The guards and habits of Numidia's prince?

_Sem._ One that was born to scourge thy arrogance,
Presumptuous youth!

_Jub._ What can this mean? Sempronius!

_Sem._ My sword shall answer thee. Have at thy heart.

_Jub._ Nay then, beware thy own, proud, barbarous man.
[SEMPRONIUS _falls_.

_Sem._ Curse on my stars! Am I then doom'd to fall
By a boy's hand, disfigured in a vile
Numidian dress, and for a worthless woman?
Gods, I'm distracted! this my close of life!
Oh, for a peal of thunder, that would make
Earth, sea, and air, and heav'n, and Cato tremble! [_Dies._

_Jub._ I'll hence to Cato,
That we may there at length unravel all
This dark design, this mystery of fate. [_Exit_ JUBA.

_Enter_ LUCIA _and_ MARCIA.

_Lucia._ Sure 'twas the clash of swords; my troubled heart
Is so cast down, and sunk amidst its sorrows,
It throbs with fear, and aches at ev'ry sound.
Oh, Marcia, should thy brothers, for my sake--
I die away with horror at the thought!

_Marcia._ See, Lucia, see! here's blood! here's blood and murder!
Ha! a Numidian! Heav'n preserve the prince!
The face lies muffled up within the garment,
But ah! death to my sight! a diadem,
And royal robes! O gods! 'tis he, 'tis he!
Juba lies dead before us!

_Lucia._ Now, Marcia, now, call up to thy assistance
Thy wonted strength and constancy of mind;
Thou canst not put it to a greater trial.

_Marcia._ Lucia, look there, and wonder at my patience;
Have I not cause to rave, and beat my breast,
To rend my heart with grief, and run distracted?

_Lucia._ What can I think, or say, to give thee comfort?

_Marcia._ Talk not of comfort, 'tis for lighter ills:
Behold a sight that strikes all comfort dead.

_Enter_ JUBA, _listening_.

I will indulge my sorrows, and give way
To all the pangs and fury of despair;
That man, that best of men, deserved it from me.

_Jub._ What do I hear? and was the false Sempronius
That best of men? Oh, had I fall'n like him,
And could have been thus mourn'd, I had been happy.

_Marcia._ 'Tis not in fate to ease my tortured breast.
Oh, he was all made up of love and charms!
Whatever maid could wish, or man admire:
Delight of every eye; when he appear'd,
A secret pleasure gladden'd all that saw him;
But when he talk'd, the proudest Roman blush'd
To hear his virtues, and old age grew wise.
Oh, Juba! Juba!

_Jub._ What means that voice? Did she not call on Juba?

_Marcia._ Why