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CATO.
13
Syph.Believe me, Prince, there's not an African
That traverses our vast Numidian desarts,
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 th' 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 his 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 ignorance and choice,
Nor how the hero differs from the brute.
But grant that others could with equal glory
Look down on pleasures, and the baits of sense;
Where shall we find the man that bears affliction,
Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato?
Heav'ns! with what strength, what steadiness of mind,
He triumphs in the midst of all his suff'rings!
How does he rise against a load of woes,
And thank the gods that throw 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 fall'n by a slave's hand, inglorious:
Nor would his slaughter'd army now have lain
On Afric sands disfigur'd with their wounds,
To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia.
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 would'st 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
That traverses our vast Numidian desarts,
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 th' 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 his 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 ignorance and choice,
Nor how the hero differs from the brute.
But grant that others could with equal glory
Look down on pleasures, and the baits of sense;
Where shall we find the man that bears affliction,
Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato?
Heav'ns! with what strength, what steadiness of mind,
He triumphs in the midst of all his suff'rings!
How does he rise against a load of woes,
And thank the gods that throw 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 fall'n by a slave's hand, inglorious:
Nor would his slaughter'd army now have lain
On Afric sands disfigur'd with their wounds,
To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia.
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 would'st 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
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