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But better practises those boasted virtues.
Jub. Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't discern
mind, “ He triumphs in the midst of all his suff'rings !" How does he rise against a load of woes, And thank the gods that throw the weight upon
On Afric sands disfigur'd with their wounds,
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. Syphax, I shou'd be more than twice an orphan By such a loss.
Syph. Aye, there's the tie that binds you!
Jub. Syphax, your zeal becomes importunate;
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 blessings,” Which you drew from him in your last farewell ? Still must I cherish the dear, sad remembrance, At once to torture and to please my soul. The good old king at parting wrung my hand (His eyes brim-tull of tears), then sighing, cry'd, Pr'yth be careful of my son !-His grief Swellid up so high, he could not utter more.
Jub. Alas! thy story melts away my soul;
That best of fathers ! how shall I discharge
Syph. 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 passion, and I'll stand its shock, 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 thee to your
safety. Jub. I do believe thou wouldst; but tell me how ? Syph. Fly from the fate that follows Cæsar's foes. Jub. My father scorn'd to do it, Syph. And therefore dy'd.
Fub. Better to die ten thousand thousand deaths, Than wound my honour.
Syph. Rather say your love.
Jub. Syphax, I've promis’d to preserve my temper.
Were you with these, my prince, you'd soon 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 soon grows familiar to the lover, Fades in his eye, and palls upon the sense. The virtuous Marcia tow'rs above her sex : True, she is fair, (Oh, how divinely fair !) But still the lovely maid improves her charms With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom, And sanctity of manners; Cato's soul Shines out in every thing she acts or speaks, While winning mildness and attractive smiles, Dwell in her looks, and with becoming grace Soften the rigour of her father's virtue. Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton in her
praise ! But on my knees I beg you would consider
Fub. Hah! Syphax, is't not shel-She moves this
And with her Lucia, Lucius's fair daughter.
Syph. Ten thousand curses fasten on them both!
Enter MARCIA and LUCIA. Jub. Hail, charming maid! How does thy beauty
The face of war, and make ev'n horror smile!
Jub. Oh, 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 descending sword, And drive it in a tempest 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 deserve thy pious cares,
Mar. My father never, at a time like this,
Jub. Thy reproofs are just,