SCENE III.

SYPHA X, SEM PRONIUS.

SYPHAX.

Sempronius, all is ready,

I've founded my Numidians, man by man,
And find 'em ripe for a revolt: they all
Complain aloud of Cato's difcipline,

And wait but the command to change their master.
SEMPRONIUS.

Believe me, Syphax, there's no time to waste;
Even whilft we fpeak, our Conqueror comes on,
And gathers ground upon us every moment.
Alas! thou know'ft not Cafar's active soul,
With what a dreadful courfe he rushes on
From war to war: in vain has nature form'd
Mountains and Oceans to oppofe his paffage;
He bounds o'er all, victorious in his march:
The Alpes and Pyreneans fink before him,
Through winds and waves and ftorms he works his way,
Impatient for the battle: one day more

Will fet the Victor thundering at our gates.

But tell me, haft thou yet drawn o'er young Juba ?
That ftill would recommend thee more to Cafar,
And challenge better terms.

He's loft, Sempronius; all his thoughts are full
Of Cato's virtues :- -but I'll try once more
(For every inftant I expect him here)
If yet I can fubdue thofe ftubborn principles
Of faith, of honour, and I know not what,
That have corrupted his Numidian temper,
And ftruck th' infection into all his foul.

SEMPRONIUS.

Be fure to prefs upon him every motive.
Juba's furrender, fince his father's death,
Would give up Africk into Cafar's hands,
And make him Lord of half the burning Zone.
SYPHA X.

But is it true, Sempronius, that your Senate
Is call'd together? Geds! thou must be cautious!
Cato has piercing eyes, and will discern

Our frauds, unless they're cover'd thick with art.

SEMPRONIUS.

Let me alone, good Syphax, I'll conceal My thoughts in paffion ('tis the surest way;) I'll bellow out for Rome and for my country,

And mouth at Cæfar 'till I shake the Senate.

Your cold hypocrify's a ftale device,

A worn out trick: would't thou be thought in earnest? Clothe thy feign'd zeal in rage, in fire, in fury!

SY PHA X.

In troth, thou'rt able to inftruct grey-hairs, And teach the wily African deceit !

SEMPRONIUS.

Once more, be fure to try thy skill on Juba.
Mean while I'll haften to my Roman foldiers,
Inflame the mutiny, and underhand
Blow up their difcontents, 'till they break out
Unlook'd-for, and discharge themselves on Cato.
Remember, Syphax, we must work in hafte:
O think what anxious moments pafs between
The birth of plots, and their laft fatal periods.
Oh! 'tis a dreadful interval of time,

Fill'd up
with horror all, and big with death!
Deftruction hangs on every word we speak,
On every thought, till the concluding stroke
Determines all, and clofes our defign.

SYPHAX folus.

I'll try if yet I can reduce to reafon

[Exit.

This head-ftrong youth, and make him fpurn at Cato.
The time is short, Cefar comes rufhing on us-
But hold! young Juba fees me, and approaches.

SCEN E IV.

JUBA, SY PHA X.

JUBA.

Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone.
I have observ'd of late thy looks are fallen,
O'ercaft with gloomy cares, and discontent;

Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee, tell me,
What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in frowns,
And turn thine eye thus coldly on thy Prince?

SYPHAX.

'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts,
Or carry fmiles and fun-fhine in my face,
When discontent fits heavy at my heart.
I have not yet fo much the Roman in me.
JUBA.

Why doft thou caft out such ungenerous terms
Against the Lords and Sov'reigns of the world?
Doft thou not fee mankind fall down before them,
And own the force of their fuperior virtue?
Is there a nation in the wilds of Africk,
Amidft our barren rocks, and burning fands,
That does not tremble at the Roman name?

SYPHA X.

Gods! where's the worth that fets this people up

Above your own Numidia's tawny fons!

Do

Do they with tougher finews bend the bow?
Or flies the javelin fwifter to its mark,
Lanch'd from the vigour of a Roman arm?
Who like our active African instructs

The fiery steed, and trains him to his hand?

Or guides in troops th' embattled Elephant,
"Loaden with war? these, these are arts, my Prince,
In which your Zama does not ftoop to Rome.
JUBA.

These all are virtues of a meaner rank,
Perfections that are place'd in bones and nerves.
A Roman foul is bent on higher views :
To civilize the rude unpolish'd world,
And lay it under the restraint of laws;
To make Man mild, and fociable to Man;
To cultivate the wild licentious Savage
With wisdom, difcipline, and liberal arts;
Th' embellishments of life: Virtues like these,
Make human nature shine, reform the foul,
And break our fierce barbarians into men.

SYPHAX.

Patience kind Heavens!-excuse an old man's warmth. What are these wondrous civilizing arts,

This Roman polish, and this smooth behaviour,
That render man thus tractable and tame ?

Are they not only to disguise our paffions,
To fet our looks at variance with our thoughts,
To check the starts and fallies of the foul,

And