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By thee, and more then half perhaps will reign;
As man ere long, and this new world; shall know.


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YPHAX, Ijoy 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 tell me,
What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in frowns,
And turn thine eyes thus cold on thy prince !

Syph. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts
Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face,
When discontent fits heavy at my heart :
I have not yet so much the Roman in me.

JUB. Why dost thou cast out fuch ungen'rous terms
Againft the lords and fov'reigns of the world ?
Doft thou not fee mankind fall down 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

your own Numidia's tawny fons ?
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,


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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 foul is bent on higher views :
To civilize the rude unpolish'd world,
To lay it under the restraint of laws ;
To make man mild, and fociable to man ;
To cultivate the wild licentious favage
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 these wond'rous civilizing arts,
This Roman polish, and this fmooth behaviour,
That render man thus tractable and game ?
Are they not only to disguise our passions,
To set our looks at variance with our thoughts,
To check the starts and sallies of the soul,
And break off all its commerce with the tongue ?
In short, to change us into other creatures,
Than what our nature and the gods design'd us ?

JUB. To strike thee dumb, turn up thy eyes to Cato !
There may'lt thou fee to what a godlike height
The Roman virtues lift


mortal man.
While good, and just, and anxious for his friends,
He's still feverely bent against himself;
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, ,
His rigid virtue will accept of none.

Syph. Believe me, prince, there's not an African
That traverses our vaft Numidian deserts
In quest of prey, and lives upon his bow,
But better practises these boasted virtues.
Coarse are his meals, the fortune of the chase,
Amidst the running stream he flakes his thirst,
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 new repaft, or an untasted spring,
Blesses his stars, and thinks it luxury.

JUB. Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't discern,
What virtụes 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 amiction,
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 threw the weight upon him !

SYPH. 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of foul : I think the Romans call it ftoicism. Had not your royal father thought so highly Of Roman virtue, and of Cato's cause, He had not fall'n by a flave's hand, inglorious : Nor would his slaughter'd army now have lain

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On Afric sands 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.

JUB. Syphax; I should be more than twice an orphan
By such a lofs.

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 sorrows and the pangs of nature,
The fond embraces, and repeated blessings,
Which drew from him in


last farewel?
Still must I cherith the dear, fad remembrance,
At once to torture, and to please my soul.
The good old King at parting wrung my hand,
(His eyes brim full of tears) then fighing cry'd,
Pr’ythee be careful of my son !--His grief
Swell’d 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 bim?
Syph. By laying up his counsels in your heart."



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JUB. His counsels bade me yield to thy directions :
Then, Syphax, chide me in feverest 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 wouldi; but tell me how ?
Syph. Fly from the fate that follows Cæfar'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


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 stilled, and would fain conceal?

Syph. Believe me, prince, tho' hard to conquer love,
'Tis easy to divert and break its force :
Absence 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 fun 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,
Fadcs in his eye, and palls upon the sense.
The virtuous Marcia tow'rs above her sex:
True, she is fair (Oh, how divinely fair!)


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