my bosom swell with anxious joy,
When I behold her struggling in my arms,
With glowing beauty, and disorder'd charms,
While fear and anger, with alternate grace,
Pant in her breast, and vary in her face!
So Pluto seized off Proserpine, convey'd
To hell's tremendous gloom th' affrighted maid;
There grimly smiled, pleased with the beauteous prize,
Nor envied Jove his sunshine and his skies. [_Exeunt._

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I.

_A Chamber._

_Enter_ LUCIA _and_ MARCIA.

_Lucia._ Now, tell me, Marcia, tell me from thy soul,
If thou believest 'tis possible for woman
To suffer greater ills than Lucia suffers?

_Marcia_ Oh, Lucia, Lucia, might my big swol'n heart
Vent all its griefs, and give a loose to sorrow,
Marcia could answer thee in sighs, keep pace
With all thy woes, and count out tear for tear.

_Lucia._ I know thou'rt doom'd alike to be beloved
By Juba, and thy father's friend, Sempronius:
But which of these has power to charm like Portius?

_Marcia._ Still, I must beg thee not to name Sempronius.
Lucia, I like not that loud, boist'rous man.
Juba, to all the bravery of a hero,
Adds softest love, and more than female sweetness;
Juba might make the proudest of our sex,
Any of womankind, but Marcia, happy.

_Lucia._ And why not Marcia? Come, you strive in vain
To hide your thoughts from one who knows too well
The inward glowings of a heart in love.

_Marcia._ While Cato lives, his daughter has no right
To love or hate, but as his choice directs.

_Lucia._ But should this father give you to Sempronius?

_Marcia._ I dare not think he will: but if he should--
Why wilt thou add to all the griefs I suffer,
Imaginary ills, and fancied tortures?
I hear the sound of feet! They march this way.
Let us retire, and try if we can drown
Each softer thought in sense of present danger:
When love once pleads admission to our hearts,
In spite of all the virtues we can boast,
The woman that deliberates is lost. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ SEMPRONIUS, _dressed like_ JUBA, _with_
NUMIDIAN GUARDS.

_Sem._ The deer is lodged, I've track'd her to her covert.
How will the young Numidian rave to see
His mistress lost! If aught could glad my soul,
Beyond the enjoyment of so bright a prize,
'Twould be to torture that young, gay barbarian.
--But, hark! what noise! Death to my hopes! 'tis he,
'Tis Juba's self! there is but one way left----

_Enter_ JUBA.

_Jub._ What do I see? Who's this that dares usurp