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Better to die ten thousand thousand deaths,

Than wound my


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Syphax, I've promis'd to preserve my temper,
Why wilt thou urge me to confefs a flame,
I long have ftifled, and wou'd fain conceal?

Believe me, prince, tho' hard to conquer love,
'Tis eafy to divert and break its force:
Abfence might cure it, or a fecond 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 fun that rolls his chariot o'er their heads,
Works up more fire and colour in their cheeks:
Were you with thefe, my prince, you'd foon forget
The pale unripen'd beauties of the North.



'Tis not a set of features, or complexion,
The tincture of a skin that I admire.
Beauty foon grows familiar to the lover,
Fades in his eye, and palls upon the sense.
The virtuous Marcia tow'rs above her sex: :
True, the is fair, (ph, how divinely fair!)
But ftill the lovely maid improves her charms,


With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom,
And fanctity of manners. Cato's foul
Shines out in every thing the 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.


How does your tongue grow wanton in her praife! But on my knees I beg you wou'd confider


Hah! Syphax, is't not the!the moves this way, And with her Lucia, Lucius's fair daughter. My heart beats thick-I pr'ythee, Syphax, leave me,


Ten thousand curfes faften on 'em both! Now will this woman with a fingle glance Undo what I've been lab'ring all this while.

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Hail, charming maid! how does thy beauty fmooth The face of war, and make ev'n horror fmile!

At fight of thee my heart shakes off its forrows;
I feel a dawn of joy break in upon me,

And for a while forget th' approach of Cafar.



I fhou'd be griev'd, young prince, to think my


Unbent your thoughts, and flacken'd 'em to arms, While warm with flaughter, our victorious foe Threatens aloud, and calls you to the field. TUBA.

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 ftrength and weight to my defcending fword, And drive it in a tempeft on the foe.


My pray'rs and wishes always fhall attend The friends of Rome, the glorious caufe of virtue, And men approv'd of by the gods and Cato. JUBA

That Juba may deserve thy pious cares, I'll gaze for ever on thy godlike father, Tranfplanting, one by one, into my life His bright perfections, 'till I shine like him. MARCI A.

My father, never at a time like this

Wou'd lay out his great foul in words, and waste Such precious moments.


Thy reproofs are just,

Thou virtuous maid! I'll haften to my troops,
And fire their languid fouls with Cato's virtue.

If e'er I lead them to the field, when all
The war shall stand rang'd in its just array,
And dreadful pomp: then will I think on thee!
O lovely maid, then will I think on thee!

And in the fhock of charging hofts, remember
What glorious deeds fhou'd grace the man, who hopes
For Marcia's love.


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Marcia, you're too fevere:

How cou'd you chide the young good-natured prince, And drive him from you with so stern an air,

A prince that loves and doats on you to death?


'Tis therefore, Lucia, that I chide him from me, His air, his voice, his looks, and honeft foul Speak all fo movingly in his behalf,

I dare not truft myself to hear him talk.

Why will you fight against so sweet a passion,
And steel your heart to fuch a world of charms?

How, Lucia! wou'dft thou have me fink away In pleafing dreams, and lofe myself in love,


When ev'ry moment Cato's life's at stake?
Cafar comes arm'd with terror and revenge,
And aims his thunder at my father's head:
Shou'd not the fad occasion swallow up
My other cares, and draw them all into it?

Why have not I this conftancy of mind, Who have so many griefs to try its force? Sure, nature form'd me of her fofteft mould, Enfeebled all my foul with tender paffions, And funk me even below my own weak sex: Pity, and love, by turns opprefs my heart. MARCI A.

Lucia, difburden all thy cares on me,
And let me share thy moft retired distress;
Tell me who raises up this conflict in thee?

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

They both behold thee with their fifter's eyes: And often have reveal'd their paffion to me. 'But tell me, whofe addrefs thou favour'ft most? 'I long to know, and yet I dread to hear it.


Which is it Marcia wishes for?


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