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And try to rouse up all that's Roman in 'em. 'Tis not in mortals to command success, But we'll do more, Sempronius, we'll deserve it. [Ex.

Sem. Curse on the stripling! how he apes his sire! Ambitiously sententious—But I wonder Old Syphax comes not; his Numidian genius Is well dispos’d 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 us'd me ill: he has refus'd 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


To Rome's first honours. If I give up Cato,
I claim, in my reward, his captive daughter.
But Syphax comes-


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; Ev'n while we speak our conqueror comes on, And gathers ground upon us every moment. Alas! thou know'st not Cæsar's active soul, With what a dreadful course he rushes on

From war to war. In vain has nature form'd
Mountains and oceans to oppose his passage ;
He bounds o'er all; victorious in his march,
The Alps and Pyreneans sink before him :
Through winds and waves, and storms he works his

Impatient for the battle; one day more
Will set the victor thund'ring at our gates.
But, tell me, hast thou yet drawn o'er young Juba?
That still would recommend thee more to Cæsar.
And challenge better terms.

Syph. Alas, he's lost!
He's lost, Sempronius; all his thoughts are full
Of Cato's virtues-But I'll try once more
(For every instant I expect him here)
If yet I can subdue those stubborn principles
Of faith and honour, and I know not what,
That have corrupted his Numidian temper,
And struck th' infection into all his soul.

Sem. Be sure to press upon him every motive.
Juba's surrender, since his father's death,
Would give up Afric into Cæsar's hands,
And make him lord of half the burning zone.

Syph. But is it true, Sempronius, that your senate
Is callid together? Gods I 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 mouthe at Cæsar 'till I shake the senate.
Your cold hypocrisy's a stale device,
A worn-out trick; wouldst thou be thought in earnest,
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. Meanwhile I'll hasten to my Roman soldiers, Inflame the mutiny, and underhand Blow up their discontents, till they break out Unlook'd for, and discharge themselves on Cato. 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. [Exit.

Syph. I'll try if yet I can reduce to reason This headstrong youth, and make him spurn at Cato. The time is short; Caesar comes rushing on usBut hold! young Juba sees me, and approaches.

Enter JUBA.
Jub. Syphax, I joy 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 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

people up
Above her own Numidia's tawny sons ?
D.) they with tougher sinews bend the bowy
Or Alies 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
Laden with war? These, these are arts, my prince,
In which your Zima 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 rude, unpolish'd world,
And lay it under the restraint of laws;
To make man mild, and sociable to man;

To cultivate the wild, licentious savage,
With wisdom, discipline, and lib'ral arts;
The embellishments of life: virtues like these
Make human nature shine, reform the soul,
And break our fierce barbarians into men.
Syph. Patience, kind Heav'ns Imexcuse an old man's

warmth :
What are those wond'rous civilizing arts,
This Roman polish, and this smooth behaviour,
That renders man 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 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'st thou see to what a god-like 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 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 desarts In quest of prey, and lives upon his bow,

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