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CATO.
Break out, and burn with more triumphant brightness!
His suff'rings shine, and spread a glory round him;
Greatly unfortunate, he fights the cause
Of honour, virtue, liberty, and Rome.
His sword ne'er fell but on the guilty head;
Oppression, tyranny, and pow'r usurp'd,
Draw all the vengeance of his arm upon 'em.
Marc.Who knows not this? but what can Cato do
Against a world, a base, degen'rate world,
That courts the yoke, and bows the neck to Cesar?
Pent up in Utica, he vainly forms
A poor epitome of Roman greatness,
And, cover'd with Numidian guards, directs
A feeble army, and an empty senate,
Remnants of mighty battles fought in vain.
By heav'ns, such virtues, join'd with such success,
Distract my very soul: our father's fortune
Would almost tempt us to renounce his precepts.
Por.Remember what our father oft has told us:
The ways of heav'n are dark and intricate;
Puzzled in mazes, and perplex'd with errors;
Our understanding traces 'em in vain,
Lost and bewilder'd in the fruitless search:
Nor sees with how much art the windings run,
Nor where the regular confusion ends.
Marc.These are suggestions of a mind at ease:
Oh, Portius, didst thou taste but half the griefs
That wring my soul, thou coud'st not talk thus coldly:
Passion unpity'd, and successless love,
Plant daggers in my heart, and aggravate
My other griefs. Were but my Lucia kind!———
Por.Thou see'st not that thy brother is thy rival:
But I must hide it, for I know thy temper.[Aside.
Now, Marcus, now thy virtue's on the proof:
Put forth thy utmost strength, work ev'ry nerve,
And call up all thy father in thy soul:
To quell the tyrant love, and guard thy heart
On this weak side, where most our nature fails,
Would be a conquest worthy Cato's son.
Marc.Portius, the counsel which I cannot take,
Instead of healing, but upbraids my weakness,
His suff'rings shine, and spread a glory round him;
Greatly unfortunate, he fights the cause
Of honour, virtue, liberty, and Rome.
His sword ne'er fell but on the guilty head;
Oppression, tyranny, and pow'r usurp'd,
Draw all the vengeance of his arm upon 'em.
Marc.Who knows not this? but what can Cato do
Against a world, a base, degen'rate world,
That courts the yoke, and bows the neck to Cesar?
Pent up in Utica, he vainly forms
A poor epitome of Roman greatness,
And, cover'd with Numidian guards, directs
A feeble army, and an empty senate,
Remnants of mighty battles fought in vain.
By heav'ns, such virtues, join'd with such success,
Distract my very soul: our father's fortune
Would almost tempt us to renounce his precepts.
Por.Remember what our father oft has told us:
The ways of heav'n are dark and intricate;
Puzzled in mazes, and perplex'd with errors;
Our understanding traces 'em in vain,
Lost and bewilder'd in the fruitless search:
Nor sees with how much art the windings run,
Nor where the regular confusion ends.
Marc.These are suggestions of a mind at ease:
Oh, Portius, didst thou taste but half the griefs
That wring my soul, thou coud'st not talk thus coldly:
Passion unpity'd, and successless love,
Plant daggers in my heart, and aggravate
My other griefs. Were but my Lucia kind!———
Por.Thou see'st not that thy brother is thy rival:
But I must hide it, for I know thy temper.[Aside.
Now, Marcus, now thy virtue's on the proof:
Put forth thy utmost strength, work ev'ry nerve,
And call up all thy father in thy soul:
To quell the tyrant love, and guard thy heart
On this weak side, where most our nature fails,
Would be a conquest worthy Cato's son.
Marc.Portius, the counsel which I cannot take,
Instead of healing, but upbraids my weakness,
Bid
