JUBA.

Better to die ten thousand thousand deaths,

Than wound my honour.

SYPHA Χ.

Rather say your love.

JUBA.

Syphax, I've promis'd to preserve my temper,

Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame,
I long have stifled, and wou'd fain conceal?
SYPHA Χ.

Believe me, prince, tho' 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 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 these, 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, 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 foul

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 virtues.

SYPHAΧ.

How does your tongue grow wanton in her praise!

But on my knees I beg you wou'd confider

JUBA

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

SYPHA Χ.

Ten thousand curses fasten on 'em both!

Now will this woman with a fingle glance
Undo what I've been lab'ring all this while.

SCENE

[Exit.

V.

JUBA, MARCIA, LUCIA.

JUBA.

Hail, charming maid! how does thy beauty smooth The face of war, and make ev'n horror smile! 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.

MARCI A. MARCIA.

I shou'd be griev'd, young prince, to think my
prefence

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

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

MARCIA.

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 Catv.

JUBA.

That Juba may deserve thy pious cares, I'll gaze for ever on thy godlike 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

Wou'd lay out his great foul in words, and waste

Such precious moments.

JUBA.

Thy reproofs are just,

Thou virtuous maid! I'll hasten 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 shock of charging hosts, remember

What glorious deeds shou'd grace the man, whe hopes For Marcia's love.

[Exit.

SCENE

VI.

LUCIA, MARCIA.

LUCIA.

Marcia, you're too severe :

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?

MARCIA.

'Tis therefore, Lucia, that I chide him from ine.

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 passion, And steel your heart to such a world of charms?

MARCIA.

How, Lucia! wou'dst thou have me fink away In pleasing dreams, and lose myself in love,

When

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 sad occasion swallow up
My other cares, and draw them all into it?
LUCI A.

Why have not I 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 passions,
And funk me even below my own weak sex:
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 passion to me. 'But tell me, whose address thou favour'st most? 'I long to know, and yet I dread to hear it.

LUCIA.

Which is it Marcia wishes for?

MARCI A.