Demands to see his friends. His fervants weeping,

Obsequious to his orders, bear him hither.

[The back scene opens, and discovers Cato

MARCIA.

O heaven, assist me in this dreadful hour

To pay the last sad duties to my father.

JUBA.

These are thy triumphs, thy exploits, O Cafar!

LUCIUS.

Now is Rome fallen indeed!

[Cato brought forward in his chair.

CATO.

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.
- Lucius, art thou here?--Thou art too good
Let this our friendship live between our children;
Make Portius happy in thy daughter Lucia.
Alas, poor man, he weeps!-Marcia, my daughter-
-O bend me forward! - Juba loves thee, Marcia.
A fenator of Rome, while Rome furvived,
Would not have match'd his daughter with a king,
But Cæfar's arms have thrown down all distinction :
Whoe'er is brave and virtuous, is a Roman-

-I'm fick to death

when shall I get loofe

From this vain world, th' abode of guilt and forrow!-And

-And yet methinks a beam of light breaks in
On my departing foul. Alas, I fear

I've been too hasty. O ye pow'rs, that search

The heart of man, and weigh its inmost thoughts,
If I have done amiss, impute it not!-

The best may err, but you are good, and-oh! [Dies;

LUCIU S.

There fled the greatest foul that ever warm'd

A Roman breast; O Cato! O my friend!
Thy will shall be religiously observ'd.
But let us bear this awful corps to Cæfar,
And lay it in his sight, that it may stand
A fence betwixt us and the victor's wrath;
Cato, tho' dead, shall still protect his friends.

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.

ΕΡΙ

EPILOGUE

W

By Dr. GARTH.

Spoken by Mrs. PORTER.

HAT odd fantastic things we women do!
Who wou'd not listen when young lovers woo?

But die a maid, yet have the choice of two!
Ladies are often cruel to their cost;

To give you pain, themselves they punish most.
Vows of virginity should well be weigh'd;
Too oft they're cancell'd, tho' in convents made.
Would you revenge such rash refolves you may:
Be spiteful! and believe the thing we say;
We hate you when you're eafily faid nay.
How needless, if you knew us, were your fears?
Let love have eyes, and beauty will have ears.
Our hearts are form'd as you yourselves would choose,
Too proud to ask, too humble to refuse:

We give to merit, and to wealth we fell;

He fighs with most success that settles well.
The woes of wedlock with the joys we mix:

Tis best repenting in a coach and fix.

}

With

Blame

Blame not our conduct, since we but pursue Those lively lessons we have learn'd from you, Your breasts no more the fire of beauty warms, But wicked wealth ufurps the power of charms; What pains to get gaudy the thing you hate! To swell in show, and be a wretch in state! At plays you ogle, at the ring you bows Even churches are no fanctuaries now: There, golden idols all your vows receive, She is no goddess that has nought to give. Oh, may once more the happy age appear, When words were artsess, and the thoughts sincere, When gold and grandeur were unenvy'd things, And courts less coveted than groves and springs. Love then shall only mourn when truth complains, And constancy feel transport in its chains; Sighs with success their own foft anguish tell, And eyes shall utter what the lips conceal: Virtue again to its bright station climb, And beauty fear no enemy but time; The fair shall listen to defert alone, And every Lucia find a Cate's fon.

To To Her ROYAL HIGHNESS the

PRINCESS of WALES,

With the Tragedy of CATO, Νου. 1714.

T

HE muse that oft, with sacred raptures fir'd,
Has gen'rous thoughts of liberty inspir'd,

And, boldly rising for Britannia's laws,
Engag'd great Cato in her country's cause,
On you submissive waits, with hopes assur'd,
By whom the mighty blessing stands secur'd,
And all the glories, that our age adorn,
Are promis'd to a people yet unborn.

No longer shall the widow'd land bemoan
A broken lineage, and a doubtful throne;
But boast her royal progeny's increase,
And count the pledges of her future peace.
O born to strengthen and to grace our isle!
While you, fair PRINCESS, in your offspring fimile,
Supplying charms to the succeeding age,
Each heav'nly daughter's triumphs we presage;
Already fee th' illuftrious youths complain,
And pity monarchs doom'd to figh in vain.
Thou too, the darling of our fond defires,
Whom Albion, opening wide her arms, requires,