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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 considerFub. Hah! Syphax, is't not she?-She moves this
way : And with her Lucia, Lucius's fair daughter. . My heart beats thick-I pr’ythee, Syphax, leave me.
Syph. Ten thousand curses fasten on them both! Now will the woman, with a single glance, Undo what I've been lab'ring all this while.
[Exit Syphax. 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,
Fub. Thy reproofs are just,
Oh, lovely maid! then will I think on thee;
Mar. 'Tis therefore, Lucia, that I chid 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.
Luc. Why will you fight against so sweet a passion,
Luc. Why have not I this constancy of mind,
Mar. Lucia, disburthen all thy cares on me,
Luc. I need not blush to name them, when I tell
. thee They're Marcia's brothers, and the sons of Cato.
Mar. They both behold thee with their sister's eyes, And often have reveal'd their passion to me. “ But tell me, whose address thou fav’rest most? . “ I long to know, and yet I dread to hear it.
“ Luc. Which is it Marcia wishes for ? Mar. “ For neither " 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?
“ Luc. 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“ Mar. Oh, Lucia, I'm perplex'd, Oh, tell me
which " I must hereafter call my happy brother pas Luc. Suppose 'twere Portius, could you blame my
choice? -Oh, Portius, thou hast stol'n away my soul ! « With what a graceful tenderness he loves ! “ And breathes the softest, the sincerest vows ! “ Complacency, and truth, and manly sweetness, “ Dwelleyer on his tongue, and smooth his thoughts." Marcus is over-warm, his fond complaints Have so much earnestness and passion in them, I hear him with a secret kind of horror, And tremble at his vehemence of temper.
Mar. Alas, poor youth! “how canst thou throw him
from thee? “ Lucia, thou know'st not half the love he bears thee? “ Whene'er he speaks of thee, his heart's in flames, “ He sends out all his soul in ev'ry word, “ And thinks, and talks, and looks like one trans
ported. • Unhappy youth 1” How will thy coldness raise Tempests and storms in his afflicted bosom i I dread the consequence.
Luc. You seem to plead
Mar. Heav'n forbid !
Luc. Was ever virgin love distrest like mine!
“ Mar. He knows too well how easily he's fir'd, “ And wou'd not plunge his brother in despair, “ But waits for happier times, and kinder moments.
“ Luc. Alas! too late I find myself involv'd “ In endless griefs, and labyrinths of woe, “ Born to afflict my Marcia's family, “ And sow dissention in the hearts of brothers. “ Tormenting thought! It cuts into my soul." Mar. Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our sorrows,