Cato: A Tragedy, in Five Acts
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ACT THE FOURTH
SCENE IA ChamberEnter Lucia and MarciaLucia. Now, tell me, Marcia, tell me from thy soul,If thou believest 'tis possible for womanTo suffer greater ills than Lucia suffers?Marcia. Oh, Lucia, Lucia, might my big swol'n heartVent all its griefs, and give a loose to sorrow,Marcia could answer thee in sighs, keep paceWith all thy woes, and count out tear for tear.Lucia. I know thou'rt doom'd alike to be belovedBy Juba, and thy father's friend, Sempronius:But which of these has power to charm like Portius?Marcia. Still, I must beg thee not to name Sempronius.Lucia, I like not that loud, boist'rous man.Juba, to all the bravery of a hero,Adds softest love, and more than female sweetness;Juba might make the proudest of our sex,Any of womankind, but Marcia, happy.Lucia. And why not Marcia? Come, you strive in vainTo hide your thoughts from one who knows too wellThe inward glowings of a heart in love.Marcia. While Cato lives, his daughter has no rightTo love or hate, but as his choice directs.Lucia. But should this father give you to Sempronius?Marcia. I dare not think he will: but if he should —Why wilt thou add to all the griefs I suffer,Imaginary ills, and fancied tortures?I hear the sound of feet! They march this way.Let us retire, and try if we can drownEach softer thought in sense of present danger:When love once pleads admission to our hearts,In spite of all the virtues we can boast,The woman that deliberates is lost. [Exeunt.Enter Sempronius, dressed like Juba, withNumidian GuardsSem. The deer is lodged, I've track'd her to her covert.How will the young Numidian rave to seeHis mistress lost! If aught could glad my soul,Beyond the enjoyment of so bright a prize,'Twould be to torture that young, gay barbarian.– But, hark! what noise! Death to my hopes! 'tis he,'Tis Juba's self! there is but one way left —Enter JubaJub. What do I see? Who's this that dares usurpThe guards and habits of Numidia's prince?Sem. One that was born to scourge thy arrogance,Presumptuous youth!Jub. What can this mean? Sempronius!Sem. My sword shall answer thee. Have at thy heart.Jub. Nay then, beware thy own, proud, barbarous man.[Sempronius falls.Sem. Curse on my stars! Am I then doom'd to fallBy a boy's hand, disfigured in a vileNumidian dress, and for a worthless woman?Gods, I'm distracted! this my close of life!Oh, for a peal of thunder, that would makeEarth, sea, and air, and heav'n, and Cato tremble! [Dies.Jub. I'll hence to Cato,That we may there at length unravel allThis dark design, this mystery of fate. [Exit Juba.Enter Lucia and MarciaLucia. Sure 'twas the clash of swords; my troubled heartIs so cast down, and sunk amidst its sorrows,It throbs with fear, and aches at ev'ry sound.Oh, Marcia, should thy brothers, for my sake —I die away with horror at the thought!Marcia. See, Lucia, see! here's blood! here's blood and murder!Ha! a Numidian! Heav'n preserve the prince!The face lies muffled up within the garment,But ah! death to my sight! a diadem,And royal robes! O gods! 'tis he, 'tis he!Juba lies dead before us!Lucia. Now, Marcia, now, call up to thy assistanceThy wonted strength and constancy of mind;Thou canst not put it to a greater trial.Marcia. Lucia, look there, and wonder at my patience;Have I not cause to rave, and beat my breast,To rend my heart with grief, and run distracted?Lucia. What can I think, or say, to give thee comfort?Marcia. Talk not of comfort, 'tis for lighter ills:Behold a sight that strikes all comfort dead.Enter Juba, listeningI will indulge my sorrows, and give wayTo all the pangs and fury of despair;That man, that best of men, deserved it from me.Jub. What do I hear? and was the false SemproniusThat best of men? Oh, had I fall'n like him,And could have been thus mourn'd, I had been happy.Marcia. 'Tis not in fate to ease my tortured breast.Oh, he was all made up of love and charms!Whatever maid could wish, or man admire:Delight of every eye; when he appear'd,A secret pleasure gladden'd all that saw him;But when he talk'd, the proudest Roman blush'dTo hear his virtues, and old age grew wise.Oh, Juba! Juba!Jub. What means that voice? Did she not call on Juba?Marcia. Why do I think on what he was? he's dead!He's dead, and never knew how much I loved him!Lucia, who knows but his poor, bleeding heart,Amidst its agonies, remember'd Marcia,And the last words he utter'd call'd me cruel!Alas! he knew not, hapless youth, he knew notMarcia's whole soul was full of love and Juba!Jub. Where am I? Do I live? or am indeedWhat Marcia thinks? All is Elysium round me!Marcia. Ye dear remains of the most loved of men,Nor modesty nor virtue here forbidA last embrace, while thus —Jub. See, Marcia, see, [Throwing himself before her.The happy Juba lives! he lives to catchThat dear embrace, and to return it too,With mutual warmth, and eagerness of love.Marcia. With pleasure and amaze I stand transported!If thou art Juba, who lies there?Jub. A wretch,Disguised like Juba on a cursed design.I could not bearTo leave thee in the neighbourhood of death,But flew, in all the haste of love, to find thee;I found thee weeping, and confess this once,Am rapt with joy, to see my Marcia's tears.Marcia. I've been surprised in an unguarded hour,But must not go back; the love, that layHalf smother'd in my breast, has broke through allIts weak restraints, and burns in its full lustre.I cannot, if I would, conceal it from thee.Jub. My joy, my best beloved, my only wish!How shall I speak the transport of my soul!Marcia. Lucia, thy arm. Lead to my apartment.Oh! prince! I blush to think what I have said,But fate has wrested the confession from me;Go on, and prosper in the paths of honour.Thy virtue will excuse my passion for thee,And make the gods propitious to our love.[Exeunt Marcia and Lucia.Jub. I am so blest, I fear 'tis all a dream.Fortune, thou now hast made amends for allThy past unkindness: I absolve my stars.What though Numidia add her conquer'd townsAnd provinces to swell the victor's triumph,Juba will never at his fate repine:Let Cæsar have the world, if Marcia's mine. [Exit.SCENE IIThe StreetA March at a distanceEnter Cato and LuciusLuc. I stand astonish'd! What, the bold Sempronius,That still broke foremost through the crowd of patriots,As with a hurricane of zeal transported,And virtuous even to madness —Cato. Trust me, Lucius,Our civil discords have produced such crimes,Such monstrous crimes, I am surprized at nothing.– Oh Lucius, I am sick of this bad world!The daylight and the sun grow painful to me.Enter PortiusBut see, where Portius comes: what means this haste?Why are thy looks thus changed?Por. My heart is grieved,I bring such news as will afflict my father.Cato. Has Cæsar shed more Roman blood?Por. Not so.The traitor Syphax, as within the squareHe exercised his troops, the signal given,Flew off at once with his Numidian horseTo the south gate, where Marcus holds the watch;I saw, and call'd to stop him, but in vain:He toss'd his arm aloft, and proudly told me,He would not stay, and perish, like Sempronius.Cato. Perfidious man! But haste, my son, and seeThy brother Marcus acts a Roman's part.[Exit Portius.– Lucius, the torrent bears too hard upon me:Justice gives way to force: the conquer'd worldIs Cæsar's! Cato has no business in it.Luc. While pride, oppression, and injustice reign,The world will still demand her Cato's presence.In pity to mankind submit to Cæsar,And reconcile thy mighty soul to life.Cato. Would Lucius have me live to swell the numberOf Cæsar's slaves, or by a base submissionGive up the cause of Rome, and own a tyrant?Luc. The victor never will impose on CatoUngen'rous terms. His enemies confessThe virtues of humanity are Cæsar's.Cato. Curse on his virtues! they've undone his country.Such popular humanity is treason —But see young Juba; the good youth appears,Full of the guilt of his perfidious subjects!Luc. Alas, poor prince! his fate deserves compassion.Enter JubaJub. I blush, and am confounded to appearBefore thy presence, Cato.Cato. What's thy crime?Jub. I'm a Numidian.Cato. And a brave one, too. Thou hast a Roman soul.Jub. Hast thou not heard of my false countrymen?Cato. Alas, young prince!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 deserved:Thy virtue, prince, has stood the test of fortune,Like purest gold, that, tortured in the furnace,Comes out more bright, and brings forth all its weight.Jub. What shall I answer thee?I'd rather gainThy praise, O Cato! than Numidia's empire.Enter PortiusPor. Misfortune on misfortune! grief on grief!My brother Marcus —Cato. Ha! what has he done?Has he forsook his post? Has he given way?Did he look tamely on, and let them pass?Por. Scarce had I left my father, but I met himBorne on the shields of his surviving soldiers,Breathless and pale, and cover'd o'er with wounds.Long, at the head of his few faithful friends,He stood the shock of a whole host of foes,Till, obstinately brave, and bent on death,Oppress'd with multitudes, he greatly fell.Cato. I'm satisfied.Por. Nor did he fall, beforeHis sword had pierced thro' the false heart of Syphax.Yonder he lies. I saw the hoary traitorGrin in the pangs of death, and bite the ground.Cato. Thanks to the gods, my boy has done his duty.– Portius, when I am dead, be sure you placeHis 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. – Senators attendingCato. Welcome, my son! Here lay him down, my friends,Full in my sight, that I may view at leisureThe bloody corse, and count those glorious wounds.– How beautiful is death, when earn'd by virtue!Who would not be that youth? What pity is it,That we can die but once, to serve our country!– Why sits this sadness on your brows, my friends?I should have blush'd, if Cato's house had stoodSecure, and flourish'd in a civil war.Portius, behold thy brother, and remember,Thy life is not thy own when Rome demands it.Jub. Was ever man like this!Cato. Alas, my friends,Why mourn you thus? let not a private lossAfflict your hearts. 'Tis Rome requires our tears,The mistress of the world, the seat of empire,The nurse of heroes, the delight of gods,That humbled the proud tyrants of the earth,And set the nations free; Rome is no more.Oh, liberty! Oh, virtue! Oh, my country!Jub. Behold that upright man! Rome fills his eyesWith tears, that flow'd not o'er his own dear son.[Aside.Cato. Whate'er the Roman virtue has subdued,The sun's whole course, the day and year, are Cæsar's:For him the self-devoted Decii died,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, cursed ambition!Fall'n into Cæsar's hands! Our great forefathersHad left him nought to conquer but his country.Jub. While Cato lives, Cæsar will blush to seeMankind enslaved, and be ashamed of empire.Cato. Cæsar ashamed! Has he not seen Pharsalia?Luc. 'Tis time thou save thyself and us.Cato. Lose not a thought on me; I'm out of danger:Heaven will not leave me in the victor's hand.Cæsar shall never say, he conquer'd Cato.But oh, my friends! your safety fills my heartWith anxious thoughts; a thousand secret terrorsRise in my soul. How shall I save my friends?'Tis now, O Cæsar, I begin to fear thee!Luc. Cæsar has mercy, if we ask it of him.Cato. Then ask it, I conjure you; let him know,Whate'er was done against him, Cato did it.Add, if you please, that I request of him, —That I myself, with tears, request it of him, —The virtue of my friends may pass unpunish'd.Juba, my heart is troubled for thy sake.Should I advise thee to regain Numidia,Or seek the conqueror?Jub. If I forsake theeWhilst I have life, may Heaven abandon Juba!Cato. Thy virtues, prince, if I foresee aright,Will one day make thee great; at Rome, hereafter,'Twill be no crime to have been Cato's friend.Portius, draw near: my son, thou oft hast seenThy sire engaged in a corrupted state,Wrestling with vice and faction: now thou see'st meSpent, overpower'd, despairing of success.Let me advise thee to retreat betimesTo thy paternal seat, the Sabine field;Where the great Censor toil'd with his own hands,And all our frugal ancestors were bless'dIn humble virtues, and a rural life;There live retired, pray for the peace of Rome;Content thyself to be obscurely good.When vice prevails, and impious men bear sway,The post of honour is a private station.Por. I hope my father does not recommendA life to Portius that he scorns himself.Cato. Farewell, my friends! If there be any of youWho dare not trust the victor's clemency,Know there are ships prepared, by my command,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 meetIn 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 fired,Who greatly in his country's cause expired,Shall know he conquer'd. The firm patriot 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 THE FIFTH
SCENE IA ChamberCato 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 himCato. It must be so – Plato, thou reason'st well —Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,This longing after immortality?Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror,Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soulBack on herself, and startles at destruction?'Tis the divinity that stirs within us;'Tis Heav'n itself that points out an hereafter,And intimates eternity to man.Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!Through what variety of untried being,Through what new scenes and changes must we pass?The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me;But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it.Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us(And that there is, all Nature cries aloudThrough all her works), He must delight in virtue;And that which He delights in must be happy.But when, or where? – this world was made for Cæsar:I'm weary of conjectures – this must end them.[Laying his hand upon his sword.Thus am I doubly arm'd: my death and life,My bane and antidote, are both before me.This in a moment brings me to an end;But this informs me I shall never die.The soul, secured in her existence, smilesAt the drawn dagger, and defies its point.The stars shall fade away, the sun himselfGrow dim with age, and nature sink in years,But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,Unhurt amidst the war of elements,The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.What means this heaviness, that hangs upon me?This lethargy, that creeps through all my senses?Nature, oppress'd and harass'd out with care,Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favour her,That my awaken'd soul may take her flight,Renew'd in all her strength, and fresh with life,An offering lit for Heav'n. Let guilt or fearDisturb man's rest, Cato knows neither of them,Indiff'rent in his choice to sleep or die.Enter PortiusBut, hah! who's this? my son! Why this intrusion?Were not my orders that I would be private?Why am I disobey'd?Por. Alas, my father!What means this sword, this instrument of death?Let me convey it hence.Cato. Rash youth, forbear!Por. Oh, let the pray'rs, th' entreaties of your friends,Their tears, their common danger, wrest it from you!Cato. Wouldst thou betray me? Wouldst thou give me up,A slave, a captive, into Cæsar's hands?Retire, and learn obedience to a father,Or know, young man —Por. Look not thus sternly on me;You know, I'd rather die than disobey you.Cato. 'Tis well! again I'm master of myself.Now, Cæsar, let thy troops beset our gates,And bar each avenue; thy gath'ring fleetsO'erspread the sea, and stop up ev'ry port;Cato shall open to himself a passage,And mock thy hopes. —Por. Oh, sir! forgive your son,Whose grief hangs heavy on him. Oh, my father!How am I sure it is not the last timeI e'er shall call you so? Be not displeased,Oh, be not angry with me whilst I weep,And, in the anguish of my heart, beseech youTo quit the dreadful purpose of your soul!Cato. Thou hast been ever good and dutiful.[Embracing him.Weep not, my son, all will be well again;The righteous gods, whom I have sought to please,Will succour Cato, and preserve his children.Por. Your words give comfort to my drooping heart.Cato. Portius, thou may'st rely upon my conduct:Thy father will not act what misbecomes him.But go, my son, and see if aught be wantingAmong thy father's friends; see them embark'd,And tell me if the winds and seas befriend them.My soul is quite weigh'd down with care, and asksThe soft refreshment of a moment's sleep.Por. My thoughts are more at ease, my heart revives —[Exit Cato.Enter MarciaOh, Marcia! Oh, my sister, still there's hopeOur father will not cast away a lifeSo needful to us all, and to his country.He is retired to rest, and seems to cherishThoughts full of peace. – He has dispatch'd me henceWith orders that bespeak a mind composed,And studious for the safety of his friends.Marcia, take care, that none disturb his slumbers. [Exit.Marcia. Oh, ye immortal powers, that guard the just,Watch round his couch, and soften his repose,Banish his sorrows, and becalm his soulWith easy dreams; remember all his virtues,And show mankind that goodness is your care!Enter LuciaLucia. Where is your father, Marcia; where is Cato?Marcia. Lucia, speak low, he is retired to rest.Lucia, I feel a gentle dawning hopeRise in my soul – We shall be happy still.Lucia. Alas, I tremble when I think on Cato!In every view, in every thought, I tremble!Cato is stern and awful as a god;He knows not how to wink at human frailty,Or pardon weakness, that he never felt.Marcia. Though stern and awful to the foes of Rome,He is all goodness, Lucia, always mild;Compassionate and gentle to his friends;Fill'd with domestic tenderness, the best,The kindest father; I have ever found himEasy and good, and bounteous to my wishes.Lucia. 'Tis his consent alone can make us blest.Marcia, we both are equally involvedIn the same intricate, perplex'd distress.The cruel hand of fate, that has destroy'dThy brother Marcus, whom we both lament —Marcia. And ever shall lament; unhappy youth!Lucia. Has set my soul at large, and now I standLoose of my vow. But who knows Cato's thoughts?Who knows how yet he may dispose of Portius,Or how he has determined of himself?Marcia. Let him but live, commit the rest to Heav'n.Enter LuciusLuc. 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 fall'n upon him:I saw him stretch'd at ease; his fancy lostIn pleasing dreams; as I drew near his couch,He smiled, and cried, "Cæsar, thou canst not hurt me."Marcia. His mind still labours with some dreadful thought.Enter JubaJub. Lucius, the horsemen are return'd from viewingThe 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 sunPlays on their shining arms and burnish'd helmets,And covers all the field with gleams of fire.Luc. Marcia, 'tis time we should awake thy father.Cæsar is still disposed to give us terms,And waits at distance, till he hears from Cato.Enter PortiusPortius, thy looks speak somewhat of importance,What tidings dost thou bring? Methinks, I seeUnusual gladness sparkle in thy eyes.Por. As I was hasting to the port, where nowMy father's friends, impatient for a passage,Accuse the ling'ring winds, a sail arrivedFrom Pompey's son, who, through the realms of 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 RomeAssert 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.Luc. Cato, amidst his slumbers, thinks on Rome,And, in the wild disorder of his soul,Mourns o'er his country. – Ha! a second groan —Heav'n guard us all!Marcia. Alas, 'tis not the voiceOf one who sleeps; 'tis agonizing pain —'Tis death is in that sound —Enter PortiusPor. Oh, sight of woe!Oh, Marcia, what we fear'd is come to pass —Cato has fall'n upon his sword —Luc. Oh, Portius,Hide all the horrors of thy mournful tale,And let me guess the rest.Por. I've raised him up,And placed him in his chair; where pale and faint,He 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! —Marcia. Oh, Heav'n! assist me in this dreadful hour,To pay the last sad duties to my father!Cato brought on, in a ChairCato. 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 —Marcia, my daughter —Oh, bend me forward! – Juba loves thee, Marcia —A senator of Rome, while Rome survived,Would not have match'd his daughter with a king —But Cæsar's arms have thrown down all distinction —I'm sick to death – Oh, when shall I get looseFrom this vain world, th' abode of guilt and sorrow!And yet, methinks, a beam of light breaks inOn my departing soul – Alas, I fearI've been too hasty! – Oh, ye powers, that searchThe 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! – [Dies.Por. There fled the greatest soul that ever warm'dA 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. [Exeunt omnes.THE END