By thee, and more then half perhaps will reign ; As man ere long, and this new world; fhall know. MILTON JUB. CHA P. VII. JUBA AND SYPHA X. Shave obferyd I have obferv'd of late thy looks are fall'n, O'ercaft with gloomy cares and discontent; Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee tell me, I have not yet fo much the Roman in me. JUB. Why doft thou cast out fuch ungen'rous terms Doft thou not fee mankind fall down down before them, Is there a nation in the wilds of Afric, Amidst our barren rocks, and burning fands, That does not tremble at the Roman name ? SYPH. Gods! where's the worth that fets this people up Above your own Numidia's tawny fons ? Do they with tougher finews bend the bow ? Loader Loaden with war? Thefe, these are arts, my prince, SYPH. Patience, juft Heav'ns !-Excufe an old man's warmth. What are these wond'rous civilizing arts, This Roman polish, and this fmooth behaviour, JUB. To ftrike thee dumb, turn up thy eyes to Cato! While good, and juft, and anxious for his friends, The pomps and pleasures that his foul can wish, SYPH. Believe me, prince, there's not an African That traverfes our vast Numidian deferts In queft of prey, and lives upon his bow, Bleffes his ftars, and thinks it luxury. JUB. Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't discern, Heav'ns with what ftrength, what steadiness of mind, He triumphs in the midst of all his fuff'rings! How does he rife against a load of woes, And thank the gods that threw the weight upon him! SYPH. 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of foul: I think the Romans call it ftoicifm. Had not your royal father thought fo highly On On Afric fands disfigur'd with their wounds, To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia. My father's name brings tears into mine eyes. SYPH. Oh, that you'd profit by your father's ills! SYPH. Abandon Cato. JUB. Syphax, I should be more than twice an orphan By fuch a lofs. SYPH. Ay, there's the tie that binds you ! You long to call him father. Marcia's charms Work in your heart unfeen, and plead for Cato. No wonder you are deaf to all I fay. JUв. Syphax, your zeal becomes importunate; I've hitherto permitted it to rave, And talk at large; but learn to keep it in, Left it fhould take more freedom than I'll give it. SYPH. Sir, your great father never us'd me thus, Alas, he's dead! but can you e'er forget JUB. Alas, the story melts away my soul, JUB. His counfels bade me yield to thy directions : Vent all thy paffion, and I'll stand its shock, When not a breath of wind flies o'er its furface. SYPH. Alas, my prince, I'd guide you to your fafety! JUB. I do believe thou wouldf; but tell me how? JUB. My father fcorn'dto do it. SYPH. And therefore dy’d. JUB. Better to die ten thousand thousand deaths, Than wound my honour. SYPH. Rather fay your love. JUв. Syphax, I've promis'd to preserve my temper : Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame I long have ftifled, and would fain conceal? SYPH. Believe me, prince, tho' hard to conquer love, "Tis easy to divert and break its force : Abfence might cure it, or a fecond mistress Light up another flame, and put out this. The glowing dames of Zama's royal court. Have faces flush'd 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 thefe, my prince, you'dfoon forget The pale, unripen'd beauties of the North. JUB. 'Tis not a fet of features, or complexion, Beauty foon grows familiar to the lover, But |