Riv. Why this is mending matters with a witnels! And fo you think because I am not legally bound, I am under no neceffity of keeping my word! Sir Harry, laws were never made for men of honor; they want no bond but the rectitude of their own sentiments; and laws are of no use but to bind the villains of society.

Sir Har. Well! but my dear Colonel, if you have no regard for me, shew fome little regard for your daughter.

Riv. I thew the greatest regard for my daughter by giving her to a man of honor, and I must not be insulted with any further repetition of your propofals.

Sir Har. Infult you, Colonel? is the offer of my alliance an infult? Is iny readiness to make what settlements you think proper

Riv. Sir Harry I should confider the offer of a king, dom an infult, if it were to be purchased by the violation of my word. Besides tho my daughter shall never go a beggar to the arms of her husband, I would rather fee her happy than rich, and if she has enough to provide handfomely for a young family, and fomething to spare for the exigencies of a worthy friend, I shall think her as affluent as if the was mistress of Mexico.

Sir Har. Well, Colonel, I have done; But I believe Riv. Well, Sir Harry, and as our conference is done, we will, if you please retire to the ladies. I shall always be glad of our acquaintance, though I cannot receive you as a fon in law, for a union of interest I look upon as a union of dishonor, and confider marriage for money, at best but a legal proffitution.

Scene between SHYLOCK and TUBAL.*

Shy. H

daughter?

OW now, Tubal! what news from Genoa?
Have you heard any thing of my backsliding

Tub. I often came where I heard of her, but could not And her.

Shy. Why, there, there, there, a diamond gone that coft me two thousand ducats at Frankfort! The curse never fell upon the nation till now! I never felt it before. Two thoufand ducats in that and other precious jewels! I wish

* Shylock had sent Thal after his daughter, who had cloped his heuse. Antonio was a merchant hated by Shylock.

she lay dead at my feet! No news of them! and I know not what was spent in the search. Loss upon lofs. The thief gone with so much, and fo much to find the thief; and no fatisfaction, no revenge; no ill luck stirring but. what lights on my shoulders.

Tub. O yes, other men have ill luck too, Antonio, as L heard in Genoa--

Sby (Interrupting him) What, has he had ill luck ? Tub. Has had a ship cast away coming from Tripoli. Shy. Thank fortune? Is it true? Is it true?

Tub. I spoke with some of the failors that escaped from the wreck.

Shy. I thank you, good Tubal. Good news! Good news! What, in Genoa, you spoke with them.

Tub. Your daughther, as I heard, fpent twenty ducats in one night.

Sby. You ftick a dagger in me, Tubal. I never shall fee my gold again. Twenty Ducats in one night! Twenty ducats! O father Abraham !

:

Tub. There came feveral of Antonio's creditors in my company to Venice, who say he cannot but break.

Sby. I am glad on't. I'll plague him; I'll torture him; I am glad on't.

Tub. One of them shewed me a ring he had of your daughter for a monkey.

Sby. Out upon her; you torture me, Tubal! It was my ruby. I would not have given it for as many monkies as could stand together upon the Rialta.

Tub. Antonio is certainly undone.

Sby. Ay, ay, there is some comfort in that. Go, Tubal, engage an officer. Tell him to be ready: I'll be revenged on Antonio :: I'll wath my hands to the elbows in hss heart's blood.

JUBA and SYPНАХ.

Jub. SYPHAX I joy to meet thee thus alone.
I have obferv'd of late thy looks are fall'n,

O'er cast 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 thy eyes thus coldly on thy prince?

Shyp. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts,
Or carry smiles, or funshine in my face,
When discontent fits heavy at my heart:
I have not so much of the Roman in me.

Jub. Why doft thou cast out such ungenerous terms,
Against the lords and fovereigns of the world?
Doft not thou see maskind fall down before them?
And own the force of their fuperior virtue?
Is there a nation in the wilds of Afric,
Amidit our barren rocks and burning fands,
That does not tremble at the Roman name ?

Syph. Gods! where's the worth that fets this people up
Above your own Numidia's taway fons ?
Do they with tougher finews bend the bow ?
Or flies the javelin swifter to its mark,
Launch'd with the vigor of a Roman arm?
Who like our active African instructs
The fiery steed, and trains him to his hand?
Or guides in troops the embattled elephant,
Laden with war? Thefe, these are arts, iny prince,
In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome.

Jub. Thefe all are virtues of a meaner rank,
Perfections that are placed in bones and nerves;"
A Roman foul is bent on higher views;
To civilize the rude unpolify'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 liberal arts;
The establishments of life; virtues like these
Make human nature shine, reform the foul,
And brake our fierce barbarians into men.

Sybp. Patience, just heavens!--Excuse an old man's [warmth.

What are those wonderous civilizing arts,
This Roman polith, and this fmooth behaviour,
That render man thus tractable and tame ?
Are they not only to disguise our paffions,
To fet our looks at variance with our thoughts,
To check the starts and fallies of the foul,
And break off all its commerce with the tongue ?
In short, to change us into other creatures,
Than what our hature of the Gods defign'd us.

Jub. To strike thee dumb, 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 feverely bent against himself;
Renouncing fleep and rest, and food, and ease,
He strives with thirst and hunger, toil and heat;
And when his fortune sets before him all
The pomp and pleasure which his foul can wish,
His rigid virtue will except of none.

Sypb. Believe me, prince, there's not an African
That traverfes our vast Numidian defarts
In quest of prey and lives upon his bow,
But better practises these boatted virtues :
Coarse are his meals, the fortune of the chase,
Amidst the running stream he flakes his thirst,
Toils all the day, and at the approach of night,
On the firft friendly bank he throws him down,
Or refts his head upon a rock till morn :
Then rises fresh, pursues the wonted game,
And if the following day he chanc'd to find
A new repast, or an untasted spring,
Blesses his Aars, and thinks it luxury.

Jub. Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't difcern
What virtues grow from ignorance, and what from 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 majeftic in his griefs like Cato?
Heavens! with what Arength, what steadiness of mind,
He triumphs in the midst of all his fufferings?
How does he rife against a load of woes,
And thank the gods that threw the weight upon him!

Syph. 'Tis pride, rank pride and haughtinefs of foul;

I think the Romans call it floicifin.

Had not your royal father thought so highly
Of Roman virtue and of Cato's caufe,
He had not failen by a flave's hand inglorious:
Nor would his laughter'd army now have lain
On Afric's fands, disfigured by their wounds,
To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia.

Jub. Why dost thou call my forrows up afresh:
My father's name brings tears into mine eyes.

Sypb. Oh, that you'd profit by your father's ills!
Jub. What wouldst thou have ine do?

Sypb. Abandon Cato.

[such a lofs.

Jub. Syphax, I should be more than twice an orphan by

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 1 fay.

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.
Sypb. Sir, your great father never ufed me thus.
Alas! he's dead! but can you e'er forget
The tender forrows and the pangs of nature,
The fond embraces, and repeated blessings,
Which you drew from him in your last farewell ?
Still must I cherish, the dear, fad remembrance,
At once to torture and to please my foul.
The good old king, at parting, wrang my hand,
(His eyes brimful of tears) then fighing cry'd;
Prithee be careful of my fon! - His grief
Swelled up fo high he could not utter more..
Jub. Alas, the story melts away my foul!
The best of fathers! how shall I discharge
The gratitude and duty which I owe him?

Sypb. By laying up his counsels in your heart.
Jub. His counsels bade me yield to thy directions :

Then, Syphax, chide me in severest terms;..
Vent all thy paffion, and I'll Rand its shock,
Calm and unruffled as a fummer's fea,
When not a breath of wind flies o'er its furface.

:

Sypb. Alas! my prince, I'll guide you to your fafety. Jub. I do believe thou would'st; but tell me how?

Syph. Fly from the fate of Cæfar's foes.

Jub. My father scorn'd to do it.

Sypb. And therefore dy'd.

Jub. Better to die ten thousand deaths,

Than wound my honor.

Syph. Rather fay your love.

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