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Tub. One of them shewed me a ring he had of your daughter for a monkey. i
Shy. Out upon her! You torture me, Tubal. It was my ruby, I would not bave given it for as many monkeys as could , stand together upon the Realto.
Tub. Antonio is certainly undone. ..!
Shy. Ay, ay, there is some comfort in that, Go. Tubal, en-, gage an officer. Tell him to be ready ; I'll be revenged on Antonio. I'll wash my hands to the elbows in his heart's blood.
JUBA AND SYPHAX.
Jub. SYPHAX, I joy to meet thee thus alone.
N I have obsery'd of late thy looks are fall'n,
O'ercast 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 thy eyes thus coldly on thy prince?
Syph. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts, '.
Or carry smiles or sunshine in my face,
When discontent sits heavy at my heart;
I have not so much of the Roman in me.
Jub. Why dost thou cast out such ungenerous terms,
Against the lords and sovereigns of the world?
Dost not thou see mankind fail 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 your own Numidia's tawny sons?
Do they with tougher sin ews bend the bow?
Or flies the javelin swifter to its mark,
Launch'd with the vigor of a Roman arm?
Who like our active African instructs
The fiery steed, and trains him to his hard ?
Or guides in troops the embattled elepbant,
Laden with war? These, these are arts, my prince,
In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome.
- Jub. These all are virtues of a meaner rank,
Perfections that are placed 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 liberal arts; . i
The establishments of life : Virtues like these
Make human nature shine, reform the soul,
And break our fierce barbarians into men.
Syph. Patience, just Heavens ! Excuse an old man's wartaith!
What are those wondrous civilizing arts,
This Roman polish, and this smooth behavior,
That renders nian thus tractable and tame ?
Are they not only to disguise our passions,
To set our looks at variance srith 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 natures and the gods design'dus ?
Jub. To strike thee dumb, turn up thine 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,
Ile'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 pomp and pleasure which his soul could wish, .
His rigid virtues will accept of none.
Syph. Believe me, prince, there's not an African
Tbat 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 the 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 the 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.
Jub. Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't discern
What virtues grow from ignorašce, and what from clioice,
Nor how the hero differs from the brute.'
But grant that others could with equal glory
Look down on pleasures, and the baits of senso ;'
Where shall we find the man that bears affliction,
Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato? ;
Heavens! 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 threw 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 fallen by a slave's hand inglorious:
Nor would his slaughtered army sow have lain,..
On Afric's sands, disfigured by their wounds,
To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia.
Jub. Why dost thou call my sorrows up a fresh?
My father's name brings tears into my eyes.
Synh. Oh, that you'd profit by your father's ills !
Jub. What wouldst thou have me do 3
Synh. Abandon Cato
Jub. Syphax, I should be more than twice an orphan by
Synh. Ay, there's the tie that binds you! (such a loss.
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, À .
Lest it should take more freedom than I'll give it.
Synih. Sir, your great father never us'd me thus,
Alas, be's dead! but can you e'er forget
The tender sorrows 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,
Atonco to torture and to please my soul.
The good old king, at parting, wrúng my hand,
His eyes brim full of tears) tlien sigbing, cry'd,
Pajthiec be careful of my son His grief
Swell'd up so high, he could not utter more.
Jub. Alas, the story melts away my soul ! .'
The best of fathers! how shall I discharge
The gratitude and duty which I owe him?
· Syph. By laying up his counsels in your heart.
Jub. His counsels bade me yield to thy directions;
Then, Syphax, chide me in severest terms; .
Vent all thy passions, and I'll stand the shock, .
Calm and unruffled as a summer's sea,
When not a breath of wind flies o'er its surface.
Syph. Alas, my prince, l'll guide you to your safety,
Jub. I do believe thou wouldst; but tell me how.
Sytih. Fly from the fate of Cæsar's foes.
Jub. My father scorn'd to do it.
Syph. And therefore dy'd.
Jub: Better to die ten thousand deaths
Than wound my honor.
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, tho' 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 fish'd with more exalted charms;
The sun that rolls his chariot o'er their heads, 's
Works up more fire and color in their cheeks :
Were you with tliese, my prince, you'd soon forget
The pale, unripen'd beauties of the north.
Jub. 'Tis not a set of features, nor complexion,
The tincture of the skin that I admire
Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover,
Fades in his eyes, and palls upon the sense.
The virtuous Marcia towers above her sex ;
True, she is fair, (Ol, 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 ; ; s
Dwell in her looks, and with becoming grace,
Soften the rigcr of her father's virtues.
Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton in her praise !
WOLSEY AND CROMWELL.
Wól. FAREWELL, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
1 This is the state of man : To-day hc puts forth
The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow blossoms
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him ;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening, nips his shoot ;
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
These many summers in a sea of glory,
But far beyond my depth; my high blown pride
At length broke under me ; and, now, has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must forever liide me.
Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate you!
I feel my heart now open'd. Oh! how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favor's! .
There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and his ruin,
More pangs and fears than war or women have;
And when he falls, le falls like Lucifer,
Never to raise again.
[Enter Cronivello Why, how now Cromwell ?
Croin. I have not power to speak, Sir.
jVal. What, amazed
At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder:
A great man shonid decline. Nay, if you weep,
on fallen indeed.
Crom. How does your grace?..
Wul. Why, well;
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now, and I feel, within me,
A peace above all earthly dignities ;
A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured ine,
I humbly thank his grace? aed from these shoulders,