JUBA.

Oh, I could pierce my heart,

My foolish heart! was ever wretch like Juba?
SYPHA X,

Alas, my Prince, how are you change'd of late!
I've known young Juba rife, before the Sun,
To beat the thicket where the Tiger slept,
Or feek the Lion in his dreadful haunts :

How did the colour mount into your cheeks,
When first you rouse'd him to the chace! I've seen you,
Even in the Libyan Dog days, hunt him down,
Then charge him clofe, provoke him to the rage
Of fangs and claws, and ftooping from your Horfe
Rivet the panting favage to the ground.

How would the old King smile

To fee you weigh the paws, when tipp'd with gold,
And throw the fhaggy spoils about your shoulders!
JUBA.

Syphax, this old man's talk (tho' honey flow'd
In every word) would now lofe all its sweetness.
Cato's difpleas'd, and Marcia loft for ever!

SYPHA X.

Young Prince, I yet could give you good advice.

Marcia might ftill be yours.

JUBA

JUBA.

What fay't thou, Syphax!

By heav'n's, thou turn'st me all into attention.
SYPHAX.

Marcia might ftill be yours.

JUBA.

As how, dear Syphax ?`

SY PHA X.

Juba commands Numidia's hardy troops,
Mounted on steeds, unus'd to the restraint
Of curbs and bits, and fleeter than the wind:
Give but the word, we'll fnatch this damfel up,
And bear her off.

JUBA

Can fuch difhoneft thoughts

Rife up in man! would'ft thou feduce my youth
To do an act that would destroy my honour?

SYPHA X.

talk!

Gods, I could tear my beard to hear you
Honour's a fine imaginary notion,
That draws in raw and unexperience'd men
To real mischiefs, while they hunt a fhadow.
JUBA

Would't thou degrade thy Prince into a Ruffian?
SYPHA X.

The boasted Ancestors of these great men,
Whose virtues you admire, were all fuch Ruffians.
This dread of nations, this almighty Rome,

That

That comprehends in her wide empire's bounds
All under Heav'n, was founded on a Rape.
Your Scipio's, Cafar's, Pompey's, and your Cato's,
(These Gods on earth) are all the spurious brood
Of violated maids, of ravish'd Sabines.

JUBA.

Syphax, I fear that hoary head of thine Abounds too much in our Numidian wiles.

SYPHA X.

Indeed, my Prince, you want to know the world; You have not read mankind; your youth admires The throws and fwellings of a Roman foul, Cato's bold flights, th' extravagance of virtue. JUBA.

If knowledge of the world makes man perfidious, May Juba ever live in ignorance!

SY PHAX.

Go, go, you're young.

JUBA.

Gods, muft I tamely bear

This arrogance unanfwer'd! thou'rt a traitor,

I must appease this storm, or perish in it.

[Afide.

Young

Young Prince, behold these locks that are grown white Beneath a helmet in your father's battles.

JUBA.

Those locks fhall ne'er protect thy infolence.
SYPHA X.

Muft one rash word, th' infirmity of age,
Throw down the merit of my better years?
This the reward of a whole life of fervice!
-Curfe on the boy! how fteddily he hears me! [Afide.
JUBA,

Is it because the throne of my forefathers
Still ftands unfill'd, and that Numidia's crown
Hangs doubtful yet, whose head it shall inclose,
Thou thus prefum'ft to treat thy Prince with scorn?
SYPHA X.

Why will you rive my heart with such expreffions?
Does not old Syphax follow you to war?

What are his aims? why does he load with darts
His trembling hand, and crufh beneath a cak
His wrinkled brows what is it he afpires to:
Is it not this? to fhed the flow remains,
His laft poor ebb of blood, in your defence?

JUBA

Syphax, no more! I would not hear you talk.

SYPHAX.

Not hear me talk! what, when my faith to Jube,

My royal mafter's fon, is call'd in question?
My Prince may ftrike me dead, and I'll be dumb :

But

But whilft I live I must not hold my tongue,

And languish out old age in his displeasure.

JUBA.

Thou know'ft the way too well into my

I do believe thee loyal to thy Prince.

SYPHA X.

heart,

What greater instance can I give? I've offer'd
To do an action which my foul abhors,
And gain you whom you love at any price.
JUBA.

Was this thy motive? I have been too hafty.
SYPHA X.

And 'tis for this my Prince has call'd me traitor.

JUBA.

Sure thou miftak'ft; I did not call thee fo.

You did indeed, my Prince, you call'd me traitor:

Nay, further, threaten'd you'd complain to Cato.
Of what, my Prince, wou'd you complain to Cato?
That Syphax loves you, and would facrifice
His life, nay more, his honour in your service.
JUBA.

Syphax, I know thou lov'f me, but indeed
Thy zeal for Juba carried thee too far.
Honour's a facred tie, the law of Kings,
The noble mind's diftinguishing perfection,

That aids and strengthens virtue, where it meets her,
And imitates her actions, where she is not:

It