Penn.—­Ask thy heart whether ambition was not thy real motive and zeal the pretence?

Cortez.—­Ask thine whether thy zeal had no worldly views and whether thou didst believe all the nonsense of the sect, at the head of which thou wast pleased to become a legislator.—­Adieu.  Self-examination requires retirement.

DIALOGUE IX.

MARCUS PORTIUS CATO—­MESSALLA CORVINUS.

Cato.—­Oh, Messalla! is it then possible that what some of our countrymen tell me should be true?  Is it possible that you could live the courtier of Octavius; that you could accept of employments and honours from him, from the tyrant of your country; you, the brave, the noble-minded, the virtuous Messalla; you, whom I remember, my son-in-law Brutus has frequently extolled as the most promising youth in Rome, tutored by philosophy, trained up in arms, scorning all those soft, effeminate pleasures that reconcile men to an easy and indolent servitude, fit for all the roughest tasks of honour and virtue, fit to live or to die a free man?

Messalla.—­Marcus Cato, I revere both your life and your death; but the last, permit me to tell you, did no good to your country, and the former would have done more if you could have mitigated a little the sternness of your virtue, I will not say of your pride.  For my own part, I adhered with constant integrity and unwearied zeal to the Republic, while the Republic existed.  I fought for her at Philippi under the only commander, who, if he had conquered, would have conquered for her, not for himself.  When he was dead I saw that nothing remained to my country but the choice of a master.  I chose the best.

Cato.—­The best!  What! a man who had broken all laws, who had violated all trusts, who had led the armies of the Commonwealth against Antony, and then joined with him and that sottish traitor Lepidus, to set up a triumvirate more execrable by far than either of the former; who shed the best blood in Rome by an inhuman proscription, murdered even his own guardian, murdered Cicero, to whose confidence, too improvidently given, he owed all his power?  Was this the master you chose?  Could you bring your tongue to give him the name of Augustus?  Could you stoop to beg consulships and triumphs from him?  Oh, shame to virtue!  Oh, degeneracy of Rome!  To what infamy are her sons, her noblest sons, fallen.  The thought of it pains me more than the wound that I died of; it stabs my soul.

Messalla.—­Moderate, Cato, the vehemence of your indignation.  There has always been too much passion mixed with your virtue.  The enthusiasm you are possessed with is a noble one, but it disturbs your judgment.  Hear me with patience, and with the tranquillity that becomes a philosopher.  It is true that Octavius had done all you have said; but it is no less true that, in our circumstances,