Reduce'd like Hannibal, to feek relief

From court to court, and wander up and down

I'm too officious, but my forward cares
Would fain preserve a life of so much value.
My heart is wounded, when I see such virtue
Afflicted by the weight of such misfortunes.
CATO.

Thy nobleness of foul obliges me.

But know, young Prince, that value foars above
What the world calls misfortune and affliction.
These are not ills; elfe would they never fall
On Heaven's firft favourites, and the beft of men:
The Gods, in bounty, work up ftorms about us,
That give mankind occafion to exert
Their hidden ftrength, and throw out into practice
Virtues, which fhun the day, and lie conceal'd
In the smooth feafons and the calms of life.

JUBA.

I'm charm'd whene'er thou talk'ft! I pant for virtue! And all my foul endeavours at perfection.

САТО.

Doft thou love watchings, abftinence, and toil, Laborious virtues all? learn them from Cato: Succefs and fortune must thou learn from Cæfar.

JUBA.

UBA.

The best good fortune that can fall on Juba, The whole fuccefs, at which my heart afpires, Depends on Cato.

CATO.

What does Juba fay?

Thy words confound me.

JUBA.

I would fain retract them,

Give 'em me back again. They aim'd at nothing.

CATO.

Tell me thy wish, young Prince; make not my ear A ftranger to thy thoughts.

Adieu, young Prince: I would not hear a word

Should

Should leffen thee in my efteem: remember
The hand of fate is over us, and Heaven
Exacts feverity from all our thoughts:
It is not now a time to talk of aught
But chains, or conqueft; liberty, or death.

SCENE V.

SY PHA X, JUBA.

SYPHA X.

How's this, my Prince! what, cover'd with confufion? You look as if yon ftern Philofopher

The weakness of my foul, my love for Marcia.

SYPHA X.

Cato's a proper perfon to entrust

A love-tale with.

JUBA.

'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 rise, before the Sun,
To beat the thicket where the Tiger flept,
Or feek the Lion in his dreadful haunts:
How did the colour mount into your cheeks,
When first you rouse'd him to the chase! 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 stooping from your Horfe
Rivet the panting favage to the ground.

JUBA.

Pr'ythee, no more!

SYPHA X.

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 lose 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'ft thou, Syphax?

By heavens, thou turn'ft me all into attention.

SYPHA X.

Marcia might ftill be yours.

JUBA.

As how, dear Syphax ?

SYPHA X.

Juba commands Numidia's hardy troops,
Mounted on feeds, unus'd to the restraint

Of curbes or bittes, and fleeter than the winds:
Give but the word, we'll fnatch this damfel up,
And bear her off.

JUBA.

Can such dishonest thoughts

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

SYPHA X.

Gods, I could tear my beard to hear you talk!
Honour's a fine imaginary notion,

That draws in raw and unexperience'd men
To real mischiefs, while they hunt a fhadow.

JUBA.

Would'ft thou degrade thy Prince into a Ruffian?
SYPHA X.

The boafted Ancestors of these great men,

Whose virtues you admire, were all fuch Ruffians.
This dread of nations, this almighty Rome,

That