Wise Sophonisba knowes loves tricks of art,
Without much hindrance, pleasure hath no heart;
Despight all vertue or weake plots I must,

Seven walled Babell cannot beare out lust.

[Descends through the vault.

¶ Cornets sound marches.

Enter SCIPIO and LELIUS, with the complements of
Roman Generalls before them. At the other doore,
MASSINISSA and JUGURTH.

Mas. Let not the vertue of the world suspect
Sad Massinissa's faith; nor once condemne
Our just revolt. Carthage first gave me life;
Her ground gave food, her aire first lent me breath.
The earth was made for men, not men for earth.
Scipio, I doe not thanke the Gods for life,

Much lesse vile men, or earth; know, best of lords,
It is a happy being, breath well fam'd,

For which Jove sees these thus. Men be not fool'd
With piety to place, traditions feare,

A just mans countrey Jove makes every where.
Sci. Well urgeth Massinissa; but to leave

A city so ingrate, so faithlesse, so more vile
Then civill speech can name, feare not, such vice
Το Scourge is Heavens gratefull sacrifice.
Thus all confesse first they have broke a faith
To the most due, so just to be observ'd,
That barbarousnesse it selfe may well blush at them.
Where is thy passion? they have shar'd thy crowne,
The proper right of birth, contriv'd thy death.
Where is thy passion? given thy beautious spouse
To thy most hated rivall. Statue, not man;

And last, thy friend Gelosso (man worth gods)
With tortures have they rent to death.

Mas. O Gelosso!

For thee full eyes

Sci. No passion for the rest?

Mas. O Scipio! my griefe for him may be exprest, But for the rest, silence and secret anguish by teares Shall wast-shall wast! Scipio, he that can weep, Grieves not like me, private deep inward drops Of blood! My heart, for Gods right give me leave To be a short time man.

Sci. Stay, Prince.

Mas. I cease;

Forgive if I forget thy presence. Scipio,
Thy face makes Massinissa more than man,
And here before your steddy power I vow

As firme as fate I make: When I desist
To be commanded by thy vertue (Scipio),
Or fall from friend of Romes, revenging gods,
Afflict me worth your torture. I have given
Of passion and of faith, my heart.

Sci. To counsell then,

Griefe fits weake hearts, revenging vertue men.

Thus I thinke fit, before that Syphax know

How deepely Carthage sinkes, lets beat swift march

Up even to Cirta, and whilst Syphax snores

With his, late thine

Mas. With mine? no, Scipio;

Libian hath poyson, aspes, knives, and too much earth To make one grave, with mine? Not, she can dye, Scipio, with mine! Jove, say it thou dost lye.

Sci. Temperance be Scipios honour.

Le. Cease your strife, she is a woman.
Mas. But she is my wife.

Le. And yet she is no god!
Mas. And yet she's more.

I doe not praise gods goodnesse, but adore.

Gods cannot fall, and for their constant goodnesse (Which is necessited) they have a crowne

Of never-ending pleasures; but faint man

(Fram'd to have his weaknesse made the heavens glory), If he with steddy vertue holds all siege,

That power, that speech, that pleasure, that full sweets, A world of greatnesse can assail him with,

Having no pay but selfe wept misery,

And beggars treasure heapt—that man Ile prayse
Above the gods.

Sci. The Lybian speakes bold sense.

Mas. By that by which all is, proportion,

I speake with thought.

Sci. No more.

Mas. Forgive my admiration.

You toucht a string to which my sense was quick;

Can you but thinke? Do, do; my griefe-my griefeWould make a saint blaspheme! Give some reliefe ;

As thou art Scipio, forgive that I forget

I am a souldier. Such woes Joves ribs would burst.
Few speake lesse ill that feele so much of worst.
My eare attends.

Sci. Before then Syphax joyne,

With new strength'd Carthage, or can once unwind

His tangled sense from out so vilde amaze,
Fall wee like suddaine lightning fore his eyes:

Boldnesse and speed are all of victories.

Mas. Scipio, let Massinissa clip thy knees;
May once these eyes view Syphax? shall this arme
Once make him feele his sinne? O yee gods!
My cause, my cause! Justice is so huge ods,
That he who with it feares, Heaven must renounce
In his creation.

Sci. Beate then a close quicke march;

Before the morne shall shake cold dews through skies,
Syphax shall tremble at Romes thicke alarmes.

Mas. Yee powers, I challenge conquest to just armes.

[With a full flourish of cornets, they depart.

ACTUS QUARTUS.

So.

Za.

So.

SCENA PRIMA.

Organs, viols, and voices, play for this Act.

Enter SOPHONISBA and ZANTHIA, as out of a caves,

I sent the ayre!

mouth.

HERE are we, Zanthia ?

Vangue, said the cave

Op'ned in Belos forrest.
Lord, how sweet

The huge long vaults close vaine,

What dumps it breath'd! In Belos forrest sayst;

Be valiant, Zanthia; how far's Utica

From these most heavie shades?

Za. Ten easie leagues.

So. There's Massinissa, my true Zanthia;
Shals venture nobly to escape, and touch

My lords just armes? Loves wings so justly heave
The body up, that as our toes shall trip
Over the tender and obedient grasse,
Scarce any drop of dew is dasht to ground.

And see the willing shade of friendly night

Makes safe our instant haste. Boldnesse and speed
Make actions most impossible succeed.