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Syph. What greater Inftance can I give? I've offer'd
To do an Action which my Soul abhor's,
And gain you whom you love at any Price.

Jub. Was this thy Motive? I have been too hafty.
Syph. And 'tis for this my Prince has call'd me Traytor.
Fub. Sure thou mistakeft; I did not call thee fo.
Syph. You did indeed, my Prince, you call'd me Traytor:
Nay, further, threaten'd you'd complain to Cato.
Of what, my Prince, wou'd you complain to Cato?
That Syphax loves you, and wou'd facrifice
His Life, nay more, his Honour in your Service.
Jub. Syphax, I know thou lov'ft me, but indeed
Thy Zeal for Juba carried thee too far.
Honour's a facred Tie, the Law of Kings,
The noble Mind's diftinguishing Perfection,

That aid's and ftrengthens Virtue, where it meets her,
And imitates her Actions, where he is not:
It ought not to be sported with..

Syph. By Heav'ns

I'm ravifht when you talk thus, tho' you chide me,
Alas, I've hitherto been used to think

A blind officious Zeal to ferve my King
The ruling Principle, that ought to burn
And quench all others in a Subject's Heart.
Happy the People who preferve their Honour
By the fame Duties that oblige their Prince!

Fub. Syphax, thou now begin'ft to speak thy felf.
Numidia's grown a Scorn among the Nations
For Breach of publick Vows. Our Punick Faith
Is infamous, and branded to a Proverb.
Syphax, we'll join our Cares, to purge away
Our Country's Crimes, and clear her Reputation.

Syph. Believe me, Prince, you make old Syphax weep.
To hear you talkbut 'tis with Tears of Joy.
If e're your Father's Crown adorn your Brows,
Numidia will be bleft by Cato's Lectures.

Fab

Fub. Syphax, thy Hand! we'll mutually forget The Warmth of Youth, and Frowardnefs of Age: Thy Prince esteems thy Worth, and loves thy Perfon. If e're the Scepter comes into my Hand,

Syphax fhall ftand the fecond in my Kingdom.

Syph. Why will you overwhelm my Age with Kindness? My Jay grows burdenfome, I fha'n't fupport it.

Fub. Syphax, farewell. I'll hence, and try to find
Some bleft Occafion that may fet me right

In Cato's Thoughts. I'd rather have that Man
Approve my Deeds, than Worlds for my Admirers.

Syphax folus.

Young Men foon give, and foon forget Affronts;
Old Age is flow in both A falfe old Traytor!
Those Words, rafh Boy, may chance to coft thee dear:
My Heart had ftill fome foolish Fondness for thee:
But hence! 'tis gone: I give it to the Winds:
Cafar, I'm wholly thine-

Enter Sempronius.

Syph. All hail, Sempronius!

Well, Cato's Senate is refolv'd to wait

The Fury of a Siege, before it yields.

Semp. Syphax, we both were on the Verge of Fate: Lucius declared for Peace, and Terms were offer'd

To Cato by a Meffenger from Cæfar.

Shou'd they fubmit, ere our Defigns are ripe,

We both muft perish in the common Wreck,
Loft in a gen'ral undiftinguifht Ruin.
Syph. But how ftands Cato?

Semp. Thou haft feen Mount Atlas:

While Storms and Tempefts thunder on its Brows,
And Oceans break their Billows at its Feet,
It ftands unmoved, and glorie's in its Height.

[Exit.

Such

Such is that haughty Man; his tow'ring Soul,
'Midft all the Shocks and Injuries of Fortune,
Rifes fuperior, and looks down on Cæfar.
Syph. But what's this Meffenger?
Semp. I've practis'd with him,

And found a Means to let the Victor know
That Syphax and Sempronius are his Friends.
But let me now examine in
my Turn:

Is Juba fixt?

Syph. Yes, but it is to Cato.

I've try'd the Force of ev'ry Reason on him,
Sooth'd and carrefs'd, been angry, footh'd again,
Lay'd Safety, Life, and Int'reft in his Sight,
But all are vain, he fcorns them all for Cato.
Semp. Come, 'tis no Matter, we fhall do without him.
He'll make a pretty Figure in a Triumph,
And ferve to trip before the Victor's Chariot.
Syphax, I now may hope thou haft forfook
Thy Juba's Caufe, and wifheft Marcia mine.

Syph. May the be thine as faft as thou wou'dft have her!
Semp. Syphax, I love that Woman; tho' I curfe

Her and my felf, yet fpight of me, I love her.

Syph. Make Cato fure, and give up Utica, Cafar will ne'er refufe thee fuch a Trifle. But are thy Troops prepared for a Revolt? Do's the Sedition catch from Man to Man, And run among their Ranks?

Semp. All, all is ready.

The factious Leaders are our Friends, that fpread
Murmurs and Difcontents among the Soldiers.

They count their toilfome Marches, long Fatigues,
Unufual Faftings, and will bear no more

This Medly of Philofophy and War.

Within an Hour they'll ftorm the Senate-Houfe.
Syph. Mean while I'll draw up my Numidian Troops
Within the Square, to exercise their Arms,
And, as I fee Occafion, favour thee.

I

I laugh to think how your unfhaken Cato
Will look aghaft, while unforeseen Destruction
Pou'rs in upon him thus from every Side.
So, where our wide Numidian Wafts extend,
Sudden, th' impetuous Hurricanes defcend,
Wheel through the Air, in circling Eddies play,
Tear up the Sands, and sweep whole Plains away.
The helpless Traveller, with wild Surprize,
Sees the dry Defart all around him rise,
And, fmother 'd in the dufty Whirlwind Dies.

[Exeunt

End of the Second Act.

ACT

ACT III. SCENE I

Marc.

T

Marcus and Portius.

Hanks to my Stars, I have not ranged about
The Wilds of Life, 'ere I cou'd find a Friend;
Nature first pointed out my Portius to me,
And early taught me, by her fecret Force,
To love thy Perfon, 'ere I knew thy Merit;
Till, what was Inftinct, grew up into Friendship.
Port. Marcus, the Friendships of the World are oft
Confed'racies in Vice, or Leagues of Pleasure;
Ours has fevereft Virtue for its Bafis,

And fuch a Friendship end's not but with Life.

Marc. Portius, thou know'ft my Soul in all its Weakness; Then prithee fpare me on its tender Side,

Indulge me but in Love, my other Paffions

Shall rife and fall by Virtue's nicest Rules.

Port. When Love's well timed, 'tis not a Fault to love.
The Strong, the Brave, the Virtuous, and the Wife,
Sink in the foft Captivity together.

I wou'd not urge thee to difmifs thy Paffion,

(I know 'twere vain) but to fupprefs its Force,
Till better Times may make it look more graceful.
Marc. Alas! thou talk'ft like one who never felt.
Th' impatient Throbbs and Longings of a Soul,
That pant's, and reache's after diftant Good.
A Lover do's not live by vulgar Time:
Believe me, Portius, in my Lucia's Absence
Life hang's upon me, and become's a Burden;
And yet when I behold the charming Maid

F

I'm

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