s Virtue where it meets her,
And imitates her actions where she is not;
It ought not to be sported with.

_Syph._ Believe me, prince, you make old Syphax weep
To hear you talk--but 'tis with tears of joy.
If e'er your father's crown adorn your brows,
Numidia will be blest by Cato's lectures.

_Jub._ Syphax, thy hand; we'll mutually forget
The warmth of youth, and forwardness of age:
Thy prince esteems thy worth, and loves thy person.
If e'er the sceptre come into my hand,
Syphax shall stand the second in my kingdom.

_Syph._ Why will you overwhelm my age with kindness?
My joys grow burdensome, I sha'n't support it.

_Jub._ Syphax, farewell. I'll hence, and try to find
Some blest occasion, that may set me right
In Cato's thoughts. I'd rather have that man
Approve my deeds, than worlds for my admirers. [_Exit._

_Syph._ Young men soon give, and soon forget, affronts;
Old age is slow in both--A false old traitor!
These words, rash boy, may chance to cost thee dear.
My heart had still some foolish fondness for thee;
But hence, 'tis gone! I give it to the winds:
Caesar, I'm wholly thine.

_Enter_ SEMPRONIUS.

All hail, Sempronius!
Well, Cato's senate is resolved to wait
The fury of a siege, before it yields.

_Sem._ Syphax, we both were on the verge of fate;
Lucius declared for peace, and terms were offer'd
To Cato, by a messenger from Caesar.
Should they submit, ere our designs are ripe,
We both must perish in the common wreck,
Lost in the general, undistinguish'd ruin.

_Syph._ But how stands Cato?

_Sem._ Thou hast seen mount Atlas:
Whilst storms and tempests thunder on its brows,
And oceans break their billows at its feet,
It stands unmoved, and glories in its height;
Such is that haughty man; his tow'ring soul,
'Midst all the shocks and injuries of fortune,
Rises superior, and looks down on Caesar.

_Syph._ But what's this messenger?

_Sem._ I've practised with him,
And found a means to let the victor know
That Syphax and Sempronius are his friends.
But let me now examine in my turn;
Is Juba fix'd?

_Syph._ Yes--but it is to Cato.
I've tried the force of every reason on him,
Soothed and caress'd; been angry, soothed again;
Laid safety, life, and interest in his sight;
But all are vain, he scorns them all for Cato.

_Sem._ Come, 'tis no matter; we shall do without him.
He'll make a pretty figure in a triumph,
And serve to trip before the victor's chariot.
Syphax, I now may hope thou