Marcus Porcius Cato (95–46 B.C.) was a Stoic philosopher and politician who opposed the actions of the Roman general Julius Caesar who used his successes on the battlefield to make himself dictator of Rome. In this passage “Marcus” denounces the would be tyrant for seeking political greatness by means of slaughter and the ruin of his country:
Thy steady temper, Portius,
Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Caesar,
In the calm lights of mild philosophy;
I’m tortured ev’n to madness, when I think
On the proud victor: every time he’s named
Pharsalia rises to my view!—I see
The insulting tyrant, prancing o’er the field
Strowed with Rome’s citizens, and drenched in slaughter,
His horse’s hoofs wet with Patrician blood!
Oh, Portius! is there not some chosen curse,
Some hidden thunder in the stores of heaven,
Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man
Who owes his greatness to his country’s ruin?
SCENE I
Portius, Marcus.
Portius
The dawn is overcast, the morning lowers,
And heavily in clouds brings on the day,
The great, the important day, big with the fate
Of Cato and of Rome.—Our father’s death
Would fill up all the guilt of civil war,
And close the scene of blood. Already Caesar
Has ravaged more than half the globe, and sees
Mankind grown thin by his destructive sword:
Should he go further, numbers would be wanting
To form new battles, and support his crimes.
Ye gods, what havoc does ambition make
Among your works!
Marcu
Thy steady temper, Portius,
Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Caesar,
In the calm lights of mild philosophy;
I’m tortured ev’n to madness, when I think
On the proud victor: every time he’s named
Pharsalia rises to my view!—I see
The insulting tyrant, prancing o’er the field
Strowed with Rome’s citizens, and drenched in slaughter,
His horse’s hoofs wet with Patrician blood!
Oh, Portius! is there not some chosen curse,
Some hidden thunder in the stores of heaven,
Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man
Who owes his greatness to his country’s ruin?
Portius
Believe me, Marcus, ’tis an impious greatness,
And mixt with too much horror to be envied.
How does the lustre of our father’s actions,
Through the dark cloud of ills that cover him,
Break out, and burn with more triumphant brightness!
His sufferings shine, and spread a glory round him;
Greatly unfortunate, he fights the cause
Of honour, virtue, liberty, and Rome.
His sword ne’er fell but on the guilty head;
Oppression, tyranny, and power usurped,
Draw all the vengeance of his arm upon ’em.
Marcus
Who knows not this? but what can Cato do
Against a world, a base, degenerate world,
That courts the yoke, and bows the neck to Caesar?
Pent up in Utica he vainly forms
A poor epitome of Roman greatness,
And, covered with Numidian guards, directs
A feeble army, and an empty senate,
Remnants of mighty battles fought in vain.
By heavens, such virtues, joined with such success,
Distract my very soul: our father’s fortune
Would almost tempt us to renounce his precepts.
Quotations 