Cato: A Tragedy, in Five Acts

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.

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 wouldst 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. Syphax, your zeal becomes importunate;
I've hitherto permitted it to rave,
And talk at large; but learn to keep it in,
Lest it should take more freedom than I'll give it.

Syph. Sir, your great father never used me thus.
Alas, he's dead! but can you e'er forget
The tender sorrows,
And repeated blessings,
Which you drew from him in your last farewell?
The good old king, at parting, wrung my hand,
(His eyes brimful of tears) then sighing cried,
Pr'ythee be careful of my son! – His grief
Swell'd up so high, he could not utter more.

Jub. Alas! thy story melts away my soul!
That best of fathers! how shall I discharge
The gratitude and duty that I owe him?

Syph. By laying up his counsels in your heart.

Jub. His counsels bade me yield to thy direction:
Then, Syphax, chide me in severest terms,
Vent all thy passion, and I'll stand its shock,
Calm and unruffled as a summer sea,
When not a breath of wind flies o'er its surface.

Syph. Alas! my prince, I'd guide you to your safety.

Jub. I do believe thou wouldst; but tell me how?

Syph. Fly from the fate that follows Cæsar's foes.

Jub. My father scorn'd to do it.

Syph. And therefore died.

Jub. Better to die ten thousand thousand deaths,
Than wound my honour.

Syph. Rather say, your love.

Jub. Syphax, I've promised to preserve my temper;
Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame
I long have stifled, and would fain conceal?

Syph. Believe me, prince, though hard to conquer love,
'Tis easy to divert and break its force.
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 flush'd with more exalted charms;
Were you with these, my prince, you'd soon forget
The pale, unripen'd beauties of the north.

Jub. 'Tis not a set of features, or complexion,
The tincture of a skin, that I admire:
Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover,
Fades in his eye, and palls upon the sense.
The virtuous Marcia tow'rs above her sex:
True, she is fair (Oh, how divinely fair!),
But still the lovely maid improves her charms,
With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom,
And sanctity of manners; Cato's soul
Shines out in every 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 virtue.

Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton in her praise!
But on my knees, I beg you would consider —

Jub. Ha! Syphax, is't not she? – She moves this way;
And with her Lucia, Lucius's fair daughter.
My heart beats thick – I pr'ythee, Syphax, leave me.

Syph. Ten thousand curses fasten on them both!
Now will the woman, with a single glance,