found me.

_Jub._ I would fain retract them.
Give them me back again: they aimed at nothing.

_Cato._ Tell me thy wish, young prince; make not my ear
A stranger to thy thoughts.

_Jub._ Oh! they're extravagant;
Still let me hide them.

_Cato._ What can Juba ask,
That Cato will refuse?

_Jub._ I fear to name it.
Marcia--inherits all her father's virtues.

_Cato._ What wouldst thou say?

_Jub._ Cato, thou hast a daughter.

_Cato._ Adieu, young prince; I would not hear a word
Should lessen thee in my esteem. Remember,
The hand of fate is over us, and Heav'n
Exacts severity from all our thoughts.
It is not now a time to talk of aught
But chains or conquest, liberty or death. [_Exit._

_Enter_ SYPHAX.

_Syph._ How's this, my prince? What, cover'd with confusion?
You look as if yon stern philosopher
Had just now chid you.

_Jub._ Syphax, I'm undone!

_Syph._ I know it well.

_Jub._ Cato thinks meanly of me.

_Syph._ And so will all mankind.

_Jub._ I've open'd to him
The weakness of my soul--my love for Marcia.

_Syph._ Cato's a proper person to intrust
A love-tale with!

_Jub._ Oh, I could pierce my heart,
My foolish heart!

_Syph._ Alas, my prince, how are you changed of late!
I've known young Juba rise before the sun,
To beat the thicket where the tiger slept,
Or seek the lion in his dreadful haunts.
I've seen you,
Ev'n in the Lybian dog-days, hunt him down,
Then charge him close,
And, stooping from your horse,
Rivet the panting savage to the ground.

_Jub._ Pr'ythee, no more.

_Syph._ How would the old king smile,
To see you weigh the paws, when tipp'd with gold,
And throw the shaggy spoils about your shoulders!

_Jub._ Syphax, this old man's talk, though honey flow'd
In ev'ry word, would now lose all its sweetness.
Cato's displeased, and Marcia lost for ever.

_Syph._ Young prince, I yet could give you good advice;
Marcia might still be yours.

_Jub._ As how, dear Syphax?

_Syph._ Juba commands Numidia's hardy troops,
Mounted on steeds unused to the restraint
Of curbs or bits, and fleeter than the winds:
Give but the word, we snatch this damsel up,
And bear her off.

_Jub._ Can such dishonest thoughts
Rise up in man? Wouldst thou seduce my youth
To do an act that would destroy mine honour?

_Syph._ Gods, I could tear my hair to hear you talk!
Honour's a fine imaginary notion,
That draws in raw and inexperienced men
To real mischiefs, while they hunt a shadow.

_