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But with no friendly voice , and add thy name
remembrance from what state
, or what
And in the lowest deep, a lower deep
Juba and Syphax. Jub.SxPxAx , I joy to meet thee thus alone.
, I have observ'd of late thy looks are fallen 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 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 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 this
people up Above your own Numidia's tawny sons ? Do they with tougher sinews bend the bow ? Or flies the jav'lin swifter to its mark, Launch'd from the vigour of a Koman arm? Who like our active African instructs The fiery steed, and trains him to his hand ? Or guides 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 rude unpolish'd world ; To lay it under the restraint of laws ; To make man mild, and sociable to man;
To cultivate the wild licentious savage
min's warmth ,
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; Renouncing sleep, and rest, and food, and ease, He strives with thirst and hunger , toil and heat : Wand hen his fortune sets before him all The pomps and pleasures that this soul can wish, His rigid virtue will accept of none.
Syph. Believe me , prince, there's not an AfriThat traverses our vast Numidian deserts In quest
his bow But better practises these 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, 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 repast, or an untasted spring, Blesses his stars, and thinks it luxury.
Jub. Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't discern 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 griefs , like Cato? Heav'ns! with what strength, what steadiness of
mind, He triumphs in the midst of all his sufførings! How does he rise against a load of woes And thank the gods that threw the weight upon
him! Syph. 'Tis pride , rank pride , anu kaughtiness
of soul : I think the Romans call it stoicism. Had not your royal father thought so highly Of Roman virtue, and of Cato's cause, He had not fall’n by a slave's hand, inglorious; Nor would his slaughter'd army now have lain On Afric's sauds, disfigur'd with their wounds, To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia.
jub. Why dost 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!
orphan By such a loss.
Syph. Ay, there's the tie that binds you! You loug to call him father. Marcia's charms Work in
heart unseen , and plead for Cato. No wonder
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, yonr great father never us'd me thus. Alas, he's dead ! but can you e'er forget The tender'sorrows, and the paigs of nature,