ACT V. SCEN. I. CATO folus, &c. SIC, fic fe habere rem neceffe prorfus eft, Ratione vincis, do lubens manus, Plato. Natura? Quorfum haec dulcis expectatio; Quae demigrabitur alia hinc in corpora? (Ensi manum admovens, IT ACT V. SCENE I. CATO alone, &c. T must be fo-Plato, thou reason'st well- Or whence this fecret dread, and inward horror, 'Tis heav'n itself, that points out an hereafter, Eternity! thou pleafing, dreadful, thought! Through what variety of untry'd being, Through what new fcenes and changes muft we pass! The wide, th' unbounded profpect, lies before me; But fhadows, clouds, and darkness reft upon it. Here will I hold. If there's a pow'r 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 Cafar; 'm weary of conjectures This must end 'em. (Laying his hand on his sword.) In utramque partem facta; quaeque vim inferant, Thus am I doubly arm'd; my death and life, This in a moment brings me to an end; The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds. 9 THE fame faculty of reafon and understanding, which placeth us above the brute part of the creation, doth alfo fubject our minds to greater and more manifold difquiets than creatures of an inferior rank are fenfible of. It is by this that we anticipate future disasters, and oft create to ourselves real pain from imaginary evils, as well as multiply the pangs arifing from those which cannot be avoided. It behoves us therefore to make the best use of that fublime talent, which, fo long as it continues the inftrument of paffion, will ferve only to make us more miferable, in proportion as we are more excellent than other beings. It is the privilege of a thinking being to withdraw from the objects that folicit his fenfes, and turn his thoughts inward on himself. For my own part, I often mitigate the pain arifing from the little misfortunes and disappointments that chequer human life by this introverfion of my faculties, wherein I regard my own foul as the image of her Creator, and receive great confolation from beholding those perfections which teftify her divine original, and lead me into fome knowledge of her everlasting archetype. But there is not any property or circumftance of my being that I contemplate with more joy than my immortality. I can easily overlook my present momentary forrow, when I reflect that it is in my power to be happy a thousand years hence. If it were not for this thought, I had rather be an oyster than a man, the most stupid and |