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Mankind created, and for him this world.
So farewell hope; and, with hope farewell fear;
Farewell remorse; all good to me is lost:
Evil be thou my good: by thee at least
Divided empire with Heav'n's King I hold,
And by thee more than half perhaps will reign;
As man ere long, and this new world, shall know.

MILTON.

0000-D

CHAP. VI.

JUBA AND SYPHAX.

JUB. SYPHAX, I joy to meet thee thus alone.
I have observ'd of late thy looks are fall'n,
O'ercast with gloomy cares and discontent;
Then tell me, Syphax, 1 conjure thee tell me,
What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in frowns,
And turn thine eyes thus coldly on thy prince?
SYPH. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts,
Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face,
When discontent sits heavy at my heart;

I have not yet so much the Roman in me.

JUB. Why dost thou cast out such ungen'rous

terms

Against the lords and sov'reigns of the world?
Dost thou not see mankind fall down before them,
And own the force of their superior virtue ?
Is there a nation in the wilds of Afric,
Amidst our barren rocks, and burning sands,

That does not tremble at the Roman name ?
SYPH. Gods! where's the worth that sets this

people up,

Above our own Numidia's tawny sons?

Do they with tougher sinews bend the bow?
Or flies the javelin swifter to its mark,
Launch'd from the vigour of a Roman arm?
Who like our active African, instructs
The fiery steed, and trains him to our hand }
O guides in troops th' embattled elephant,

Loaden

Loaden with war? These, these are arts, my prince,
In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome.
Jus. These all are virtues of a meaner rank,
Perfections that are plac'd in bones and nerves.
A Roman soul is bent on higher views:
To civilize the rude unpolish'd world.
To lay it under the restraint of laws;
To make man mild, and sociable to man;
To cultivate the wild licentious savage
With wisdom, discipline, and lib'ral arts,
Th' embellishments of life: virtues like these,
Make human nature shine, reform the soul,
And break our fierce barbarians into men.

SYPH. Patience, just Heav'ns-Excuse an old man's warmth,

What are these wond'rous civilizing arts,
This Roman polish, and this smooth behaviour,
That renders man thus tractable and tame ?
Are they not only to disguise our passions,
To set our looks at variance with our thoughts,
To check the starts and sallies of the soul,
And break off all its commerce with the tongue ?
In short, to change us into other creatures,
Than what our nature and the gods design'd us?
Jua. To strike thee dumb; turn up thy eyes to
Cato!

There may'st thou see to what a godlike height
The Roman virtues lift up mortal man.

While good, and just, and anxious for his friends,
He's still severely bent against himself;

Renouncing sleep, and rest, and food, and ease,
He strives with thirst and hunger, toil and heat &
And when his fortune sets before him all

The pomps and pleasures that his soul can wish,
His rigid virtue will accept of none.

SYPH. Believe me, prince, there's not an African
That traverses our vast Numidian deserts,
In quest of prey, and lives upon his bow,
But better practices these boasted virtues.
Coarse are his meals, the fortune of the chase,
Amidst the running stream he slakes his thirst,

Toils all the day, and at th' approach of night,
On the first friendly bank he throws him down,
Or rests his head upon a rock till morn:
Then rises fresh, pursues his wonted game,
And if the following day he chance to find
A new repast, or an untasted spring,
Blesses his stars and thinks it luxury.

Jus. Thy prejudice, Syphax, won't discern
What virtues grow from ignorance and choice,
Nor how the hero differs from the brute.
But grant that others could with equal glory
Look down on pleasures and the baits of sense;
Where shall we find the man that bears affliction,
Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato?
Heav'ns! with what strength, what steadiness of
mind,

He triumphs in the midst of all his sufferings !
How does he rise against a load of woes,

And thank the gods that throw the weight upon him!. SYPH. 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of soul;

I think the Romans call it stoicism.

Had not your royal father thought so highly
Of Roman virtue, and of Cato's cause,
He had not fall'n by a slave's hand, inglorious;
Nor would his slaughter'd army now have lain
On Afric sands disfigur'd with their wounds,
To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia,"
JUB. Why dost thou call my sorrows up afresh?
My father's name brings tears into my eyes.

SYPH. Oh, that you'd profit by your father's ills!
JUB. What would'st thou have me do?
SYPH. Abandon Cato.

JUB. Syphax, I should be more than twice an orphan

By such a loss,

SYPH. Ay, there's the tie that binds you!

You long to call him father.

Marcia's charms

Work in your heart unseen, and plead for Cato,
No wonder you are deaf to all I say.

JUB.

tolga bronas & no plongo dit

JUB. Syphax, your zeal becomes importunate; I've hitherto permitted it to rave, as

And talk at large; but learn to keep it in, .......1
Lest it should 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
The tender sorrow and the pangs of nature,
The fond embraces, and repeated blessings,
Which you drew from him in your last farewell?
Still must I cherish the dear, sad remembrance,
At once to torture, and to please my soul.
The good old King, at parting, wrung my hand,
(His eyes brim full of tears,) then sighing cry'd,'t
Pr'ythee be careful of my sont

His grief Swell'd up so high, he could not utter more VI JUB. Alas! the story melts away my soul ose baA That best of fathers how shall I discharge est.) '2 The gratitude and duty which bowe him?

and H SYPH. By laying up his counsels in your heart.com ( JUB. His counsels bade me yield to thy directions. Then, Syphax, chide me in severest terms, Vent all thy passion, and I'll stand its shock, Calm and unruffled as a summer's sea,

When not a breath of wind flies o'er its surface.

SYPH. Alas, my prince? I'd guide you to your

safety.

I

JUB. I do believe thou would'st; but tell me how? SYPH. Fly from the fate that follows Cæsar's foes, JUB. My father scorn'd. to do it. Te od mama's §. ruin SYPR. And therefore died. amolg zidi vɔnodų salot JUB. Better to die ten thousand deaths, nigrolaidT Than wound my honour, yozadi sam.lw T✪ SYPH Rather say, your loved on ojai grill.2 10 JUB Sypha I've promised to preserve myntem- f Pille andı yaddadi ai Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame n'en fails I long have stifled, and would fain conceal ini SYPH Believe me, prince, though hard to conquer

per:

love,

Tis easy to divert and break its force;

D d

Absence

Absence might cure it, or a second mistress
Light up another flame, and put out this..
The glowing dames of Zama's royal court
Have faces Bush'd with more exalted charms;
The sun that rolls his chariot o'er their heads,
Works up more fire and colour in their cheeks!
Were you with these, my prince, you'd soon forget
The pale unripen'd beauties of the North.

Jus. 'Tis not a set of features, or complexion,
The tincture of the skin that I admire.
Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover,
Fades in his eye, and palls upon the sense.
The virtuous Mercia tow'rs above her sex f
True, she is fair, Oh, how divinely fair!)
Put still the lovely maid improves her charms,
With inward greatness; unaffected wisdom,
And sanctity of manners Cato's soul
Shines out in ev'ry thing she acts or speaks,
While winning mildness and attractive smiles
Dwell in her looks, and with becoming grace
Soften the rigour of her father's virtues.

SYPH. How does your tongue grow wanton in her praise li

CHAP, VII.

CATO'S SOLILOQUY.

It must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well-
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality? shoot

Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror
Of falling into nought ? Why shrinks the Soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
"Tis the Divinity, that stirs within us;
'Tis heav'n itself, that points out an hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man.

Eternity ahou pleasing, dreadful thought!

Through