Imatges de pÓgina

305 But with no friend'y voice, and add thy name O Sun! to tell thee how I hate thy beams, That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere; Till pride, and worse ambition, threw me down, Warring in heav'n against heav'n's matchless king. Ah, wherefore! he deserv'd no such return

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From me,
whom he created what I was
In that bright eminence, and with his good
Upbraided none; nor was his service hard.
What could be less, than to afford him praise,
The easiest recompense, and pay him thanks,
How due! yet all his good prov'd ill in me
And wrought but malice: lifted up so high
I 'sdain'd subjection, and thought one step higher
Would set me highest, and in a moment quit
The debt immense of endless gratitude,
So burthensome, still paying, still to owe;
Forgetful what from him I still receiv'd;
And understood not that a grateful mind
By owing, owes not, but still pays, at once
Indebted and discharg'd; what burthen then?
O had his pow'rful destiny ordain'd
Me some inferior angel, I had stood
Then happy; no unbounded hope had rais'd
Ambition. Yet why not? some other power
As great might have aspir'd, and me though mean
Drawn to his part; but other powers as great
Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within
Or from without, to all temptations arm'd.
Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand?
Thou hadst. Whom hast thou then


or what

But Heav'ns free love, dealt equally to all?
Be then his love accurs'd, since love or hate,
To me alike it deals eternal woe.

Nay, curs'd be thou! since against his thy will
Chose freely what it now so justly rues.
Me miserable! which way shall I fly
Infinite wrath, and infinite despair?
Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell!

And in the lowest deep, a lower deep
Still threatening to devour me opens wide,
To which the hell I suffer seems a heav'n.
O then at last relent: is there no place
Left for repentance, none for pardon left?
None left but by submission; and that word
Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame
Among the spirits beneath, whom I seduc'd
With other promises, and other vaunts,
Than to submit, boasting I could subdue
Th' Omnipotent. Ah me! they little know
How dearly I abide that boast so vain,
Under what torments inwardly I groan,
While they adore me on the throne of helt:
With diadem and sceptre high advanc'd,
The lower still I fall, only supreme
In misery: such joy Ambition finds.
But say I could repent, and could obtain,
By act of grace, my former state : how soon
Would height recal high thoughts, how soon unsay
What feign'd submission swore! Ease would re-


Vows made in pain, as violent and void;
For never can true reconcilement grow

Where wounds of deadly hate have pierc'd so deep:
Which would but lead us to a worse relapse,
And heavier fall: so should I purchase dear
Short intermission bought with double smart.
This knows my Punisher: therefore as far
From granting he, as I from begging peace:
All hope excluded thus, behold instead
Of us outcast, exil'd, his new delight
Mankind created, and for him this world.
So farewel Hope! and with Hope farewell Fear!
Farewel Remorse! all good to me is lost;
Evil be thou my good: by thee at least
Divided empire with heav'n's king I·hold,
By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign;
Asman ere long, and this new world, shall know.


Juba and Syphax.

Jub.SYPHAX, I joy to meet thee thus alone.
I have observ'd of late thy looks are fallen
O'ercast with gloomy cares and discontent;
Then tell me Syphax, I conjure thee, tell me,
What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in

And turn thine eyes thus coldly
thus coldly on thy prince?
Syph. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts,
Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face,
When discontent sits heavy at my heart:
I have not yet so much the Roman in me.
Jub. Why dost thou cast out such ungen'rous


Against the lords and sov'reigns of the world?
Dost thou not see mankind fall down before them,
And own the force of their superior virtue?
Is there a nation in the wilds of Afric,
Amidst our barren rocks and burning sands
That does not tremble at the Roman name?
Syph. Gods! where's the worth that sets this
people up

Above your own Numidia's tawny sons?
Do they with tougher sinews bend the bow?
Or flies the jav'lin swifter to its mark,
Launch'd from the vigour of a Roman arm?
Who like our active African instructs

The fiery steed, and trains him to his hand?
Or guides in troops th' embattled elephant,
Loaden with war? These, these are arts, my prince,
In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome.

Jub. These all are virtues of a meaner rank,
Perfections that are plac'd in bones and nerves;
A Roman soul is bent on higher views;
To civilize the rude unpolish'd world;
To lay it under the restraint of laws;
To make man mild, and sociable to man';

To cultivate the wild licentious savage
With wisdom, discipline, and lib'ral arts,
Th' embellishments of life: virtues like these
Make human nature shine, reform the soul,
And break our fierce barbarians into men.
Syph. Patience, just Heav'ns!-Excuse an old
man's warmth,

What are these wond'rous civilizing arts,
This Roman polish, and this smooth behaviour,
That render man thus tractable and tame ?
Are they not only to disguise our passions,
To set our looks at variance with our thoughts,
To check the starts and sallies of the soul,
And break off all its commerce with the tongue ?
In short, to change us into other creatures,
Than what our nature and the gods design'd us ?
Jub. To strike thee dumb, turn up thy eyes to

There may'st thou see to what a godlike height
The Roman virtues lift up mortal man.

While good, and just, and anxious for his friends, He's still severely bent against himself;

Renouncing sleep, and rest, and food, and ease, He strives with thirst and hunger, toil and heat: And when his fortune sets before him all

The pomps and pleasures that this soul can wish, His rigid virtue will accept of none.

Syph. Believe me, prince, there's not an Afri

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That traverses our vast Numidian deserts
In quest of prey, and lives upon his bow,
But better practises 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 2
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 threw the weight upon


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's 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 mine 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

By such a loss.

Syph. Ay, there's the tie that binds you! You loug 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.

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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 us'd me thus.
Alas, he's dead! but can you e'er forget
The tender sorrows, and the pangs of nature,

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