_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 used me thus.

Alas, he's dead! but can you e'er forget The tender sorrows, And repeated blessings, Which you drew from him in your last farewell?

The good old king, at parting, wrung my hand, (His eyes brimful of tears) then sighing cried, 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 grat.i.tude and duty that I owe him?

_Syph._ By laying up his counsels in your heart.

_Jub._ His counsels bade me yield to thy direction: Then, Syphax, chide me in severest terms, Vent all thy pa.s.sion, 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 you to your safety.

_Jub._ I do believe thou wouldst; but tell me how?

_Syph._ Fly from the fate that follows Caesar's foes.

_Jub._ My father scorn'd to do it.

_Syph._ And therefore died.

_Jub._ Better to die ten thousand thousand deaths, Than wound my honour.

_Syph._ Rather say, your love.

_Jub._ Syphax, I've promised to preserve my temper; Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame I long have stifled, and would fain conceal?

_Syph._ Believe me, prince, though hard to conquer love, 'Tis easy to divert and break its 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 flush'd with more exalted charms; 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 s.e.x: True, she is fair (Oh, how divinely fair!), But still the lovely maid improves her charms, With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom, And sanct.i.ty 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--

_Jub._ Ha! 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 smooth The face of war, and make even horror smile!

At sight of thee my heart shakes off its sorrows; I feel a dawn of joy break in upon me, And for a while forget th' approach of Caesar.

_Marcia._ I should be grieved, 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 field.

_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, And strength and weight to my descending sword, And drive it in a tempest on the foe.

_Marcia._ My pray'rs and wishes always shall attend The friends of Rome, the glorious cause of virtue, And men approved of by the G.o.ds and Cato.

_Jub._ That Juba may deserve thy pious cares, I'll gaze for ever on thy G.o.dlike father, Transplanting one by one, into my life, His bright perfections, till I shine like him.

_Marcia._ 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 ranged in its just array, And dreadful pomp, then will I think on thee; Oh, lovely maid! then will I think on thee; And, in the shock of charging hosts, remember What glorious deeds should grace the man who hopes For Marcia's love. [_Exit_ JUBA.

_Lucia._ Marcia, you're too severe; How could you chide the young good-natured prince, And drive him from you with so stern an air, A prince that loves, and dotes on you to death?

_Marcia._ 'Tis 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.

_Lucia._ Why will you fight against so sweet a pa.s.sion, And steel your heart to such a world of charms?

_Marcia._ How, Lucia! wouldst thou have me sink away In pleasing dreams, and lose myself in love, When ev'ry moment Cato's life's at stake?

Caesar 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?

_Lucia._ Why have I not this constancy of mind, Who have so many griefs to try its force?

Sure, Nature form'd me of her softest mould, Enfeebled all my soul with tender pa.s.sions, And sunk me ev'n below my own weak s.e.x: Pity and love, by turns, oppress my heart.

_Marcia._ Lucia, disburden all thy cares on me, And let me share thy most retired distress.

Tell me, who raises up this conflict in thee?

_Lucia._ I need not blush to name them, when I tell thee They're Marcia's brothers, and the sons of Cato.

_Marcia._ They both behold thee with their sister's eyes, And often have reveal'd their pa.s.sion to me.

But tell me, which of them is Lucia's choice?

_Lucia._ Suppose 'twere Portius, could you blame my choice?-- Oh, Portius, thou hast stolen away my soul!

Marcus is over warm, his fond complaints Have so much earnestness and pa.s.sion in them, I hear him with a secret kind of horror, And tremble at his vehemence of temper.

_Marcia._ Alas, poor youth!

How will thy coldness raise Tempests and storms in his afflicted bosom!

I dread the consequence.

_Lucia._ You seem to plead Against your brother Portius.