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Jub. Cato thinks meanly of me.
Syph. And so will all mankind.

Jub. I've open'd to him
The weakness of my soul, my love for Marcia.

Syph. Cato's a proper person to intrust
A love-tale with.

Jub. Oh, I could pierce my heart,
My foolish heart. Was ever wretch like Juba !

Syph. Alas, my prince, how are you chang'd of late!
I've known young Juba rise before the sun,
To beat the thicket where the tiger skept,
Or seek the lion in his dreadful haunts :
How did the colour mount into your cheeks,
When first you rous'd him to the chace ! I've seen

you, Ev'n in the Lybian dog-days, hunt him down, Then charge him close, provoke him to the rage Of fangs and claws, and, stooping from your horse, Rivet the panting savage to the ground.

Fub. Pr’ythee no more.

Syph. How would the old king smile To see you weigh the paws, when tipp'd with gold, And throw the shaggy spoils about your shoulders ! Fub. Syphax, this old man's talk (though honey

How'd In ev'ry word) wou'd now lose all its sweetness. Cato's displeas'd, and Marcia lost for ever. Syph. Young prince, I yet could give you good ad

vice, Marcia might still be yours.

Jub. What say'st thou, Syphax?
By Heav'ns, thou turn'st me all into attention.
Syph. Marcia might still be yours.
Jub. As how, dear Syphax ?

Syph. Juba commands Numidia's hardy troops,
Mounted on steeds unus'd to the restraint
Of curbs or bits, and fleeter than the winds.
Give but the word, we'll snatch this damsel

up, And bear her off.

Jub. Can such dishonest thoughts
Rise up in man? Wouldst thou seduce my youth
To do an act that would destroy mine honour?

Syph. Gods, I could tear my hair to hear you talk !
Honour's a fine imaginary notion,
That draws in raw and unexperienc'd men
'To real mischiefs, while they hunt a shadow.

Jub. Wouldst thou degrade thy prince into a ruffian ?

Syph. The boasted ancestors of those great men, Whose virtues you admire, were all such ruffians. This dread of nations, this almighty Rome, That comprehends in her wide empire's bounds All under Heav'n, was founded on a rape ; Your Scipios, Cæsars, Pompeys, and your Catos (The gods on earth), are all the spurious blood Of violated maids, of ravish'd Sabines.

Jub. Syphax, I fear that hoary head of thine Abounds too much in our Numidian wiles. Syph. Indeed, my prince, you want to know the

world. You have not read mankind; your youth admires

The throes and swellings of a Roman soul,
Cato's bold Aights, th' extravagance of virtue.
Jub. If knowledge of the world makes men per-

fidious,
May Juba ever live in ignorance!

Syph, Go, go; you're young.

Jub. Gods, must I tamely bear
This arrogance unanswer'd! Thou’rt a traitor,
A false old traitor.
Syph. I have gone to far.

[ Aside. Jub. Cato shall know the baseness of thy soul. Syph. I must appease this storm, or perish in it.

[Aside. Young prince, behold these locks, that are grown,

white Beneath a helmet in your father's battles.

Jub. Those locks shall ne'er protect thy insolence.

Syph. Must one rash word, th’ infirmity of age,
Throw down the merit of my better years?
This the reward of a whole life of service!
--Curse on the boy! how steadily he hears me !

[ Aside.
Jub. Is it because the throne of my forefathers
Still stands unfilld, and that Numidia's crown
Hangs doubtful yet whose head it shal inclose,
Thou thus presum'st to treat thy prince with scorna
Syph. Why will you rive my heart with such ex,

pressions ?
Does not old Syphax follow you to war?
What are his aims? Why does he load with darts

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His trembling hand, and crush beneath a casque
His wrinkled brows? What is it he aspires to ?
Is it not this ? to shed the slow remains
His last poor ebb of blood in your defence ?

Jub. Syphax, no more! I would not hear you talk.
Syph. Not hear me talk! what, when my faith to

Juba,
My royal master's son, is call’d in question?
My prince may strike me dead, and I'll be dumb;
But whilst I live I must not hold my tongue,
And languish out old age in his displeasure,

Fub. Thou know'st the way too well into iny heart, I do believe thee loyal to thy prince.

Syph. What greater instance can I give? I've offer'd To do an action which

my

soul abhors, And gain you whom you love, at any price.

Jub. Was this thy motive? I have been too hasty. Syph. And 'tis for this my prince has callid me

traitor, Jub. Sure thou mistak'st; I did not call thee so. Syph. You did, indeed, my prince, you call'd me

traitor, Nay, further, threaten'd you'd complain to Cato. Of what, my prince, would you complain to Cato? That Syphax loves you, and would sacrifice His life, nay, more, his honour, in your service.

Jub. Syphax, I know thou lov'st me; but indeed Thy zeal for Juba carried thee too far. Honour's a sacred tie, the law of kings, The noble mind's distinguishing perfection,

That aids and strengthens virtue where it meets her,
And imitates her actions where she is not:
It ought not to be sported with.

Syph. By Heav'ns,
I'm ravish'd when you talk thus, though you chide me!
Alas! I've hitherto been us'd to think
A blind official zeal to serve my king,
The ruling principle, that ought to burn
And quench all others in a subject's heart.
Happy the people who preserve their honour
By the same duties that oblige their prince.

Jub. Syphax, thou now beginn'st to speak thyself.
Nuinidia's grown a scorn among the nations,
For breach of public vows. Our Punic faith
Is infamous, and branded to a proverb.
Syphax, we'll join our cares, to purge away
Our country's crimes, and clear her reputation.
Syph. Believe me, prince, you make old Syphax

weep,
To hear you talk-but 'tis with tears of joy.
If e'er your father's crown adorn your brows,
Numidia will be blest by Cato's lectures.

Jub. Syphax, thy hand; we'll mutually forget
The warmth of youth, and frowardness of age;
Thy prince esteems thy worth, and loves thy person.
If e'er the scepter come into my hand,
Syphax shall stand the second in my kingdom.

Syph. Why will you overwhelm my age with kind

ness ?

My joys grow burdensome, I shan't support it.

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