Dwell in her looks, and with becoming grace
Soften the rigour of her father's virtue.

SY PHAX.

How does your tongue grow wanton in her praise ! But on my knees I beg you would confider·

JUBA.

Hah! Syphax, is't not fhe !-fhe moves this way: And with her Lucia, Lucius's fair daughter.

My heart beats thick I pr'ythee Syphax leave me.
SYPHA X.

Ten thoufand curfes faften on 'em both!

Now will this woman with a fingle glance
Undo, what I've been labouring all this while. [Exit.

SCENE V.

JUBA, MARCIA, LUCIA.

JUBA.

Hail charming Maid! how does thy beauty smooth The face of war, and make even Horror fmile! At fight of thee my heart fhakes off its forrows; I feel a dawn of joy break in upon me,

And for a while forget th' approach of Cæfar.

MARCI A.

I should be griev'd, young Prince, to think my presence 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 battel!

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.

MARCI A.

My prayers and wishes always fhall attend
The friends of Rome, the glorious cause of virtue,
And men approv'd of by the Gods and Cato.

JUBA.

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

My Father never at a time like this
Would lay out his great foul in words, and waste
Such precious moments.

JUBA.

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 fhall ftand range'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 hosts, remember
What glorious deeds fhould grace the man, who hopes
For Marcia's love.

[Exit.

SCENE VI.

LUCIA, MARCIA.

LUCIA.

Marcia, you're too fevere :

How could you chide the young good-natur'd Prince,
And drive him from you with fo ftern an air,
A Prince that loves and doats on you to death?
MARCI A.

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

I dare not truft my felf to hear him talk.

LUCIA.

Why will you fight against so sweet a passion,
And fteel your heart to fuch a world of charms?
MARCI A.

How, Lucia! would't thou have me fink away
In pleafing dreams, and lose my felf in love,
When every moment Cato's life's at flake?
Cæfar comes arm'd with terror and revenge,

And

And aims his thunder at my father's head:
Should not the fad occafion fwallow up
My other cares, and draw them all into it?
LUCIA.

Why have not I this conftancy of mind,
Who have fo 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 fex:
Pity and love, by turns, opprefs my heart.
MARCI A.

Lucia, disburthen all thy cares on me, And let me share thy most retir'd 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 fons of Cato. MARCIA.

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

Which is it Marcia wifhes for?

MARCIA

In Marcia's wifhes, and divide their fifter:

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

Marcia, they both are high in my esteem,

But in my love-why wilt thou make me name him?
Thou know'ft it is a blind and foolish paffion,

Pleas'd and disgusted with it knows not what
MARCI A.

O Lucia, I'm perplex'd, O tell me which
I must hereafter call my happy brother?

LUCIA.

Suppofe 'twere Portius, could you blame my choice? -O Portius, thou haft ftol'n away my foul! With what a graceful tenderness he loves! And breathes the fofteft, the fincereft vows! Complacency, and truth, and manly sweetness Dwell ever on his tongue, and smooth his thoughts. Marcus is over-warm, his fond complaints Have fo much earnestness and passion in them, I hear him with a fecret kind of horrour, And tremble at his vehemence of temper.

MARCI A.

Alas poor youth! how can't thou throw him from thee? Lucia, thou know'ft not half the love he bears thee;

Whene'er he speaks of thee, his heart's in flames,
He fends out all his foul in every word,

And thinks, and talks, and looks like one tranfported.

Unhappy