Jub._ Wouldst thou degrade thy prince into a ruffian?

_Syph._ The boasted ancestors of these great men,
Whose virtues you admire, were all such ruffians.
This dread of nations, this almighty Rome,
That comprehends in her wide empire's bounds
All under Heav'n, was founded on a rape;
Your Scipios, Caesars, Pompeys, and your Catos
(The gods on earth), are all the spurious blood
Of violated maids, of ravish'd Sabines.

_Jub._ Syphax, I fear that hoary head of thine
Abounds too much in our Numidian wiles.

_Syph._ Indeed, my prince, you want to know the world.

_Jub._ If knowledge of the world makes men perfidious,
May Juba ever live in ignorance!

_Syph._ Go, go; you're young.

_Jub._ Gods, must I tamely bear
This arrogance, unanswer'd! Thou'rt a traitor,
A false old traitor.

_Syph._ I've gone too far. [_Aside._

_Jub._ Cato shall know the baseness of thy soul.

_Syph._ I must appease this storm, or perish in it. [_Aside._
Young prince, behold these locks, that are grown white
Beneath a helmet in your father's battles.

_Jub._ Those locks shall ne'er protect thy insolence.

_Syph._ Must one rash word, the infirmity of age,
Throw down the merit of my better years?
This the reward of a whole life of service!--
Curse on the boy! how steadily he hears me! [_Aside._

_Jub._ Syphax, no more! I would not hear you talk.

_Syph._ Not hear me talk! what, when my faith to Juba,
My royal master's son, is call'd in question?
My prince may strike me dead, and I'll be dumb;
But whilst I live I must not hold my tongue,
And languish out old age in his displeasure.

_Jub._ Thou know'st the way too well into my heart.
I do believe thee loyal to thy prince.

_Syph._ What greater instance can I give? I've offer'd
To do an action which my soul abhors,
And gain you whom you love, at any price.

_Jub._ Was this thy motive? I have been too hasty.

_Syph._ And 'tis for this my prince has call'd me traitor.

_Jub._ Sure thou mistakest; I did not call thee so.

_Syph._ You did, indeed, my prince, you call'd me traitor.
Nay, further, threatened you'd complain to Cato.
Of what, my prince, would you complain to Cato?
That Syphax loves you, and would sacrifice
His life, nay, more, his honour, in your service?

_Jub._ Syphax, I know thou lovest me; but indeed
Thy zeal for Juba carried thee too far.
Honour's a sacred tie, the law of kings,
The noble mind's distinguishing perfection,
That aids and strengthen