and while the fathers of the senate meet in close debate, to weigh th' events of war, I'll animate the soldier's drooping courage, with love of freedom, and contempt of life. I'll thunder in their ears their country's cause, and try to rouze up all that's Roman in them. 'T is not in mortals to command success: but we'll do more, Sempronius; we'll deserve it. [Exit. Sem. Curse on this 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 showers down greatness on his friends, will raise to Rome's first honours. If I give up Cato [me I claim in my reward his captive daughter. But Syphax comes !—

Syph.

SCENE III.

Enter SYPHAX and SEMPRONIUS.

-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 whilst we speak, our conqueror comes on,

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4

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 thundering at our gates.

[way,

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, of 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 call'd together? Gods! 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 ('t is the surest way); I'll bellow out for Rome and for my country, and mouth at Cæsar till I shake the senate. Your cold hypocrisy's a stale device,

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ACT I:

САТО.

35

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;
mean-while 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:
O think what anxious moments pass between
the birth of plots, and their last fatal periods.
Oh! 't is 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 head-strong youth, and make him spurn at Cato. The time is short, Cæsar comes rushing on usbut hold! young Juba sees me, and approaches.

SCENE IV.

JUBA SYPHAX.

Jub. Syphax, 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 eye thus coldly on thy prince? Syph. 'T is not my talent to conceal my thoughts, nor carry smiles and sun-shine 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 ungenerous terms against the lords and sovereigns 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?

[ple up

Syph. Gods! where's the worth that sets this peoabove your own Numidia's tawny sons? do they with tougher sinews bend the bow? or flies the javelin swifter to it's 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, 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, 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 liberal arts: th' embellishments of life: virtues like these make human nature shine, reform the soul, and break our fierce barbarians into men. Syph. Patience, kind heavens !-Excuse an old man's warmth.

What are these wondrous civilizing arts,

this Roman polish, and this smooth behaviour,
that render 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 it's 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 thine eyes to
there may'st thou see to what a godlike height [Cato!
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 deserts, in quest of prey, and lives upon 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 the 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?