Sem. The more I fee the Wonders of thy Race,
The more I'm charm'd. Thou must take heed, my
The World has all its Eyes on Cato's Son.
Thy Father's Merit fets thee up to View, And fhews thee in the fairest point of Light, To make thy Virtues, or thy Faults, Confpicuous. Por. Well doft thou feem to check my Lingring here On this important Hour----I'll ftraight away, And while the Fathers of the Senate meet In close Debate to weigh the 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 roufe up all that's Roman in 'em. 'Tis not in Mortals to Command Succefs, But we'll do more, Sempronius; we'll Deferve it. Sempronius folus.
Curfe on the Stripling! how he Ape's his Sire? Ambitiously fententious!--- But I wonder Old Syphax comes not? his Numidian Genius Is well difpofed to Mischief, were he prompt And eager on it; but he must be fpurr'd, And ev'ry Moment quickned to the Courfe. Cato has us'd me ill: He has refufed
His Daughter Marcia to my ardent Vows: Befides, his baffled Arms and ruin'd Cause Are Barrs to my Ambition. Cafar's Favour,
That show'rs down Greatnefs on his Friends, will raife me To Rome's first Honours. If I give up Cato,
I claim in my Reward his Captive Daughter. But Syphax comes !----
SCENE III. Syphax, Sempronius.
Syph.----Sempronius, all is ready, I've founded my Numidians, Man by Man, And find 'em ripe for a Revolt: They all Complain aloud of Cato's Difcipline,
And wait but the Command to change their Master. Semp. Believe me, Syphax, there's no time to waste į Ev'n whilft we speak our Conqueror comes on, And gathers ground upon us ev'ry Moment. Alas! thou know'ft not Cafar's active Soul, With what a dreadful Courfe he rushes on From War to War: In vain has Nature form'd Mountains and Oceans to oppose his Paffage ; He bounds o'er all, victorious in his March; The Alpes and Pyreneans fink before him,
Through Winds and Waves, and Storms he works his Way, Impatient for the Battle: One Day more
Will fet the Victor thund'ring at our Gates.
But tell me, haft thou yet drawn o'er young Juba ? That ftill would recommend thee more to Cafar, And challenge better Terms.
He's loft, Sempronius; all his Thoughts are full Of Cato's Virtues -- - But I'll try once more
(For ev'ry Inftant I expect him here)
yet I can fubdue thofe ftubborn Principles Of Faith, of Honour, and I know not what, That have corrupted his Numidian Temper, And ftruck th' Infection into all his Soul. Semp. Be fure to press upon him ev'ry Motive. Juba's Surrender, fince his Father's Death,
Would give up Africk into Cafar'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 difcern Our Frauds, unless they're cover'd thick with Art. Semp. Let me alone, good Syphax, I'll conceal My Thoughts in Paffion ('tis the furest way;) I'll bellow out for Rome and for my Country, And mouth at Cafar 'till I shake the Senate. Your cold Hypocrify's a stale Device,
A worn-out Trick: Would it thou be thought in Earnest? Clothe thy feign'd Zeal in Rage, in Fire, in Fury!
Syph. In troth, thou't able to inftruct Gray-hairs, And teach the wily African Deceit!
Semp Once more, be fure to try thy Skill on Juba. Mean while I'll haften to my Roman Soldiers, Inflame the Mutiny, and underhand
Blow up their Difcontents, 'till they break out Unlook'd for, and discharge themselves on Cato. Remember, Syphax, we must work in Hafte: O think what anxious Moments pass between The Birth of Plots, and their laft fatal Periods. Oh! 'tis a dreadful Interval of Time, Fill'd up with Horror all, and big with Death! Destruction hangs on ev'ry Word we speak, On ev'ry Thought, 'till the concluding Stroke Determines all, and clofes our Defign.
I'll try if yet I can reduce to Reafon
This head-ftrong Youth, and make him fpurn at Cato. The Time is fhort, Cafar comes rufhing on us ---- But hold! young Juba fees me, and approaches.
Jub. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone. I have obferved of late thy Looks are fall'n, O'ercaft with gloomy Cares and Difcontent; 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. 'Tis not my Talent to conceal my Thoughts, Or carry Smiles and Sun-fhine in my Face, When Discontent fits heavy at my Heart. I have not yet so much the Roman in me.
Jub. Why doft thou caft out fuch ungen'rous Terms Against the Lords and Sov'reigns of the World? Doft thou not fee Mankind fall down before them, And own the force of their fuperior Virtue? Is there a Nation in the Wilds of Africk, Amidft our barren Rocks, and burning Sands, That does not tremble at the Roman Name?
Syph. Gods! where's the Worth that fets this People up Above your own Numidia's tawny Sons!
Do they with Tougher Sinews bend the Bow? Or flies the Jav'lin Swifter to its Mark, Lanch'd from the Vigour of a Roman Arm! Who like our active African inftructs The fiery Steed, and trains him to his Hand? Or guides in Troops th' embattied Elephant,
Loaden with War? Thefe, these are my Arts, my Princes! In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome. Fub. Thefe all are Virtues of a meaner Rank, Perfections that are plac'd in Bones and Nerves, A Roman Soul is tent on higher Views:
To civilize the rude unpolifh'd World, And lay it under the Restraint of Laws; To make Man mild, and fociable to Man; To cultivate the wild licentious Savage With Wisdom, Discipline, and lib'ral Arts; The Embellishments of Life: Virtues like these, Make Human Nature fhine, reform the Soul, And break our fierce Barbarians into Men. Syph. Patience, kind Heav'ns! --- What are these wond'rous civilizing Arts, This Roman Polifh, and this fmooth Behaviour, That render Man thus tractable and tame? Are they not only to disguise our Paffions, To fet our Looks at variance with our Thoughts, To check the Starts and Sallies of the Soul, And break off all its Commerce with the Tongue; In short, to change us into other Creatures, Than what our Nature and the Gods design'd us?
Jub. To ftrike thee dumb: Turn up thy Eyes to Cato! There may'st thou fee to what a Godlike Height The Roman Virtues lift up mortal Man.
While good, and juft, and anxious for his Friends, He's ftill feverely bent against himself;
Renouncing Sleep, and Reft, and Food, and Eafe, He strives with Thirst and Hunger, Toil and Heat, And when his Fortune fets 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 vaft Numidian Defarts In queft of Prey, and lives upon his Bow, But better practises these boasted Virtues. Coarfe are his Meals, the Fortune of the Chase, Amidst the running Stream he flakes his Thirst, Toils all the Day, and at th' approach of Night On the firft friendly Bank he throws him down,
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