Joseph Addison

“ Numidia's spacious kingdom lies behind us, Ready to rise at its young prince's call. While there is hope, do not distrust the gods; But wait, at least, till Cæsar's near approach Force us to yield. 'Twill never be too late To sue for chains, and own a conqueror. Why should Rome fall a moment ere her time? No, let us draw her term of freedom out In its full length, and spin it to the last, So shall we gain still one day's liberty; And let me perish, but in Cato's judgment, A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty, Is worth a whole eternity in bondage. Enter Marcus. ”

“ Marcia. 'Tis therefore, Lucia, that I chide him from me; His air, his voice, his looks, and honest soul, Speak all so movingly in his behalf, I dare not trust myself to hear him talk. Lucia. Why will you fight against so sweet a passion, And steel your heart to such a world of charms? Marcia. How, Lucia! wouldst thou have me sink away In pleasing dreams, and lose myself in love, When ev'ry moment Cato's life's at stake? Cæsar comes arm'd with terror and revenge, And aims his thunder at my father's head. Should not the sad occasion swallow up My other cares? Lucia. ”

“ Lucia, I feel a gentle dawning hope Rise 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 him Easy and good, and bounteous to my wishes. Lucia. 'Tis his consent alone can make us blest. ”

“ Thy awful sire Sternly demands the cause, the accursed cause, That robs him of his son: poor Marcia trembles, Then tears her hair, and, frantic in her griefs, Calls out on Lucia. What could Lucia answer, Or how stand up in such a scene of sorrow? Por. To my confusion and eternal grief, I must approve the sentence that destroys me. Lucia. Portius, no more; thy words shoot through my heart, Melt my resolves, and turn me all to love. Why are those tears of fondness in thy eyes? Why heaves thy heart? Why swells thy soul with sorrow? It softens me too much—Farewell, my Portius! ”

“ In vain has nature form'd Mountains and oceans t'oppose his passage; He bounds o'er all. One day more Will set the victor thund'ring at our gates. But, tell me, hast thou yet drawn o'er young Juba? That still would recommend thee more to Cæsar, And challenge better terms. Syph. Alas! he's lost! He's lost, Sempronius; all his thoughts are full Of Cato's virtues—But I'll try once more (For every instant I expect him here) If yet I can subdue those stubborn principles Of faith and honour, and I know not what, That have corrupted his Numidian temper, And struck th' infection into all his soul. ”

“ Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't discern What virtues grow from ignorance and choice, Nor how the hero differs from the brute. Where shall we find the man that bears affliction, Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato? How does he rise against a load of woes, And thank the gods that threw the weight upon him! Syph. 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of soul; I think the Romans call it stoicism. Had not your royal father thought so highly Of Roman virtue, and of Cato's cause, He had not fall'n by a slave's hand inglorious. Jub. Why dost thou call my sorrows up afresh? ”

“ 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 stood Secure, 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 loss Afflict 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 ”

“ Or guides in troops th' embattled elephant Laden with war? These, these are arts, my prince, In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome. Jub. These all are virtues of a meaner rank: Perfections that are placed in bones and nerves. A Roman soul is bent on higher views; Turn up thy eyes to Cato; There may'st thou see to what a godlike height The Roman virtues lift up mortal man. While good, and just, and anxious for his friends, He's still severely bent against himself; And when his fortune sets before him all The pomps and pleasures that his soul can wish, His rigid virtue will accept of none. ”

“ Cato. Fathers, we once again are met in council; Cæsar's approach has summon'd us together, And Rome attends her fate from our resolves. How shall we treat this bold aspiring man? Success still follows him, and backs his crimes; Pharsalia gave him Rome, Egypt has since Received his yoke, and the whole Nile is Cæsar's. Why should I mention Juba's overthrow, And Scipio's death? Numidia's burning sands Still smoke with blood. 'Tis time we should decree What course to take. Our foe advances on us, And envies us even Lybia's sultry deserts. ”

“ Sem. Be sure to press upon him every motive. Juba's surrender, since his father's death, Would give up Afric into Cæsar's hands, And make him lord of half the burning zone. Syph. But is it true, Sempronius, that your senate Is call'd together? Gods! thou must be cautious; Cato has piercing eyes, and will discern Our frauds, unless they're cover'd thick with art. Sem. Let me alone, good Syphax, I'll conceal My thoughts in passion ('tis the surest way) ; I'll bellow out for Rome, and for my country, And mouth at Cæsar, till I shake the senate. ”

“ 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 gain Thy praise, O Cato! than Numidia's empire. Enter Portius. Por. Misfortune on misfortune! ”

“ Gods! can a Roman senate long debate Which of the two to chuse, slav'ry or death! No; let us rise at once, gird on our swords, And, at the head of our remaining troops, Attack the foe, break through the thick array Of his throng'd legions, and charge home upon him. Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage. Rise, fathers, rise! 'tis Rome demands your help; Rise, and revenge her slaughter'd citizens, Or share their fate!— To battle! Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow; And Scipio's ghost walks unrevenged amongst us. Cato. ”

“ These are not ills; else would they never fall On Heav'n's first fav'rites, and the best of men. The gods, in bounty, work up storms about us, That give mankind occasion to exert Their hidden strength, and throw out into practice Virtues, which shun the day, and lie conceal'd In the smooth seasons and the calms of life. Jub. I'm charm'd, whene'er thou talk'st; I pant for virtue, And all my soul endeavours at perfection. Cato. Dost thou love watchings, abstinence, and toil, Laborious virtues all? Learn them from Cato; Success and fortune must thou learn from Cæsar. ”

“ Syphax, this old man's talk, though honey flow'd In ev'ry word, would now lose all its sweetness. Cato's displeased, and Marcia lost for ever. Syph. Young prince, I yet could give you good advice; Marcia might still be yours. Jub. As how, dear Syphax? Syph. Juba commands Numidia's hardy troops, Mounted on steeds unused to the restraint Of curbs or bits, and fleeter than the winds: Give but the word, we snatch this damsel up, And bear her off. Jub. Can such dishonest thoughts Rise up in man? Wouldst thou seduce my youth To do an act that would destroy mine honour? ”

“ This dread of nations, this almighty Rome, That comprehends in her wide empire's bounds All under Heav'n, was founded on a rape; Your Scipios, Cæsars, Pompeys, and your Catos (The gods on earth) , are all the spurious blood Of violated maids, of ravish'd Sabines. Jub. Syphax, I fear that hoary head of thine Abounds too much in our Numidian wiles. Syph. Indeed, my prince, you want to know the world. Jub. If knowledge of the world makes men perfidious, May Juba ever live in ignorance! Syph. Go, go; you're young. Jub. Gods, must I tamely bear This arrogance, unanswer'd! ”

“ 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 multitudes 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? ”

“ Already Cæsar Has ravaged more than half the globe, and sees Mankind grown thin by his destructive sword: Should he go farther, numbers would be wanting To form new battles, and support his crimes. Ye gods, what havoc does ambition make Among your works! Marc. Thy steady temper, Portius, Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Cæsar, In the calm lights of mild philosophy; I'm tortured e'en to madness, when I think On the proud victor—ev'ry time he's named, Pharsalia rises to my view!—I see Th' insulting tyrant, prancing o'er the field, Strew'd with Rome's citizens, and drench'd in slaughter ”

“ Scythia mourns Our guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome: 'Tis time to sheathe the sword, and spare mankind. Already have we shown our love to Rome, Now let us show submission to the gods. We took up arms, not to revenge ourselves, But free the commonwealth; when this end fails, Arms have no further use. Our country's cause, That drew our swords, now wrests them from our hands. And bids us not delight in Roman blood, Unprofitably shed. What men could do, Is done already: Heav'n and earth will witness, If Rome must fall, that we are innocent. Cato. ”

“ A drawn Sword on the Table by him.
Cato. 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 soul Back 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. ”

“ Enter Juba. Jub. Lucius, the horsemen are return'd from viewing 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, 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 Portius. Portius, thy looks speak somewhat of importance, What tidings dost thou bring? ”

“ Marcus, the friendships of the world are oft Confed'racies in vice, or leagues of pleasure; Ours has severest virtue for its basis, And such a friendship ends not but with life. Marc. Portius, thou know'st my soul in all its weakness; Then, pr'ythee, spare me on its tender side; Indulge me but in love, my other passions Shall rise and fall by virtue's nicest rules. Por. When love's well-timed, 'tis not a fault to love. The strong, the brave, the virtuous, and the wise, Sink in the soft captivity together. ”

“ If there's a Power above us (And that there is, all Nature cries aloud Through 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. ”

“ Young men soon give, and soon forget, affronts; Old age is slow in both—A false old traitor! These words, rash boy, may chance to cost thee dear. My heart had still some foolish fondness for thee; But hence, 'tis gone! I give it to the winds: Cæsar, I'm wholly thine. Enter Sempronius. All hail, Sempronius! Well, Cato's senate is resolved to wait The fury of a siege, before it yields. Sem. Syphax, we both were on the verge of fate; Lucius declared for peace, and terms were offer'd To Cato, by a messenger from Cæsar. ”

“ Alas, thou talk'st like one that never felt Th' impatient throbs and longings of a soul, That pants and reaches after distant good! A lover does not live by vulgar time; Believe me, Portius, in my Lucia's absence Life hangs upon me, and becomes a burden ”