_Cato._ Nay, more, though Cato's voice was ne'er employ'd To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes, Myself will mount the rostrum in his favour, And strive to gain his pardon from the people. _Dec._ A style like this becomes a conqueror. _Cato._ Decius, a style like this becomes a Roman. _Dec._ What is a Roman, that is Caesar's foe? _Cato._ Greater than Caesar: he's a friend to virtue. _Dec._ Consider, Cato, you're in Utica, And at the head of your own little senate: You do not thunder in the capitol, With all the mouths of Rome to second you. _Cato._ Let him consider that, who drives us hither. 'Tis Caesar's sword has made Rome's senate little, And thinn'd its ranks. Alas! thy dazzled eye Beholds this man in a false glaring light, Which conquest and success have thrown upon him; Did'st thou but view him right, thou'dst see him black With murder, treason, sacrilege, and crimes That strike my soul with horror but to name them. I know thou look'st on me as on a wretch Beset with ills, and cover'd with misfortunes; But, by the gods I swear, millions of worlds Should never buy me to be like that Caesar. _Dec._ Does Cato send this answer back to Caesar, For all his gen'rous cares and proffer'd friendship? _Cato._ His cares for me are insolent and vain: Presumptuous man! the gods take care of Cato. Would Caesar show the greatness of his soul, Bid him employ his care for 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.