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By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign ;
As man ere long, and this new world, thall know.
to meet thee thus alone.
I have observ'd of late thy looks are fall’n,
O'ercast with gloomy cares and discontent ; -
Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee, iell me,
What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in frowns,
And turn thine eyes thus coldly on thy prince ?
Sypu. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts
Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face,
When discontent ats heavy at my heart :
I have not yet so much the Roman in me.
JUB. Why doit thou cast out such ungen'rous terms:
Against the lords and fov'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 this people up
Above you own Numidia's tawny
Do they with tougher finews bend the bow?
Or flies the jav'lin swifter to its mark,
Launch'd from the vigour of a Roman arm ?
Who like our active African instructs
The fiery steed, and trains him to his hand ?
Or guides in troops th' embattled elephant,
Loaden with war? These, these are arts, my prince,
In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome,
JUB. These all are virtues of a meaner rank,
Perfections that are plac'd in bones and nerves,
A Roman soul is bent on higher views ;
To civilize the rule unpolish'd world,
To lay it under the reitraint of laws;
To make man mild, and sociable to man;
To cultivate the wild licentious savage
With wisdom, discipline, and lib'ral arts;
Th'embellishments of life : virtues like these,
Make human nature shine, reform the soul,
And break our fierce barbarians into men.
Syph. Patience, just heav'ns !---Excuse an old man's
What are there wond'rous civilizing arts,
This Romon polish, and this smooth behaviour,
That render men thus tractable and tame ?
Are they not only to disguise our passions,
To set our looks at variance with our thoughts,
To check the starts and fallies of the soul,
And break off ali its commerce with the tongue
In short, to change us into other creatures,
Than what our nature and the gods defign'd us?
Jub. To strike thee d’umb: turn up thy eyes to Cato! There may'lt thou see to what a godlike height The Roman virtues lift up mortal man. While good, and just, and anxious for his friends, He's still severely bent against himself; Renouncing sleep, and rest, and food, and ease, He strives with thirst and hunger, toil and heat : And when his fortune fets before him a'l
pomps and pleasures that his-soul can wish, His rigid virtue will accept of none.
Syph.. Believe me, prince, there's not an Africans That traverses our vait Numidian deserts
prey, and lives upon his bow,.
But better practises these boasted. yirtues.
Coarfe are his meals, the fortune of the chace;
Amidst the running stream he flakes his thirit,
Toils all the day, and at th’approach of night
On the first friendly bank he throws him down,
Or rests his head upon a rock till morn:
Then rises fresh, pursues his wonted game,
And if the following day he chance to find a
A new repaft, or an untasted spring, -
Blefles his stars, and thinks it luxury. -
JUB. Thy prejudices, Syphax; won't discerne
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 griefss like Cato?
Heav’ns ! with what strength, what steadiness of mind,
He triumphs in the midst of all his fuff'rings!
How does he rise against a load of woes,
And thank the gods that threw the weight upon him!
Syph. 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of soul :
I think the Romans call it ftoicism.
Had not your royal father thought fo highly
Of Roman virtue, and of Cato's cause,
He had not fallen by a slave's hand, inglorious :
Nor would his slaughter?d army now have lain
On Afric's fands disfigur’d with their wounds,
the wolves and vultures of Numidia. JUB. Why doft thou call my sorrows up afresh ? My father's name brings tears into mine eyes.
Syph. Oh, that you'd profit by your father's ills !
JUB. What would'st thou have me do?
SYPH. Abandon Cato.
J.UB. Syphax, I should be more than twice an orphan By such a loss.
Syph. Ay, there's the tie that binds you !
You long to call him father. Marcia's charms
Work in your heart unseen, and plead for Cato.
No wonder you are deaf to all I say.
Jub. Syphax, your zeal becomes importunate;
I've hitherto permitted it to rave,
And talk at large; but learn to keep it in,
Left it should take more freedom than I'll give it.
SYPH. Sir, your great father never us'd me thus.
Alas, he's dead! but can you e'er forget
The tender forrows and the
The fond embraces, and repeated bleflings,
* Which you drew from him in your last farewel?
Still muft I cherish the dear, fad remembrance,
At once to torture and to please my foul.
The good old king at parting wrung my hand,
(His eyes brimful of tears) then fighing cry'd,
Pry'thee: be careful of my son !--His grief
Swell's up so high, he could not utter more.
JUB. Alas, the story melts away my soul.
That best of fathers ! how shall I discharge
The gratitude and duty which I owe him?
Syph. By laying up his counsels in your heart.
JUB. His counsels bad me yield to thy directions :
Then, Syphax, chide me in severest terms,
Vent all thy passion, and I'll stand its shock,
Calm and unruffled as a summer sea,
When not a breath of wind flies o'er its surface.
Syph. Alas, my prince, I'd guide you to your safety,
JUB. I do believe thou wouldft; 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 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 fiame I long have ftified and would fain conceal?
Syph. Believe me, prince, tho' hard to conquer love,
'Tis easy to divert and break its force;
Abfence might cure it, or a second mistress
Light up another flame, and put out this.
The glowing dames of Zama's royal court
Have faces flush'd with more exalted charms;
The sun that rolls his chariot o'er their heads,
Works up more fire and colour in their cheeks :
Were you with these, my prince, you'd soon forget
The pale, unripen'd beauties of the North.
Jub. 'Tis not a set of features, or complexion,
The tincture of a skin that I admire,
Beauty foon grows familiar to the lover,
Fades in his eye, and pails upon the sense.
The virtuous Marcia tow'rs above her sex :
True, she is fair (oh, how divinely fair!)