæsar. " Jub. The best good-fortune that can fall on Juba e whole success at which my heart aspires, pends on Cató.

. . What does Juba say? y words confound me,

. . I would fain retract them, ve them me back again. They aim'd at nothing. Cato. Tell me thy wish, young prince; make not stranger to thy thoughts. . [my ear

Oh, they ’re extravagant; ill let me hide them. Cato.

What can Juba ask . at Cato will refuse! Jub.

I fear to name it. .' arcia-inherits all her father's virtues. ' . Cato. What would'st thou say? Jub. ,' .' Cato, thou hast a daughter. Cato. Adieu, young prince ! I would not hear a word ould 'lessen thee in my esteem: remember e hand of fate is over us, and heaven acts severity from all our thoughts: is not now a time to talk of aught It chains, or conquest; liberty, or death. . [Exit.

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Enter Syphax. Syph. How's this, my prince!. what, cover'd with you look as if yon stern philosopher [confusion? had just now chid you.. Juba.

: Syphax, I'm undone. Syph. I know it well.” Jub.

Cato thinks meanly of me. Syph. And so will all mankind. . Jub.

I've opend to him the weakness of my soul, my love for Marcia.

Syph. Cato's a proper person to intrust a love-tale with. Juh.

Oh, I could pierce my heart, my foolish heart! was ever wretch like Juba?

Syph. Alas! my prince, how are you chang'doflate I've known young Juba rise before the sun, to beat the thicket where the tiger slept, or seek the lion in his dreadful haunts: how did the colour mount into your cheeks, when first you rous'd him to the chace! I've seen you ey'n in the Lybian dog-days hunt him down, then charge him close, provoke him to the rage of fangs and claws, and stooping from your horse rivet the panting savage to the ground.

Jub. Prythee, no more!

Syph. . How would the old king smile to see you weigh the paws, when tipp'd with gold, and throw the shaggy spoils about your shoulders!

'Jub. Syphax, this old man's talk (tho' honey flow'd in every word) would now lose all its sweetness. Cato 's displeas’d, and Marcia lost for ever! Syph Young prince, I yet could give you good

advice. Marcia might still be your's.

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