r these my friends,
And make good use of his ill-gotten pow'r,
By sheltering men much better than himself.

_Dec._ Your high, unconquer'd heart makes you forget
You are a man. You rush on your destruction.
But I have done. When I relate hereafter
The tale of this unhappy embassy,
All Rome will be in tears. [_Exit_ DECIUS.

_Sem._ Cato, we thank thee.
The mighty genius of immortal Rome
Speaks in thy voice; thy soul breathes liberty.
Caesar will shrink to hear the words thou utter'st,
And shudder in the midst of all his conquests.

_Luc._ The senate owns its gratitude to Cato,
Who with so great a soul consults its safety,
And guards our lives, while he neglects his own.

_Sem._ Sempronius gives no thanks on this account.
Lucius seems fond of life; but what is life?
'Tis not to stalk about, and draw fresh air
From time to time, or gaze upon the sun;
'Tis to be free. When liberty is gone,
Life grows insipid.

_Cato._ Come; no more, Sempronius;
All here are friends to Rome, and to each other.
Let us not weaken still the weaker side
By our divisions.

_Sem._ Cato, my resentments
Are sacrificed to Rome--I stand reproved.

_Cato._ Fathers, 'tis time you come to a resolve.

_Luc._ Cato, we all go in to your opinion;
Caesar's behaviour has convinced the senate
We ought to hold it out till terms arrive.

_Sem._ We ought to hold it out till death; but, Cato,
My private voice is drown'd amidst the senate's.

_Cato._ Then let us rise, my friends, and strive to fill
This little interval, this pause of life
(While yet our liberty and fates are doubtful)
With resolution, friendship, Roman bravery,
And all the virtues we can crowd into it;
That Heav'n may say, it ought to be prolong'd.
Fathers, farewell--The young Numidian prince
Comes forward, and expects to know our counsels. [_Exeunt_ SENATORS.

_Enter_ JUBA.

Juba, the Roman senate has resolved,
Till time give better prospects, still to keep
The sword unsheathed, and turn its edge on Caesar.

_Jub._ The resolution fits a Roman senate.
But, Cato, lend me for a while thy patience,
And condescend to hear a young man speak.
My father, when, some days before his death,
He order'd me to march for Utica,
(Alas! I thought not then his death so near!)
Wept o'er me, press'd me in his aged arms,
And, as his griefs gave way, "My son," said he,
"Whatever fortune shall befal thy father,
Be Cato's friend; he'll train thee up to great
And virtuous deeds; do b