And at the head of your own little senate;
You don't now thunder in the Capitol,

With all the mouths of Rome to second you.

Cato. Let him consider that, who drives us hither. "Tis Cæsar'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;
Didst 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 covered with misfortunes;
But, as I love my country, millions of worlds
Should never buy me to be like that Cæsar!

Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to Cæsar,
For all his generous cares, and proffered friendship?
Cato. His cares for me are insolent and vain :
Presumptuous man! the gods take care of Cato.
Would Cæsar show the greatness of his soul?
Bid him employ his care for these my friends,
And make good use of his ill-gotten power,
By sheltering men much better than himself.

Dec. Your high unconquered heart makes you forget
You rush on your destruction :

You are a man.

But I have done.

When I relate hereafter

The tale of this unhappy embassy,

All Rome will be in tears.

ADDISON.

VIRGINIUS, VIRGINIA, AND SERVIA

Virginius. And is this all you have observed? I think There's nothing strange in that. An L and I

Twined with a V. Three very innocent letters

To have bred such mischief in thy brain, good Servia!

Come read this riddle to me.

Servia. You may laugh,

Virginius, but I'll read the riddle right.

The L doth stand for Lucius; and the I,
Icilius; which, I take it, will compose
Lucius Icilius.

Vir. So it will, good Servia.

Ser. Then, for the V, why, that is plain Virginia.
Vir. And now, what conjuration find you here?

Ser. What should I find but love? The maid's in love,

And it is with Icilius. Look, the wreath

Is made of roses, that entwines the letters.
Vir. And is this all?

Ser. And is it not enough?

You'll find this figuring where'er you look.
There's not a piece of dainty work she does
Embroidery or painting — not a task
She finishes, but on the skirt, or border,
In needle work, or pencil, this, her secret,
The silly wench betrays.

Vir. Go, send her to me

Stay! have you spoken to her of it?

Ser. I not I, indeed; I left that task to you -
Though once I ask'd her what the letters meant,
She laugh'd, and drew a scratch across them; but
Had scarce done so, ere her fair visage fell,
For grief that she had spoiled the ciphers-and
A sigh came out, and then almost a tear;
And she did look as piteous on the harm
That she had done, as she had done it to
A thing, had sense to feel it. Never after,
She let me note her at work again.

She had good reason!

Vir. Send her to me, Servia. (Exit Servia.)

There's something here, that looks as it would bring me Anticipation of my wish. I think

Icilius loves my daughter-nay, I know it;

And such a man I'd challenge for her husband;

And only waited, till her forward spring
Put on, a little more, the genial likeness
Of coloring into summer, ere I sought
To nurse a flower, which blossoming too early,
Too early often dies; but if it springs

Spontaneous, and, unlooked for, woos our hand
To tend and cherish it, the growth is healthful:
And 'twere untimely, as unkind to check it.
I'll ascertain it shortly- soft, she comes.

[Enter Virginia.]

Virginia. Well, father, what's your will?
Vir. I wish'd to see you,

To ask you of your tasks — how they go on —
And what your masters say of you—what last
You did. I hope you never play

The truant?

Virginia. The truant! No indeed, Virginius.
Vir. I am sure you do not.

Virginia. O my father,

I am so happy, when you're kind to me!

Vir. You are so happy when I'm kind to you!

Am I not always kind? I never spoke

An angry word to you in all my life.

Virginia! you are happy when I'm kind!

That's strange; and makes me think you have some reason

To fear I may be otherwise than kind

Is't so my girl?

Virginia. Indeed I did not know

What I was saying to you!

Vir. Why, that's worse

And worse! What! when you said your

father's kindness

Made you so happy, am I to believe

You were not thinking of him?

Virginia. I — (Greatly confused.)
Vir. Go, fetch me

The latest task you did. (Exit Virginia.)
It is enough

Her artless speech, like crystal, shows the thing
'Twould hide, but only covers. 'Tis enough!
She loves, and fears her father may condemn.

KNOWLES.

SCENES FROM WILLIAM TELL.

Tell. That's scarce a miss that comes so near the mark!
Well aim'd, young archer! With what ease he bends
The bow! To see those sinews, who'd believe

Such strength did lodge in them? Well aim'd again!
There plays the skill will thin the chamois' herd,
And bring the lammer-geyer from the cloud
To earth. Perhaps do greater feats perhaps
Make man its quarry, when he dares to tread
Upon his fellow man. That little arm,
His mother's palm can span, may help, anon,
To pull a sinewy tyrant from his seat,
And from their chains a prostrate people lift
To liberty. I'd be content to die,

Living to see that day! — What, Albert !

How long 'would be ere noon would come! You're come

How soon 'twill now be here and gone! O, William,

When you are absent from me, I count time
By minutes; which, when you are here, flies by
In hours, that are not noted till they're out!
Now this is happiness! Joy's doubly joy,
That comes before the time it is a debt
Paid ere 'tis due, which fills the owner's heart
With gratitude, and yet 'tis but his own!

And are you well? and has the chase prov'd good?
How has it fared with you? Come in; I'm sure
You want refreshment.

Tell. No; I did partake

A herdsman's meal, upon whose lonely chalet

I chanced to light. I've had bad sport; my track Lay with the wind, which to the start❜lish game

Betray'd me still. One only prize; and that

I

gave mine humble host. You raise the bow Too fast. Bring't slowly to the eye —

You've miss'd

How often have you hit the mark to-day?

Alb. Not once yet.

Tell. You're not steady. I perceived

You waver'd now.

Stand firm!

- let every limb Be braced as marble, and as motionless.

Stand like the sculptor's statue on the gate
Of Altorf, that looks life, yet neither breathes
Nor stirs. That's better.

Emma. William! William ! - O!

To be the parents of a boy like that!

Why speak you not and wherefore do you sigh?

What's in your heart to keep the transport out

That fills up mine, when looking on our child
Till it o'erflows mine eye?

Tell. You've miss'd again!

Dost see the mark! Rivet your eye to it!

There let it stick, fast as the arrow would
Could you but send it there!