 | The tragedy of Sophonisba |  |
SCENE IV.
Masinissa, Lælius.Masinissa.
Thou more than partner of this glorious day!
Which has from Carthage torn her chief support,
And tottering left her, I rejoice to see thee—
To Cirtha welcome, Lælius.—Thy brave legions
Now taste the sweet repose by valour purchas'd;
52
I order'd Narva—
Lælius.
Thanks to Masinissa.
All that is well. I here observ'd the king,
But loosely guarded. True, indeed, from him
There is not much to fear. The dangerous spirit,
Still not unworthy fear, our matchless prize,
Is his imperious queen, is Sophonisba.
The pride, the rage of Carthage live in her.
How? where is she?
Masinissa.
She, Lælius? In my care.
Think not of her. I'll answer for her conduct.
Lælius.
Yes, if in chains. Till then, believe me, prince,
It were as hopeful answering for the winds,
That their broad pinions will not rouze the desart;
Or that the darted Lightning will be harmless;
As promise peace from her.—But why so dark?
You shift your place, your countenance grows warm.
It is not usual this in Masinissa.
Pray what offence can asking for the queen,
The Roman captive give?
Masinissa.
Lælius, no more.
You know my marriage.—Syphax has been busy—
It is unkind to dally with my passion.
Lælius.
Ah, Masinissa! was it then for this,
Thy hurry hither from the recent battle?
Is the first instance of the Roman bounty
Thus, thus abus'd? They give thee back thy kingdom;
And in return are of their captive robb'd;
Of all they valued, Sophonisba.—
Masinissa.
Robb'd!
How, Lælius? Robb'd!
53
Yes, Masinissa, robb'd.
What is it else? But I, this very night,
Will here assert the majesty of Rome;
And, mark me, tear her from the nuptial bed.
Masinissa.
Oh Gods! oh patience! As soon, fiery Roman!
As soon thy rage might from her azure sphere
Tear yonder moon.—The man who seizes her,
Shall set his foot first on my bleeding heart.
Of that be sure.—And is it thus ye treat
Your firm allies? Thus kings in friendship with you?
Of human passions strip them?—Slaves indeed!
If thus deny'd the common privilege
Of nature, what the weakest creatures claim,
A right to what they love.
Lælius.
Out! out!—For shame!
This passion makes thee blind. Here is a war,
Which desolates the nations, has almost
Laid waste the world. How many widows, orphans,
And love-lorn virgins pine for it in Rome!
Even her great senate droops; her nobles fail;
Her Circus shrinks; her every lustre thins,
Nature her self, by frequent prodigies,
Seems at this havock of her works to sicken:
And our Ausonian plains are now become
A horror to the sight: At each sad step,
Remembrance weeps. Yet her, the greatest prize
It hitherto has yielded; her, whose charms
Are only turn'd to whet its cruel point;
Thou to thy wedded breast hast taken her:
Hast purchas'd thee her beauties by a sea
Of thy protector's blood; and on a throne
Set her, this day recover'd by their arms.
Canst thou thy self, thou, think of it with patience?
This passion makes thee blind. Here is a war,
Which desolates the nations, has almost
Laid waste the world. How many widows, orphans,
And love-lorn virgins pine for it in Rome!
Even her great senate droops; her nobles fail;
Her Circus shrinks; her every lustre thins,
Nature her self, by frequent prodigies,
Seems at this havock of her works to sicken:
And our Ausonian plains are now become
A horror to the sight: At each sad step,
Remembrance weeps. Yet her, the greatest prize
It hitherto has yielded; her, whose charms
Are only turn'd to whet its cruel point;
Thou to thy wedded breast hast taken her:
Hast purchas'd thee her beauties by a sea
Of thy protector's blood; and on a throne
Set her, this day recover'd by their arms.
Canst thou thy self, thou, think of it with patience?
Nor to a Roman mention King.—A Roman
Would scorn to be a king.—The Roman people
Took liberty from out the very dust,
And for great ages urg'd it to the skies,
The dread of kings!
Would scorn to be a king.—The Roman people
Took liberty from out the very dust,
And for great ages urg'd it to the skies,
54
Masinissa.
Be not so haughty, Lælius.
It scarce becomes the gentle Scipio's friend;
Suits not thy wonted ease, the tender manners
I still have mark'd in thee. I honour Rome;
But honour too my self, my vows, my queen:
Nor will, nor can, I tamely hear thee threaten
To seize her like a slave.
Lælius.
I will be calm.
This thy rash deed, this unexpected shock,
Such a peculiar injury to me,
Thy friend and fellow-soldier, has perhaps
Snatch'd me too far. For hast thou not dishonour'd,
By this last action, a successful war?
Our common charge, entrusted us by Scipio.
Masinissa.
Ay, there it is.—Has not thy vain ambition,
(Oh where is friendship!) plan'd her for thy triumph?
To think on't, death! to think it is dishonour.
At such a sight, the warriour's eye might wet
His burning cheek; and all the Roman matrons,
Who line the laurel'd way, asham'd, and sad,
Turn from a captive brighter than themselves.
But Scipio will be milder.
Lælius.
I disdain
This thy surmise, and give it up to Scipio.
Those passions are not comely.—Here to morrow
Comes the proconsul. Mean time, Masinissa,
Ah harden not thy self in flattering hope!
Scipio is mild, but steady.—Ha! the queen.
I think she hates a Roman.—and will leave thee.
| The tragedy of Sophonisba | |