Heavens, with what strength, what steadiness of mind, he triumphs in the midst of all his sufferings ! how does he rise against a load of woes,

and thank the gods that throws the weight upon him!

Syph. 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of I think the Romans call it Stoicism. (soul!

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 sands, disfigur'd with their wounds, to gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia. Jub. Why do'st 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 wouldst thou have me do?

Syph.

Abandon Cato.

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

Syph. Ay, there's the tie that binds you! you long to call him father. Marcia's charms work in your heart unseen, and plead for Cato. No wonder you are 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, 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 full of tears) then sighing cry'd,
pr'ythee be careful of my son! His grief
swell'd up so high, he could not utter more.
Jub. Alas, thy story melts away my soul.
That best of fathers! how shall I discharge
the gratitude and duty which I owe him!
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 it's shock,
calm and unruffled as a summer-sea,

when not a breath of wind flies o'er it's surface.
Syph. Alas my prince, I'd guide you to your safety.
Jub. I do believe thou would'st; but tell me how?
Syph. Fly from the fate that follows Cæsar's foes.
Jub. My father scorn'd to do 't.

Syph.

And therefore dy'd.

Jub. 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. Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame

I

long

have stiffled, and would fain conceal? Syph. Believe me, prince, 't is hard to conquer love, but easy to divert and break it's force:

absence might cure it, or a second mistress light up another flame, and put out this. The glowing dames of Zama's royal court have faces flusht 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 these, my prince, you'd soon forget the pale unripen'd beauties of the north.

Jub. 'T is 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 towers 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 virtues.

Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton in her but on my knees I beg you would consider [praise!

Enter MARCIA, and LUCIA.

Jub. Hah! Syphax, is 't not she?- She moves this and with her Lucia, Lucius's fair daughter. [way: My heart beats thick-I pr'ythee, Syphax, leave me.

Syph. Ten thousand curses fasten on them both! Now will this woman with a single glance undo what I've been labouring all this while. [Exit. JUBA, MARCIA, LUCIA. [smooth Jub. Hail charming maid! how does thy beauty

the face of war, and make ev'n horror smile;
at sight of thee my heart shakes off it's sorrows;
I feel a dawn of joy break in upon me,

and for a while forget th' approach of Cæsar.
Mar. I should be griev'd, young prince, to think

my presence

unbent your thoughts, and slacken'd them to arms, while, warm with slaughter, our victorious foe

threatens aloud, and calls you to the fields.

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 descending sword,
and drive it in a tempest on the foe.

Mar. My prayers and wishes always shall attend the friends of Rome, the glorious cause of virtue, and men approv'd of by the gods of Cato.

Jub. That Juba may deserve thy pious cares, I'll gaze for ever on thy godlike father, transplanting, one by one, into

my life his bright perfections, still I shine like him. Mar. My father never at a time like this would lay out his great soul in words, and waste such precious moments.

Jub.

Thy reproofs are just,

thou virtuous maid; I'll hasten to my troops, and fire their languid souls with Cato's virtue; if e'er I lead them to the field, when all the war shall stand rang'd in it's just array, and dreadful pomp: then will I think on thee! O lovely maid, then will I think on thee! and, in the shock of charging hosts, remember what glorious deeds shou'd grace the man, who hopes for Marcia's love.

Lucia.

[Exit.

Marcia, you 're too severe : how could you chide the young good-natur'd prince, and drive him from you with so stern an air,

a prince that loves and dotes on you to death? Marcia. "T is therefore, Lucia, that I chide him from me.

His air, his voice, his looks, and honest soul, speak all so movingly in his behalf,

I dare not trust myself to hear him talk.

[away

Lucia. Why will you fight against so sweet a pasand steel your heart to such a world of charms? [sion, Marcia. How, Lucia! would'st thou have me sink in pleasing dreams, and lose myself in love, when every moment Cato's life's at stake? Cæsar comes arm'd with terror and revenge, and aims his thunder at my father's head: should not the sad occasion swallow up my other cares, and draw them all into it? Lucia. Why have not I this constancy of mind, who have so many griefs to try it's force? Sure, nature form'd me of her softest mould, enfeebled all my soul with tender passions, and sunk me ev'n below my own weak sex : pity and love, by turns, oppress my heart. Marcia. Lucia, disburthen all thy cares on me, and let me share thy most retir'd distress; tell me who raises up this conflict in thee?

[thee

Lucia. I need not blush to name them, when I tell they're Marcia's brothers, and the sons of Cato. Marcia. They both behold thee with their sister's and often have reveal'd their passion to me. [eyes; But tell me, whose address thou favour'st most? I long to know, and yet I dread to hear it. Lucia. Which is it Marcia wishes for?

and yet for both. The youths have equal share in Marcia's wishes, and divide their sister:

but tell me which of them is Lucia's choice?

Lucia. Marcia, they both are high in my esteem, but in my love Why wilt thou make me name him? Thou know'st, it is a blind and foolish passion, pleas'd and disgusted with it knows not what.

Marcia. O Lucia, I'm perplex'd: O tell me which I must hereafter call my happy brother?