1 Inflame the mutiny, and underhand Blow up their discontents, till they break out SYPHAX. I'll try if yet I can reduce to reafon [Exit. This head-ftrong youth, and make him fpurn at Cato. SCENE IV. JUBA, SYPHAX. JUBA. I have obferv'd of late thy looks are fallen, Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee, tell me, SYPHA X. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts, Nor carry smiles and fun-fhine in my face, When When discontent fits heavy at my heart. I have not yet so much the Roman in me. Why dost thou caft out such ungenerous terms SY PHA X. Gods! where's the worth that fets this people up The fiery steed, and trains him to his hand? JUBA. Thefe all are virtues of a meaner rank, S 3 Th' Th' embellishments of life: virtues like thefe SYPHAX. Patience, kind heavens!-Excufe an old man's wrath. 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 ftarts and fallies of the foul, And break-off all its commerce with the tongue; In fhort, to change us into other creatures Than what our nature and the gods design'd us? JUBA. To ftrike thee dumb: turn up thine eyes to Cato! There may'st thou fee to what a godlike height The Roman virtues lift up mortal man. While good, and juft, and anxious for his friends, He 's ftill feverely bent against himself; Renouncing fleep, and reft, and food, and eafe, He ftrives with thirst and hunger, toil and heat; And when his fortune fets before him all The pomps and pleasures that his foul can wish, His rigid virtue will accept of none. SYPHAX. Believe me, Prince, there's not an African Coarit Coarfe are his meals, the fortune of the chafe, JUBA. Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't difcern What virtues grow from ignorance and choice, Nor how the hero differs from the brute. But grant that others could with equal glory And thank the gods that throw the weight upon him! 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of foul : I think the Romans call it Stoicifm. Had not your royal father thought fo highly JUBA. Why do'st thou call my forrows up afresh? My father's name brings tears into my eyes. SY PHA X. Oh, that you'd profit by your father's ills! JUBA. What would't thou have me do ? SY PHA X. Abandon Cato. JUBA. Syphax, I fhould be more than twice an orphan By fuch a lofs. SY PHA X. Ay, there's the tie that binds you! You long to call him father. Marcia's charms JUBA. Syphax, your zeal becomes importunate ; And talk at large; but learn to keep it in, SYPHA X. Sir, your great father never us'd me thus. At |