Or refts his Head upon a Rock 'till Morn:
Then rifes fresh, pursues his wonted Game,
And if the following Day he chance to find
A new Repast, or an untasted Spring,
Bleffes his Stars, and thinks it Luxury.

Jub. Thy Prejudices, Syphax, won't difcern
What Virtues grow from Ignorance and Choice,
Nor how the Hero differs from the Brute.
But grant that others cou'd with equal Glory
Look down on Pleasures, and the Baits of Sense;
Where fhall we find the Man that bears Affliction,
Great and Majestick in his Griefs, like Cato?
Heav'ns, with what Strength, what Steadiness of Mind,
He triumphs in the midft of all his Suff'rings!
How does he rife against a Load of Woes,

And thank the Gods that throw the Weight upon him!
Syph. 'Tis Pride, rank Pride, and Haughtiness of Soul:
I think the Romans call it Stoicifm.

Had not your Royal Father thought fo highly
Of Roman Virtue, and of Cato's Caule,

He had not fall'n by a Slave's Hand, inglorious:
Nor would his flaughter'd Army now have lain
On Africk's Sands, disfigur'd with their Wounds,
Το
gorge the Wolves and Vultures of Numidia.
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!
Jub. What wou'dft thou have me do?
Syph. Abandon Cato.

Jub. Syphax, I fhou'd be more than twice an Orphan By fuch a Lofs.

Syph. Ay, there's the Tie that binds you!

You long to call him Father. Marcia's Charms
Work in your Heart unfeen, and plead for Cato.
No wonder you are deaf to all I fay.

Fub. Syphax, your Zeal becomes importunate;

B 3

I've

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 Bleffings,
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 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! --

bis Grief

Swell'd up fo high he could not utter more.
fub. Alas, thy Story melts away my Soul.
That beft of Fathers! how fhall 1 discharge
The Gratitude and Duty which I owe him!

Syph. By laying up his Councils in your Heart.
Jub. His Councils bade me yield to thy Directions:
Then, Syphax, chide me in feverest Terms,
Vent all thy Paffion, and I'll stand its fhock,
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 wou'dft: but tell me how?
Syph. Fly from the Fate that follows Cafar's Foes.
Jub. My Father scorn'd to do it.

Syph. And therefore dy❜d.

Jub. Better to die ten thousand thousand Deaths Thin wound my Honour.

Syph. Rather fay your Love.

Fub. Syphax, I've promis'd to preferve my Temper,

Why wilt thou urge me to confefs a Flame,

I long have ftifled, and wou'd fain conceal?

Syph. Believe me, Prince, tho' hard to conquer Love

Tis eafy to divert and break its Force:

Abfence

Abfence might cure it, or a fecond Mistress
Light up another Flame, and put out this.
The glowing Dames of Zama's Royal Court
Have Faces flufht 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 thefe, my Prince, you'd foon 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 palls upon the Sense.
The virtuous Marcia tow'rs above her Sex:
True, he is fair, (Oh, how divinely fair!)
But ftill the lovely Maid improves her Charms,
With inward Greatness, unaffected Wisdom,
And Sanctity of Manners. Cato's Soul
Shines out in every thing the acts or speaks,
While winning Mildness and attractive Smiles
Dwell in her Looks, and with becoming Grace
Soften the Rigour of her Father's Virtues.

Syph. How does your Tongue grow wanton in her
Praife!

But on my Knees I beg you wou'd confider----

Enter Marcia and Lucia.

fub. Hah! Syphax, is't not she!-----She moves this Way:

And with her Lucia, Lucius's fair Daughter,

My Heart beats thick---I pr'ythee, Syphax, leave me.
Syph. Ten thousand Curfes faften on 'em both!
Now will this Woman with a fingle Glance
Undo what I've been lab'ring all this while,

B 4

[Exit.

SCENE

SCENE V.

Juba, Marcia, Lucia.

Jub. Hail, charming Maid! how does thy Beauty

fmooth

The Face of War, and make ev'n Horror fmile!

At fight of Thee my Heart shakes off its Sorrows;
I feel a Dawn of Joy break in upon me,

And for a while forget th' Approach of Cafar.

Mar. I fhou'd be griev'd, young Prince, to think my
Prefence

Unbent your Thoughts, and flacken'd 'em to Arms,
While warm with Slaughter, our victorious Foe
Threatens aloud, and calls you to the Field.

Jub. O Marcia, let me hope thy kind Concerns
And gentle Wishes, follow me to Battle!
The Thought will give new Vigour to my Arm,
Add Strength and Weight to my defcending Sword,
And drive it in a Tempeft on the Foe.

Mar. My Pray'rs and Wishes always shall attend
The Friends of Rome, the glorious Cause of Virtue,
And Men approv'd of by the Gods and Cato.

Jub. That Juba may deferve thy pious Cares,
I'll
gaze for ever on thy Godlike Father,
Tranfplanting, one by one, into my Life
His bright Perfections, 'till I fhine like him.

Mar. My Father never at a Time like this
Wou'd lay out his great Soul in Words, and waste
Such precious Moments.

Jub. Thy Reproofs are just,

Thou virtuous Maid; I'll haften to my Troops,
And fire their languid Souls with Cato's Virtue.
If e'er I lead them to the Field, when all

The

The War fhall ftand ranged in its juft Array,
And dredful Pomp: Then will I think on thee!
O lovely Maid, Then will I think on thee!
An in the fhock of charging Hofts, remember
What glorious Deeds fhou'd grace the Man, who hopes
For Marcia's Love.

[Exit.

SCENE VI.

Lucia, Marcia.

Luc. Marcia, you're too fevere:

How cou'd you chide the young good-natured Prince,
And drive him from you with so stern an Air,
A Prince that loves and dotes on you to Death?

Mar. 'Tis therefore, Lucia, that I chide him from me.
His Air, his Voice, his Looks, and honeft Soul
Speak all fo movingly in his Behalf,

I dare not trust my felf to hear him talk.

Luc. Why will you fight against so sweet a Paffion, And steel your Heart to fuch a World of Charms?

Mar. How, Lucia, wou'dft thou have me fink away In pleasing Dreams, and lofe my felf in Love, When ev'ry Moment Cato's Life's at Stake? Cafar comes arm'd with Terror and Revenge, And aims his Thunder at my Father's Head: Shou'd not the fad Occafion fwallow up My other Cares, and draw them all into it? Luc. Why have not I this Conftancy of Mind, Who have so many Griefs to try its Force? Sure, Nature form'd me of her fofteft Mould, Enfeebled all my Soul with Tender Paffions, And funk me ev'en below mine own weak Sex: Pity, and Love, by turns oppress my Heart.

B5

Mar.