nd yet, when I behold the charming maid,
I'm ten times more undone; while hope and fear,
And grief and rage, and love, rise up at once,
And with variety of pain distract me.

_Por._ What can thy Portius do to give thee help?

_Marc._ Portius, thou oft enjoy'st the fair one's presence;
Then undertake my cause, and plead it to her
With all the strength and heat of eloquence
Fraternal love and friendship can inspire.
Tell her thy brother languishes to death,
And fades away, and withers in his bloom;
That he forgets his sleep, and loathes his food;
That youth, and health, and war, are joyless to him;
Describe his anxious days, and restless nights,
And all the torments that thou see'st me suffer.

_Por._ Marcus, I beg thee give me not an office,
That suits with me so ill. Thou know'st my temper.

_Marc._ Wilt thou behold me sinking in my woes,
And wilt thou not reach out a friendly arm,
To raise me from amidst this plunge of sorrows?

_Por._ Marcus, thou canst not ask what I'd refuse;
But here, believe me, I've a thousand reasons----

_Marc._ I know thou'lt say my passion's out of season,
That Cato's great example and misfortunes
Should both conspire to drive it from my thoughts.
But what's all this to one that loves like me?
O Portius, Portius, from my soul I wish
Thou did'st but know thyself what 'tis to love!
Then wouldst thou pity and assist thy brother.

_Por._ What should I do? If I disclose my passion,
Our friendship's at an end: if I conceal it,
The world will call me false to a friend and brother. [_Aside._

_Marc._ But see, where Lucia, at her wonted hour,
Amid the cool of yon high marble arch,
Enjoys the noon-day breeze! Observe her, Portius;
That face, that shape, those eyes, that heav'n of beauty!
Observe her well, and blame me if thou canst.

_Por._ She sees us, and advances----

_Marc._ I'll withdraw,
And leave you for a while. Remember, Portius,
Thy brother's life depends upon thy tongue. [_Exit._

_Enter_ LUCIA.

_Lucia._ Did not I see your brother Marcus here?
Why did he fly the place, and shun my presence?

_Por._ Oh, Lucia, language is too faint to show
His rage of love; it preys upon his life;
He pines, he sickens, he despairs, he dies!

_Lucia._ How wilt thou guard thy honour, in the shock
Of love and friendship! Think betimes, my Portius,
Think how the nuptial tie, that might ensure
Our mutual bliss, would raise to such a height
Thy brother's griefs, as might perha