Marc. 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!
Luc. What can I think or fay to give thee Comfort?
Marc. Talk not of Comfort, 'tis for lighter Ills:
Behold a Sight, that ftrikes all Comfort dead,

Enter Juba liftning.

I will indulge my Sorrows, and give way
To all the Pangs and Fury of Despair,

That Man, that beft of Men, deferv'd it from me.
Jub. What do I hear? and was the false Sempronius
That beft of Men? O had I fall'n like him,

And cou'd have thus been mourn'd, I had been happy!
Luc. Here will I ftand, Companion in thy Woes,
And help thee with my Tears, when I behold
A Lofs like thine, I half forget my own.

Marc. 'Tis not in Fate to ease my tortur'd Breaft.
This empty World, to me a joyless Defart,
Has nothing left to make poor Marcia happy.

Jub. I'm on the Rack! Was he so near her Heart ?
Marc. O he was all made up of Love and Charms,
Whatever Maid cou'd wish, or Man admire:
Delight of ev'ry Eye! When he appear'd,
A fecret Pleasure gladned all that saw him;
But when he talk'd, the proudest Roman blush'd
To hear his Virtues, and old Age grew wife.
Jub. I fhall run Mad

--

Marc. O Juba! Juba! Juba!

Jub. What means that Voice? did the not call on Juba? Marc. Why do I think on what he was! he's dead! He's dead, and never knew how much I lov'd him. Lucia, who knows but his poor bleeding Heart, Amidft its Agonies, remember'd Marcia, And the last Words he utter'd call'd me Cruel! Alas, he knew not, hapless Youth, he knew not

!

Marcia's

Marcia's whole Soul was full of Love and Juba!
Juba. Where am I! do I live! or am indeed
What Marcia thinks! all is Elysium round me!

Marc. Ye dear Remains of the most lov'd of Men!
Nor Modefty nor Virtue here forbid

A laft Embrace, while thus

Jub. See, Marcia, see

[Throwing himself before hers

The happy Juba lives! he lives to catch

That dear Embrace, and to return it too

With mutual Warmth and Eagerness of Love.

Mart. With Pleasure and Amaze, I stand transported! Sure 'tis a Dream! Dead and Alive at once!

If thou art Juba, who lies there?

Jub. A Wretch,

Disguised like Juba on a curs'd Defign.
The Tale is long, nor have I heard it out,
Thy Father knows it all. I could not bear
To leave thee in the Neighbourhood of Death,
But flew, in all the hafte of Love to find thee;
I found thee weeping, and confefs this once,
Am wrapp'd with Joy to fee my Marcia's Tears.

Marc. I've been furprized in an unguarded Hour,
But must not now go back: The Love, that lay
Half smother'd in my Breaft, has broke through all
Its weak Reftraints, and burns in its full Luftre,
I cannot, if I wou'd, conceal it from thee.

Jub. I'm loft in Ecstasy! and doft thou Love,
Thou charming Maid?

Marc. And doft thou Live to ask it?

Jub. This, this is Life indeed! Life worth preferving,

Such Life as Juba never felt till now!

Marc. Believe me, Prince, before I thought thee dead, I did not know my felf how much I lov'd thee. Jub. O fortunate Mistake!

Marc. O happy Marcia!

Fub. My Joy! my best Beloved! my only Vish!

How

How fhall I speak the Transport of my Soul!
Marc. Lucia, thy Arm! Oh let me reft upon it!----
The Vital Blood, that had forfook my Heart,
Returns again in fuch tumultuous Tides,

It quite o'ercomes me. Lead me to my Apartment.--
O Prince! I blush to think what I have faid,
But Fate has wrefted the Confeffion from me;
Go on, and profper in the Paths of Honour.
Thy Virtue will excufe my Paffion for thee,
And make the Gods propitious to our Love.

[Ex. Marc. and Luc

Jub. I am fo bleft, I fear 'tis all a Dream, Fortune, thou now haft made amends for all Thy paft Unkindness, I abfolve my Stars. What tho' Numidia add her conquer'd Towns And Provinces to fwell the Victor's Triumph? Juba will never at his Fate repine;

Let Cafar have the World, if Marcia's mine.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

A March at a Distance.

Enter Cato, and Lucius.

Luc. I ftand aftonifh'd! What, the bold Sempronius! That ftill broke foremost through the Crow'd of Patriots As with a Hurricane of Zeal transported,

And virtuous ev'n to Madness---

Cato. Trust me, Lucius,

Our Civil Discords have produced fuch Crimes,
Such monftrous Crimes, I am furprized at nothing.
-----O Lucius, I am fick of this bad World!
The Day-light and the Sun grow painful to me.

Enter

Enter Portius.

But fee where Portius comes! what means this Hafte?
Why are thy Looks thus changed?

Port. My Heart is griev'd.

I bring fuch News as will afflict my Father.
Cato. Has Cafar fhed more Roman Blood?
Port. Not fo.

The Traitor Syphax, as within the Square
He exercifed his Troops, the Signal given,
Flew off at once with his Numidian Horfe
To the South Gate, where Marcus holds the Watch.
I saw, and call'd to stop him but in vain,
He toft his Arm aloft, and proudly told me,
He would not ftay and perish like Sempronius.
Cato. Perfidious Men! but hafte, my Son, and fee
Thy Brother Marcus acts a Roman's Part.

[Exit Portius.
-Lucius, the Torrent bears too hard upon me:
Juftice gives Way to Force: the conquer'd World
Is Cafar's: Cato has no Bufinefs in it.

Luc. While Pride, Oppreffion, and Injuftice reign, The World will ftill demand her Cato's Prefence.

In Pity to Mankind, fubmit to Cafar,

And reconcile thy mighty Soul to Life.

Cato. Would Lucius have me live to fwell the Number

Of Cafar's Slaves, or by a base Submission

Give up the Cause of Rome, and own a Tyrant?
Luc. The Victor never will impose on Cato

Ungen'rous Terms. His Enemies confefs

The Virtues of Humanity are Cafar's.

Cato. Curfe on his Virtues! They've undone his Country.

Such Popular Humanity is Treafon---

But fee young Juba! the good Youth appears

Full of the Guilt of his perfidious Subjects.

Luc. Alas, poor Prince! his Fate deferves Compaffion.

Enter Juba.

Fub. I blush, and am confounded to appear
Before thy Prefence, Cato.
Cato. What's thy Crime?
Fub. I'm a Numidian.

Gate. And a brave one too,
Thou haft a Roman Soul.
Jub. Haft thou not heard
Of my falfe Countrymen ?

Cato. Alas, young Prince,

Falfhood and Fraud fhoot up in ev'ry Soil,
The Product of all Climes-----Rome has its Cafars.
Jub. 'T'is gen'rous thus to comfort the Distress'd.
Cato. 'Tis juft to give Applause where 'tis deserv'd :
Thy Virtue, Prince, has ftood the Test of Fortune,
Like purest Gold, that, tortur'd in the Furnace,
Comes out more bright, and brings forth all its Weight.
Jub. What fhall I answer thee? my ravish'd Heart
O'erflows with fecret Joy: I'd rather gain
Thy Praife, O Cato, than Numidia's Empire.

Por. Misfortune on Misfortune! Grief on Grief!

My Brother Marcus--------

Cato. Hah! what has he done?

Has he forfook his Poft? has he giv'n Way?
Did he look tamely on, and let 'em pass?

Por. Scarce had I left my Father, but I met him
Born on the Shields of his furviving Soldiers,
Breathless and pale, and cover'd v'er with Wounds.
Long, at the Head of his few faithful Friends,
He ftood the Shock of a whole Hoft of Foes,
'Till obftinately brave, and bent on Death,
Oppreft with Multitudes he greatly fell.
Cato. I'm fatisfy'd.