MASINISSA

Let not Scipio Flatter me into pride for what is rather Fortune's then mine. His madness will betray me To a reproach Yes: she's my wife. Syphax is dead in his captivity. Hislife was mine; which I but lent him only For Rome's great triumph. Let not Scipio Deny those errors and excuse. If nature Had a Like clothed men's dispositions, And all did wear one habit of the mind, You needs not urge example of your own Instruct another's continence: for all From a necessited and innate temperance Would be as you are. Though I do not boast Command over pleasures, I pursue them not With and intemperate appetite, but make Reason my guide, that tell's me to provide For a succession, does become the judgement Of a wise King. Posterity may well Be called eternity of life: he never Die's that hath issue; for which I have married Her mine own conquest gave me. Perhaps your self A ter your boated continence would have her To be your own. You would seem To give me mines, upon condition I should restore the gold, reserving only The earth to trample on. In Sophonisba I have a treature mine own life shall ransom, If she be forced away; and to consent She should be yielded up to any Roman Were worse then sacrilege, though I should tcare The hallowed sta'ues of Nunsidias gods Down from their altars, and convert their Temples Into the loathsomest uses of necessity. Kings oaths are equal with decrees of Fate, Those I have made I cannot violate. He's angry, and I must not let it grow To ripeness of his hate. I am resolved To be example of a constancy Fame shall proclaim for wonder. But if one Possessed of happiness beyond the hope Of any greater; that denies another Can be in expectation (more then what His soul enjoy's already) apprehended A separation from it by the malice Of death, or other accident, 'twould force him Weep silently within, though shame restrained His outward tears. Dare she Dyethen to quit her fears? Ever mine eyes Should suffer such and object to offend Their hitherto pleased sense, I would dissolve them In their own humour. No Sophonisba; This breath shall first wast into empty air, And leave my naked bones i'th'hallow'd pile Ever I prove false to thee. Give me some wine: I'll drink a bridal health to Sophonisba, And mix it with Nepenthe. Here's the juice Will cause forgetfulness, and mock extremity Of any adverse fortune. Messenger with wine. Not to have A Monument of lasting Adamant Raised to my memory. No Sophonisba This is no potion to preserve a beauty In it's first green; or ripe it to a Summer; Or prevent the Autumme; or return the Winter Into a new Spring. This will pale the die Which thy cheek blusheth when it would cloth more desty In a rich scarlet: make that Ivory breast (Now Loves soft bed whereon he play's the wanton, And ambusheth himself to catch the flames He shoot's at others from thy eyes) as cold As Scythian sands, bleak't with continual freezing Into a seeming crystal. Scipio dar's not Insult over thee: thy face would check his malice Into a silent admiration of it. Or if he sin so much as to deject thee With the least fear of ill, the gods themselves Will leave their immortality to be Each others rivals in thy love, and strive Which should revenge thee best. This must not weaken What is so powerful. Do't then quickly. I'll bear it, and command the King of night Resign his ravished Queen to be thy handmaid. Hell, I shall now be armed to meet thy horrors With greater power then thine. Would! what hath Sophonisba's madness done'? O Aesculapius if thy deity Be not a feigned one, then administer, And show it powerful in restoring back My Sophonisba to her former safety. Numidia shall pay worship to none other But thee and Phœbus. Altars shall be raised Made of Iberian gold, and flame with incense Until Arabia's richest earth grow's barren Of gums and spices. To Scipios malice. Keep your flattery. I have no Sophonisba. Touch her not: None but my self shall bear her to the pile. The sacrilegious hand beside attempt's it I will cut off. Your triumph shall not twice Kill Sophonisba. Exit with the body. They cannot Restore my Sophonisba. Room hath not Another Sophonisba. He's taken. Men weak judgement, That calls it vice in others, which himself Is equally inclined to. Seemed he not to love her? And yet without least pause he gave her back Being possessed. I am overcome; I see Passion's the noble souls worst enemy I'm all for Actium. Music. You being judge In your own cause: but who will else subscribe To such a partial sentence? This example Might instance proofs for her divinity. All's but endeavour until perfected By the success, and that is Fortune's only; Desert shar's little in'r. Sophonisba! I was new entered into meditations Of death, and other wretchedness, depend's Upon mortality. That Hath in't sufficient virtue to convert All the Thessalian, Pontic, Phasian aconites Into pretervatives, and turn this draught Into and antidote: which yet is powerful, Above all that Art and Nature in conspiracy Of mischief ever invented. We that are Great, and yet subject to incertainty Of Fortune, have this custom to prevent it. We affect glory: and conclude no slate That end's not in it self, is fortunate. So— Offers to drink. 'Tis poison surely that he takes. She's dead. Sink you supporters of this fabric Into your deep foundations; make them graves For your own ruins, since there is not left A weight worthy your bearing. She's not dead: Only she hath translated her divinity To it's own blessed abodes, and call's on me To pay a mortals duty. Shallt have sacrifice, And rich too. Kings out of devotion shall Offer themselves in flames, and from their ashes Rise glorious stars; whence learned curiosity Deriving a new art, shall teach Astrologers The virtues of and influence shall include Secrets to make credulity astonished At their presages. I will be their president; And make this earth, already consecrated With Sophonisba's precious feet, and altar. Open thy crannies to receive my blood, And from it's mixture spring a grove of Balsam. Led by whose ravishing odour the new issue Of every Phoenix shall neglect Panehaia, To bring her mother's spicy death bed hither, That's likewise her own cradle. But this Actium Should have more state, and ceremony. No. A King's the Priest; a King's the Sacrifice; His own sword while it's yet warm with his victory Shall serve forth' axe, and so—Shall I but die then? I'll live to pay her more then expiration Of a short breath, and die to all delights, But what I can derive from her fair memory: Which shall be treasured here; and by it's virtue Revive to kill me; every life it gives Causing another death.