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And make even Cæsar tremble at the head
Por. Alas, Sempronius! would'st thou talk of love
Sem. The more I see the wonders of thy race, The more I'm charm’d. Thou must take heed, my
Exit. Sem. Curse on the stripling ! how he apcs
his sire! Ambitiously sententious-But I wonder Old Syphax comes not; his Numidian genius Is well disposed to mischief, were he prompt And eager on it; but he must be spurr’d, And every moment quicken’d to the course. Cato has used me ill; he has refused His daughter Marcia to my ardent vows. Besides, his baffled arms, and ruin'd cause, Are bars to my ambition. Cæsar's favour,
That show'rs down greatness on his friends, will raise
Syph. Sempronius, all is ready; I've sounded my Numidians, man by man, And find them ripe for a revolt: they all Complain aloud of Cato's discipline, And wait but the command to change their master.
Sem. Believe me, Syphax, there's no time to waste;
Juba? That still would recommend thee more to Cæsar, And challenge better terms.
Syph. Alas! he's lost!
Syph. But is it true, Sempronius, that your senate Is callid together? Gods ! thou must be cautious; Cato has piercing eyes, and will discern Our frauds, unless they're cover'd thick with art.
Sem. Let me alone, good Syphax, I'll conceal My thoughts in passion, ('tis the surest way :) I'll bellow out for Rome, and for my country, And mouth at Cæsar, till I shake the senate. Your cold hypocrisy's a stale device, A worn-out trick: would'st thou be thought in ear
nest, Clothe thy feign’d zeal in rage, in fire, in fury !
Syph. In troth, thou'rt able to instruct grey hairs, And teach the wily African deceit.
Sem. Once more be sure to try thy skill on Juba. Remember, Syphax, we must work in haste ; Oh, think what anxious moments pass between The birth of plots, and their last fatal periods ! Oh, 'tis a dreadful interval of time, Fill’d up with horror all, and big with death! Destruction hangs on every word we speak, On every thought, till the concluding stroke Determines all, and closes our design. [Erit.
Syph. I'll try if yet I can reduce to reason This headstrong youth, and make him spurn at Cato. The time is short; Cæsar comes rushing on usa But hold! young Juba secs me, and approaches !
Enter JUBA. Jub. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone. I have observed 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 eye thus coldly on thy prince? Syph. 'Tis not my talent to conceal
my thoughts, Or carry smiles and sunshine in When discontent sits heavy at my heart ;
I have not yet so much the Roman in me.
pecple up Above your own Numidia's tawny sons ? Do they with tougher sinews bend the bow? Or flies the javälin 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 Laden 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 placed in bones and nerves. A Roman soul is bent on higher views ; Turn up thy eyes to Cato; There may'st 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; And when his forturie 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 vast Numidian deserts In quest of prey, and lives upon his bow, But better practises those boasted virtues. Coarse are his meals, the fortune of the chase; Amidst the running stream he slakes his thirst ; Toils all the day, and at th' approach of night,
On the first friendly bank he throws him down,
Jub. Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't discern
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 !
phan, 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, Lest it should take more freedom than I'll give it.
Syph. Sir, your great father never used me thus. Alas, he's dead! but can you e'er forget The tender sorrows,