The scene is Libya, and the subject thus: Whilst Carthage stood the only awe of Rome, As most imperial seat of Libya, Govern'd by statesmen, each as great as kings (For seventeen kings were Carthage feodars); Whilst thus she flourish'd, whilst her Hannibal Made Rome to tremble, and the walls yet pale: Then in this Carthage Sophonisba lived, The far-famed daughter of great Asdrubal: For whom ('mongst others) potent Syphax sues, 10 And well-graced Massinissa rivals him, Both princes of proud sceptres: but the lot Of doubtful favour Massinissa graced, At which Syphax grows black: for now the night Yields loud resoundings of the nuptial pomp: Apollo strikes his harp, Hymen his torch; Whilst louring Juno, with ill-boding eye, Sits envious at too forward Venus. Lo, The instant night: and now ye worthier minds, To whom we shall present a female glory 20 (The wonder of a constancy so fix'd, That fate itself might well grow envious): Be pleased to sit,[296] such as may merit oil, And holy dew, still'd from diviner heat. For rest thus knowing: what of this you hear, The author lowly hopes, but must not fear: For just worth never rests on popular frown, To have done well is fair deeds' only crown. _Nec se quæsiverit extra._ _Cornets sound a march._ _The_ PROLOGUE _leads_ MASSINISSA'S _troops over the stage, and departs_: SYPHAX' _troops only stay_. [296] Quy. "see't." THE TRAGEDY OF SOPHONISBA. ACT I. SCENE I. _The palace of Syphax at Cirta._ SYPHAX _and_ VANGUE. _Sy._ Syphax, Syphax! why wast thou cursed a king? What angry god made thee so great, so vile? Contemn'd, disgracèd! think, wert thou a slave, Though Sophonisba did reject thy love, Thy low neglected head, unpointed at, Thy shame unrumour'd, and thy suit unscoff'd, Might yet rest quiet. Reputation, Thou awe of fools and great men; thou that chok'st Freest addictions, and makest mortals sweat Blood and cold drops in fear to lose, or hope 10 To gain, thy never-certain seldom-worthy gracings; Reputation, Were't not for thee, Syphax could bear this scorn, Not spouting up his gall among his blood In black vexations: Massinissa might Enjoy the sweets of his preferrèd graces Without my dangerous envy or revenge; Were't not for thy affliction, all might sleep In sweet oblivion: but (O greatness' scourge!) We cannot without envy keep high name, 20 Nor yet disgraced can have a quiet shame. _Van._ Scipio---- _Sy._ Some light in depth of hell. Vangue, what hope?