What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in frowns, And turn thine eye thus coldly on thy prince? Syph. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts, Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face, When discontent sits heavy at my heart; I have not yet so much the Roman in me. Jub. Why dost thou cast out such ungen'rous terms Against the lords and sov'reigns of the world? Dost thou not see mankind fall down before them, And own the force of their superior virtue? Is there a nation in the wilds of Afric, Amidst our barren rocks, and burning sands, That does not tremble at the Roman name? Syph. Gods! where's the worth that sets these Above her own Numidia's tawny sons? Jub. These all are virtues of a meaner rank; To cultivate the wild, licentious savage, Syph. Patience, kind Heav'ns !—excuse an old man's warmth: What are those wond'rous civilizing arts, Than what our nature and the gods design'd us? There may'st thou see to what a god-like height While good, and just, and anxious for his friends, "Renouncing sleep, and rest, and food, and ease, "He strives with thirst and hunger, toil and heat," And when his fortune sets before him all The pomps and pleasures that his soul can wish, Syph. Believe me, prince, there's not an African That traverses our vast Numidian desarts In quest of prey, and lives upon his bow, But better practises those boasted virtues. Jub. Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't discern What virtues grow from ignorance and choice, Nor how the hero differs from the brute. "But grant that others could with equal glory "Look down on pleasures, and the baits of sense," Where shall we find the man that bears affliction, Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato? "Heav'ns! with what strength, what steadiness of mind, “He triumphs in the midst of all his suff'rings!" How does he rise against a load of woes, And thank the gods that throw the weight upon him! Syph. 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of soul; I think the Romans call it stoicism. Had not your royal father thought so highly On Afric sands disfigur'd with their wounds, To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia. Jub. Why dost thou call my sorrows up afresh? My father's name brings tears into my eyes. Syph. Oh, that you'd profit by your father's ills! Jub. Syphax, I shou'd be more than twice an orphan By such a loss. Syph. Aye, there's the tie that binds you! You long to call him father. Marcia's charms Jub. Syphax, your zeal becomes importunate; And talk at large; but learn to keep it in, Lest it should take more freedom than I'll give it. Jub. Alas! thy story melts away my soul; That best of fathers! how shall I discharge Syph. By laying up his counsels in your heart. When not a breath of wind flies o'er its surface. Syph. Alas! my prince, I'd guide thee to your safety. Jub. I do believe thou wouldst; but tell me how? Syph. Fly from the fate that follows Cæsar's foes. Jub. My father scorn'd to do it. Syph. And therefore dy❜d. Jub. Better to die ten thousand thousand deaths, Than wound my honour. Syph. Rather say your love. Jub. Syphax, I've promis'd to preserve my temper. Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame I long have stifled, and would fain conceal? Syph. Believe me, prince, though hard to conquer love, 'Tis easy to divert and break its force. Absence might cure it, or a second mistress |