_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. _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 Caesar'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.