The tragedy of Sophonisba: Acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. By His Majesty's servants. By Mr. Thomson.

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- TO THE QUEEN.

- PREFACE.

- PROLOGUE.

- The Persons represented.

- 1

- ACT I. SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- SCENE V.

- 2

- ACT II. SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- 3

- ACT III. SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- 4

- ACT IV. SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- SCENE V.

- 5

- ACT V. SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- SCENE V.

- SCENE VI.

- SCENE VII.

- SCENE VIII.

- SCENE IX.

- EPILOGUE.

- A NUPTIAL SONG, intended to have been inserted in the Fourth Act.

- ERRATA.

- Just published the following BOOKS, printed for A. MILLAR.

SOPHONISBA. A TRAGEDY.

THE TRAGEDY OF SOPHONISBA. Acted at the THEATRE-ROYAL IN DRURY-LANE. By His MAJESTY'S Servants.

By Mr. THOMSON.

LONDON: Printed for A. MILLAR, at Buchanan's Head, over-against St. Clement's Church in the Strand. M DCC XXX.

TO THE QUEEN.

MADAM,

THE notice, Your MAJESTY has condescended to take of the following Tragedy, emboldens me to lay it, in the humblest manner, at Your MAJESTY'S Feet. And to whom can this illustrious Carthaginian so properly fly for protection, as to a QUEEN, who commands the hearts of a People, more powerful at sea than Carthage? more flourishing in commerce than those first Merchants? more secure against conquest? and, under a Monarchy, more free than a Commonwealth itself?

I dare not, nor indeed need I, here attempt a character, where both the great and the amiable Qualities shine forth in full perfection. All words are faint to speak what is universally felt, and acknowledged, by a happy people. Permit me therefore only to subscribe my self, with the truest zeal and veneration,

MADAM,
Your MAJESTY'S Most humble, Most dutiful, And most devoted Servant, JAMES THOMSON.

PREFACE.

IT is not my intention, in this preface, to defend any faults that may be found in the following piece. I am afraid there are too many: But those who are best able to discover, will be most ready to pardon them. They alone know how difficult an undertaking the writing of a tragedy is: and this is a first attempt.

I beg leave only to mention the reason that determined me to make choice of this subject. What pleased me particularly, tho' perhaps it will not be least liable to objection with ordinary readers, was the great simplicity of the story. It is one, regular, and uniform, not charged with a multiplicity of incidents, and yet affording several revolutions of fortune; by which the passions may be excited, varied, and driven to their full tumult of emotion

This unity of design was always sought after, and admired by the antients: and the most eminent among the moderns, who understood their writings, have chosen to imitate them in this, from an intire conviction that the reason of it must hold good in all ages. And here allow me to translate a passage from the celebrated Monsieur Racine, which contains all that I have to say on this head.

We must not fancy that this rule has no other foundation but the caprice of those who made it. Nothing can touch us in tragedy, but what is probable. And what probability is there, that, in one Day, should happen a multitude of things, which could scarce happen in several Weeks? There are some wh• think that this simplicity is a mark of barrenness 〈◊〉 invention. But they do not consider, that, on the contrary, invention consists in making something out of nothing: and that this huddle of incidents has always been the refuge of poets, who did not find in their genius either richness or force enough to engage their spectators, for five acts together, by a simple action, supported by the violence of passions, the beauty of sentiments, and the nobleness of expression.—I would not be understood to mean that all these things are to be found in my performance: I only shew the reader what I aimed at, and how I would have pleased him, had it been in my power.

As to the character of Sophonisba; in drawing it, I have confined myself to the truth of history. It were an affront to the age, to suppose such a character out of nature; especially in a country which has produced so many great examples of public spirit and heroic virtues, even in the softer sex: and I had destroyed her character intirely, had I not marked it with that strong love to her country, disdain of servitude, and inborn aversion to the Romans, by which all historians have distinguished her. Nor ought her marrying Masinissa, while her former husband was still alive, to be reckoned a blemish in her character. For, by the laws both of Rome and Carthage, the captivity of the husband dissolved the marriage of course; as among us impotence, or adultery: not to mention the reasons of a moral and public nature, which I have put into her own mouth in the scene betwixt her and Syphax.

This is all I have to say of the play itself. But I cannot conclude without owning my obligations to those concerned in the representation. They have indeed done me more than justice. Whatever was designed as amiable and engaging in Masinissa shines out in Mr. Wilks's action. Mrs. Oldfield, in the character of Sophonisba, has excelled what, even in the fondness of an author, I could either wish or imagine. The grace, dignity, and happy variety of her action have been universally applauded, and are truly admirable.

PROLOGUE.

By a FRIEND.

Spoken by Mr. WILLIAMS.

WHEN learning, after the long Gothic night,

Fair, o'er the western world, renew'd his light,

With arts arising Sophonisba rose:

The tragic muse, returning, wept her woes.

With her th' Italian scene first learnt to glow;

And the first tears for her were taught to flow.

Her charms the Gallic muses next inspir'd:

Corneille himself saw, wonder'd, and was fir'd.

What foreign theatres with pride have shewn,

Britain, by juster title, makes her own.

When freedom is the cause, 'tis hers to fight;

And hers, wken freedom is the theme, to write.

For this, a British Author bids again

The heroine rise, to grace the British scene.

Here, as in life, she breathes her genuine flame:

She asks what bosom has not felt the same?

Asks of the British Youth—Is silence there?

She dares to ask it of the British Fair.

To night, our home-spun author would be true,

At once, to nature, history, and you.

Well-pleas'd to give our neighbours due applause,

He owns their learning, but disdains their laws.

Not to his patient touch, or happy flame,

'Tis to his British heart he trusts for fame.

If France excel him in one free-born thought,

The man, as well as poet, is in fault.

Nature! informer of the poet's art,

Whose force alone can raise or melt the heart,

Thou art his guide; each passion, every line,

Whate'er he draws to please, must all be thine.

Be thou his judge: in every candid breast,

Thy silent whisper is the sacred test.

The Persons represented.

MASINISSA, King of Massylia,

By Mr. Wilks.

SYPHAX, King of Masoesylia,

By Mr. Mills.

NARVA, Friend to Masinissa,

By Mr. Roberts.

SCIPIO, the Roman General,

By Mr. Williams.

LAELIUS, his Lieutenant,

By Mr. Bridgewater.

SOPHONISBA,

By Mrs. Oldfield.

PHOENISSA, her Friend,

By Mrs. Roberts.

Messenger, Slave, Guards, and Attendants.

SCENE The Palace of CIRTHA.

ACT I. SCENE I.

SOPHONISBA, PHOENISSA.

SOPHONISBA.

THIS hour, Phoenissa, this important hour,

Or fixes me a queen, or from a throne

Throws Sophonisba into Roman chains.

Detested thought! For now his utmost force

Collected, desperate, distress'd, and sore

From battles lost; with all the rage of war,

Ill-fated Syphax makes his last effort.

But say, thou partner of my hopes and fears,

Phoenissa, say; while, from the lofty tower,

Our straining eyes the field of battle sought,

Ah, thought you not that our Numidian troops

Gave up the broken field, and scattering fled,

Wild o'er the hills, from the rapacious sons

Of still triumphant Rome?

PHOENISSA.

The dream of care!

And think not, madam, Syphax can resign,

But with his ebbing life, in this last field,

A crown, a kingdom, and a queen he loves

Beyond ambition's brightest wish; for whom,

Nor mov'd by threats, nor bound by plighted faith,

He scorn'd the Roman friendship (that fair name

For slavery) and from th' engagements broke

Of Scipio, fam'd for every winning art,

The towering genius of recover'd Rome.

SOPHONISBA.

Oh name him not! These Romans stir my blood

To too much rage. I cannot bear the fortune

Of that proud people.—Said you not, Phoenissa,

That Syphax lov'd me; which would fire his battle,

And urge him on to death or conquest? True,

He loves me with the madness of desire;

His every passion is a slave to love;

Nor heeds he danger where I bid him go,

Nor leagues, nor interest. Hence these endless wars,

These ravag'd countries, these successless fights,

Sustain'd for Carthage; whose defence alone

Engag'd my loveless marriage-vows with his.

But know you not, that in the Roman camp

I have a lover too; a gallant, brave,

And disappointed lover, full of wrath,

Returning to a kingdom whence the sword

Of Syphax drove him?

PHOENISSA.

Masinissa?

SOPHONISBA.

He:

Young Masinissa, the Massylian king;

The first addresser of my youth; for whom

My bosom felt a fond beginning wish,

Extinguish'd soon; when once to Scipio's side

Won o'er, and dazled by th' enchanting glare

Of that fair seeming heroe, he became

A gay admiring slave, yet knew it not.

E'er since, my heart has held him in contempt;

And thrown out each idea of his worth,

That there began to grow: nay had it been

As all-possest, and soft, as her's who sits

In secret shades, or by the falling stream,

And wastes her being in unutter'd pangs,

I would have broke, or cur'd it of its fondness.

PHOENISSA.

Heroic Sophonisba!

SOPHONISBA.

No, Phoenissa;

It is not for the daughter of great Asdrubal,

Descended from a long illustrious line

Of Carthaginian heroes, who have oft

Fill'd Italy with terror and dismay,

And shook the walls of Rome, to pine in love,

Like a deluded maid; to give her life,

And heart high-beating in her country's cause,

Meant not for common aims and houshold cares,

To give them up to vain presuming man;

Much less to one who stoops the neck to Rome,

An enemy to Carthage, Masinissa.

PHOENISSA.

Think not I mean to check that glorious flame,

That just ambition which exalts your soul,

Fires on your cheek, and lightens in your eye.

Yet would he had been yours! this rising prince;

For, trust me, fame is fond of Masinissa.

His various fortune, his resplendent deeds,

His courage, conduct, deep-experienc'd youth,

And vast unbroken spirit in distress,

Still rising stronger from the last defeat,

Are all the talk and terror too of Afric.

Who has not heard the story of his woes?

How hard he came to his paternal reign;

Whence soon by Syphax' unrelenting hate,

And jealous Carthage driven, he with a few

Fled to the mountains. Then, I think, it was

Hem'd in a circle of impending rocks,

That all his followers fell, save fifty horse;

Who, thence escap'd thro' secret paths abrupt,

Gain'd the Clupean plain. There overtook,

And urg'd by fierce surrounding foes, he burst

With four alone, sore wounded, thro' their ranks,

And all amidst a mighty torrent plung'd.

Seiz'd by the whirling gulph, two sunk; and two,

With him obliquely hurried down the stream,

Wrought to the farther shore. Th'astonish'd troops

Stood check'd, and shivering on the gloomy brink,

And deem'd him lost in the devouring flood.

Mean time the dauntless, undespairing youth

Lay in a cave conceal'd; curing his wounds

With mountain-herbs, and on his horses fed:

Nor here, even at the lowest ebb of life,

Stoop'd his aspiring mind. What need I say,

How once again restor'd, and once again

Expell'd, among the Garamantian hills

He since has wander'd, till the Roman arm

Reviv'd his cause? And who shall reign alone,

Syphax or he, this day decides.

SOPHONISBA.

Enough.

Thou need'st not blazon thus his fame, Phoenissa.

Were he as glorious as the pride of woman

Could wish, in all her wantonness of thought;

The joy of humankind; wise, valiant, good;

With every praise, with every laurel crown'd;

The warriour's wonder, and the virgin's sigh:

Yet this would cloud him o'er, this blemish all;

His mean submission to the Roman yoke;

That, false to Carthage, Afric, and himself,

With proferr'd hand and knee, he hither led

These ravagers of earth.—But while we talk,

The work of fate goes on; even now perhaps

My dying country bleeds in every vein,

And the warm victor thunders at our gate.

SCENE II.

SOPHONISBA, PHOENISSA, and to them a MESSENGER from the Battle.

SOPHONISBA.

Ha! Whence art thou? Speak, tho' thy bleeding wounds

Might well excuse thy tongue.

MESSENGER.

Madam escap'd,

With much ado, from yon wide death—

SOPHONISBA.

No more.

At once thy meaning flashes o'er my soul.

Oh all my vanish'd hopes! repairless chance

Of undiscerning war!—And is all lost?

An universal havock?

MESSENGER.

Madam, all.

For scarce a Masoesylian, save my self,

But is or seiz'd, or bites the bloody plain.

The King—

SOPHONISBA.

Ah! what of him?

MESSENGER.

His fiery steed,

By Masinissa, the Massylian prince,

Pierc'd, threw him headlong to his clustering foes;

And now he comes in chains.

SOPHONISBA.

'Tis wond'rous fit,

Absolute gods! All Afric is in chains!

The weeping world in chains!—Oh is there not

A time, a righteous time, reserv'd in fate,

When these oppressors of mankind shall feel

The miseries they give; and blindly fight

For their own fetters too?—The conquering troops,

How points their motion?

MESSENGER.

At my heels they came,

Loud-shouting, dreadful, in a cloud of dust,

By Masinissa headed.

SOPHONISBA.

Hark! arriv'd.

The murmuring crowd rolls frighted to the palace.

Thou bleed'st to death, poor faithful wretch, away,

And dress thy wounds, if life be worth thy care;

Tho' Rome, methinks, will lose a slave in thee.

Would Sophonisba were as near the verge

Of boundless, and immortal liberty!

SCENE III.

SOPHONISBA, PHOENISSA.

[After a Pause.]

SOPHONISBA.

And wherefore not? When liberty is lost,

Let slaves and cowards live; but in the brave

It were a treachery to themselves, enough

To merit chains. And is it fit for me,

Who in my veins, from Asdrubal deriv'd,

Hold Carthaginian enmity to Rome;

On whom I've lavish'd all my burning soul,

In everlasting hate; for whose destruction

I sold my joyless youth to Syphax' arms,

And turn'd him fierce upon them; fit for such

A native, restless, unrelenting foe,

To sit down softly-pensive, and await

Th'approaching victor's rage; reserv'd in chains

To grace his triumph, and become the scorn

Of every Roman dame—Gods! how my soul

Disdains the thought! and this shall set it free.

[Offers to stab her self.]

PHOENISSA.

Hold, Sophonisba, hold! my friend! my queen!

For whom alone I live! hold your rash point,

Nor thro' your guardian bosom stab your country.

That is our last resort, and always sure.

The gracious gods are liberal of death;

To that last blessing lend a thousand ways.

Think not I'd have you live to drag a chain,

And walk the triumph of insulting Rome.

No, by these tears of loyalty and love!

Ere I beheld so vile a sight, this hand

Should urge the faithful poynard to your heart,

And glory in the deed. But, while hope lives,

Let not the generous die. 'Tis late before

The brave despair.

SOPHONISBA.

Thou copy of my soul!

And now my friend indeed! Shew me but hope,

One glimpse of hope, and I'll renew my toils,

Call patience, labour, fortitude again,

The vext unjoyous day, and sleepless night;

Nor shrink at danger, any shape of death,

Shew me the smallest hope! Alas, Phoenissa,

Too kindly confident! Hope lives not here,

Fled with her sister Liberty beyond

The Garamantian hills, to some steep wild,

Some undiscover'd country, where the foot

Of Roman cannot come.

PHOENISSA.

Yes, there she liv'd

With Massinissa, wounded, and forlorn,

Amidst the serpents, hiss, and tygers, yell.—

SOPHONISBA.

Why nam'st thou him?

PHOENISSA.

Madam, in this forgive

My forward zeal; from him proceeds our hope.

He lov'd you once; nor is your form impair'd,

Warm'd, and unfolded into stronger charms:

Ask his protection from the Roman power,

You must prevail; for Sophonisba sure

From Masinissa cannot ask in vain.

SOPHONISBA.

Now, by the prompting genius of my country!

I thank thee for the thought. True, there is pain

Even in descending thus to beg protection,

From that degenerate youth. But oh for thee,

My sinking country! and again to gaul

This hated Rome, what would I not endure?

It shall be done, Phoenissa; tho' disgust

Choak'd up my struggling meaning, shall be done.

[kneels.

But here I vow, propitious Juno, hear!

Could every pomp and every pleasure joyn'd,

Love, empire, glory, a whole kneeling world,

Unnerve my smallest purpose, and remit

That most inveterate enmity I bear

The Roman state; may Carthage smoak in ruins!

Rome rise the mistress of mankind! and I,

There an abandon'd slave, drag out a length

Of life, in loathsome baseness, and contempt!

This way the trumpet sounds; let us retire.

SCENE IV.

MASINISSA, SYPHAX in Chains, NARVA, Guards, &c.

SYPHAX.

Is there no dungeon in this city? dark,

As is my troubled soul? That thus I'm brought

To my own palace, to those rooms of state,

Wont in another manner to receive me,

With other signs of royalty than these.

(looking on his chains.)

MASINISSA.

I will not wound thee, not insult thee, Syphax,

With a recital of thy tyrant crimes.

A captive here I see thee, fallen below

My most revengeful wish; and all the rage,

The noble fury that inspir'd this morn

Is sunk to soft compassion. In the field,

The flaming front of war, there is the scene

Of brave revenge; and I have sought thee there,

Keen as the hunted lyon seeks his foe.

But when a broken enemy, disarm'd,

And helpless lies; a falling sword, an eye

With pity flowing, and an arm as weak

As infant softness, then becomes the brave.

Now sleeps the sword; the passions of the field

Subside to peace; and my relenting soul

Melts at thy fate.

SYPHAX.

This, this, is all I dread,

All I detest, this insolence refin'd,

This barbarous pity, this affected goodness.

Pitied by thee!—Is there a form of death,

Of torture, and of infamy like that?

It kills my very soul!—Ye partial gods!

I feel your worst; why should I fear you more?

Hear me, vain youth! take notice—I abhor

Thy mercy, loath it.—Poison to my thoughts!

Wouldst thou be merciful? One way alone

Thou canst oblige me.—Use me like a slave;

As I would thee, (delicious thought!) wert thou

Here crouching in my power.

MASINISSA.

Outragious man!

If that is mercy, I'll be cruel still.

Nor canst thou drive me, by thy bitterest rage,

To an unmanly deed; not all thy wrongs,

Nor this worse triumph in them.

SYPHAX.

Ha! ha! wrongs?

I cannot wrong thee. When we lanch the spear

Into the monster's heart, or crush the serpent;

Destroy what in antipathy we hold,

The common foe; can that be call'd a wrong?

Injurious that? Absurd! it cannot be.

MASINISSA.

I'm loth to hurt thee more.—The tyrant works

Too fierce already in thy rankled breast.

But since thou seem'st to rank me with thy self,

With great destroyers, with perfidious kings;

I must reply to thy licentious tongue,

Bid thee remember, whose accursed sword

Began this work of death; who broke the ties,

The holy ties, attested by the gods,

Which bind the nations in the bond of peace;

Who meanly took advantage of my youth,

Unskill'd in arms, unsettled on my throne,

And drove me to the desart, there to dwell

With kinder monsters; who my cities sack'd,

My country pillag'd, and my subjects murder'd;

Who still pursu'd me with inveterate hate,

When generous force prov'd vain, with ruffian arts,

The villain's dagger, base assassination.

And for no reason all. Brute violence

Alone thy plea.—What the least provocation,

Say, canst thou but pretend?

SYPHAX.

I needed none.

Nature has in my being sown the seeds

Of enmity to thine.—Nay mark me this.

Couldst thou restore me to my former state,

Strike off these chains, give me the sword again,

The sceptre, and the wide-obedient war:

Yet must I still, implacable to thee,

Seek eagerly thy death, or die my self.

Life cannot hold us both!—Unequal gods!

Who love to disappoint mankind, and take

All Vengeance to your selves; why to the point

Of my long-flatter'd wishes did ye lift me,

Then sink me thus so low? Just as I drew

The glorious stroke that was to make me happy,

Why did you blast my strong extended arm?

Strike the dry sword unsated to the ground?

But that to mock us is your cruel sport?

What else is human life?

MASINISSA.

Thus always join'd

With an inhuman heart, and brutal manners,

Is irreligion to the ruling gods;

Whose schemes our peevish ignorance arraigns,

Our thoughtless pride.—Thy lost condition, Syphax,

Is nothing to the tumult of thy breast.

There lies the sting of evil, there the drop

That poisons nature.—Ye mysterious powers!

Whose ways are ever-gracious, ever-just,

As ye think wisest, best, dispose of me;

But, whether thro' your gloomy depths I wander,

Or on your mountains walk; give me the calm

The steady, smiling soul; where wisdom sheds,

Eternal sunshine and eternal joy.

Then, if misfortune comes, she brings along

The bravest virtues. And so many great

Illustrious spirits have convers'd with woe,

(The pride of adverse fate!) as are enough

To consecrate distress, and make even death

Ambition.

SYPHAX.

Torture! Racks! The common trick

Of insolent success, unsuffering pride,

This prate of patience, and I know not what.

'Tis all a lie, impracticable rant;

And only tends to make me scorn thee more.

But why this talk? In mercy send me hence;

Yet—ere I go—Oh save me from distraction!

I know, hot youth, thou burnest for my queen;

But by the majesty of ruin'd kings,

And that commanding glory which surrounds her,

I charge thee touch her not!

MASINISSA.

No, Syphax, no.

Thou need'st not charge me. That were mean indeed,

A triumph that to thee. But could I stoop

Again to love her; Thou, what right hast thou,

A captive, to her bed? Nor life, nor queen,

Nor ought, a captive has. All laws in this,

Roman and Carthaginian, all agree.

SYPHAX.

Here, here, begins the bitterness of death!

Here my chains grind me first!

MASINISSA.

Poor Sophonisba!

She too becomes the prize of conquering Rome;

What most her heart abhors. Alas, how hard

Will slavery sit on her exalted soul!

How piteous hard! But, if I know her well,

She never will endure it, she will die.

For not a Roman burns with nobler ardor,

A higher sense of liberty than she;

And tho' she marry'd thee, her only stain,

False to my youth, and faithless to my vows;

Yet, I must own it, from a worthy cause,

From publick spirit did her fault proceed.

SYPHAX.

Blue plagues, and poison on thy meddling tongue!

Talk not of her; for every word of her

Is a keen dagger, griding thro' my heart.

Oh, for a lonely dungeon! where I rather

Would talk with my own groans, and great revenge,

Than in the mansions of the blest with thee.

Hell! Whither must I go?

MASINISSA.

Unhappy man!

And is thy breast determin'd against peace,

On comfort shut?

SYPHAX.

On all, but death, from thee.

MASINISSA.

Narva, be Syphax thy peculiar care;

And use him well with tenderness and honour.

This evening Lelius, and to morrow Scipio,

To Cirtha come. Then let the Romans take

Their prisoner.

SYPHAX.

There shines a gleam of hope

Across the gloom—From thee deliver'd!—Ease

Breathes in that thought—Lead on—My heart grows lighter!

SCENE V.

MASINISSA alone.

What dreadful havoc in the human breast

The passions make, when unconfin'd, and mad,

They burst, unguided by the mental eye,

The light of reason; which in various ways

Points them to good, or turns them back from ill.

O save me from the tumult of the soul!

From the wild beasts within!—For circling sands,

When the swift whirlwind whelms them o'er the lands;

The roaring deeps that to the clouds arise,

While thwarting thick the mingled lightning flies;

The monster-brood to which this land gives birth,

The blazing city, and the gaping earth;

All deaths, all tortures, in one pang combin'd,

Are gentle to the tempest of the mind.

The End of the First Act.

ACT II. SCENE I.

MASINISSA, NARVA,

MASINISSA.

—'Tis true, my friend,

Thou good old man, by whom my youth was form'd,

The firm companion of my various life,

I own, 'tis true, that Sophonisba's image

Lives in my bosom still; and at each glance

I take in secret of the bright idea,

A strange disorder seizes on my soul,

Which burns with stronger glory. Need I say,

How once she had my vows? Till Scipio came,

Resistless man! like a descending God,

And snatch'd me from the Carthaginian side

To nobler Rome; beneath whose laurel'd brow,

And ample eye, the nations grow polite,

Humane and happy. Then thou may'st remember,

Such is this woman's high impetuous spirit,

That all-controuling love she bears her country,

Her Carthage; that at this she sacrific'd

To Syphax, unbelov'd, her blooming Years,

And won him off from Rome.

NARVA.

My generous prince!

Applauding Afric of thy choice approves.

Fame claps her wings, and virtue smiles on thee,

Of peace thou softner, and thou soul of war!

But oh beware of that fair foe to glory,

Woman! and most of Carthaginian woman!

Who has not heard of fatal Punic guile?

Of their sly conquests? their insidious leagues?

Their Asdrubals? their Hannibals? with all

Their wily heroes? And, if such their men,

What must their women be?

MASINISSA.

You make me smile.

I thank thy honest zeal. But never dread

The firmness of my heart, my strong attachment,

Severe to Rome, to Scipio, and to Glory.

Indeed, I cannot, would not quite forget

The grace of Sophonisba; how she look'd,

And talk'd, and mov'd, a Pallas, or a Juno!

Accomplish'd even in trifles, when she stoop'd

Ambition's flight, and with a soften'd eye

Gave her quick spirit into gayer life.

Then every word was liveliness, and wit;

We heard the Muses' song; and the dance swam

Thro' all the maze of harmony. I flatter not,

Believe me, Narva; yet my panting soul,

To Scipio taken in the fair pursuit

Of fame, and for my people's happiness,

Resign'd this Sophonisba; and tho' now

Constrain'd by soft necessity to see her,

And she a captive in my power, will still

Resign her.

NARVA.

Let me not doubt thy fortitude,

My Masinissa, thy exalted purpose

Not to be lost in love; but ah! we know not,

Oft, till experience sighs it to the soul,

The boundless witchcraft of ensnaring woman,

And our own slippery hearts. From Scipio learn

The temperance of heroes. I'll recount

Th' instructive story, what these eyes beheld;

Perhaps you've heard it; but 'tis pleasing still,

Tho' told a thousand times.

MASINISSA.

I burn to hear it.

Lost by my late misfortunes in the desart,

I liv'd a stranger to the voice of fame,

To Scipio's last exploits. Exalt me now.

Great actions raise the mind. But when a friend,

A Scipio does them; then with more than wonder,

Even with a sort of vanity we listen.

NARVA.

When to his glorious, first essay in war,

New Carthage fell; there all the flower of Spain

Were kept in hostage; a full field presenting

For Scipio's generosity to shine.

And then it was, that when the heroe heard▪

How I to thee belong'd, he with large gifts,

And friendly words dismiss'd me.

MASINISSA.

I remember.

And in his favour that impress'd me first.

But to thy story.

NARVA.

What with admiration

Struck every heart, was this—A noble virgin,

Conspicuous far o'er all the captive dames,

Was mark'd the general's prize. She wept, and blush'd,

Young, fresh, and blooming like the morn. An eye,

As when the blue sky trembles thro' a cloud

Of purest white. A secret charm combin'd

Her features, and infus'd enchantment thro' them.

Her shape was harmony.—But eloquence

Beneath her beauty fails; which seem'd, on purpose,

Pour'd out by lavish nature, that mankind

Might see this action in its highest lustre.

Soft, as she pass'd along, with downcast eyes,

Where gentle sorrow swell'd, and now and then

Dropt o'er her modest cheek a trickling tear,

The Roman legions languish'd; and hard war

Felt more than pity. Even Scipio's self,

As on his high tribunal rais'd he sat,

Turn'd from the piercing sight, and chiding ask'd

His officers, if by this gift they meant

To cloud his glory in its very dawn.

MASINISSA.

Oh Gods! my fluttering heart! On, stop not, Narva.

NARVA.

She question'd of her birth, in trembling accents,

With tears and blushes broken, told her tale.

But when he found her royally descended,

Of her old captive parents the sole joy;

And that a hapless Celtiberian prince,

Her lover and belov'd, forgot his chains,

His lost dominions, and for her alone

Wept out his tender soul; sudden the heart

Of this young, conquering, loving, godlike Roman

Felt all the great divinity of virtue▪

His wishing youth stood check'd, his tempting power▪

By infinite humanity—

MASINISSA.

Well, well;

And then!

NARVA.

Disdaining guilty doubt, at once

He for her parents and her lover call'd.

The various scene imagine: How his troops

Look'd dubious on, and wonder'd what he meant;

While stretch'd below the trembling suppliants lay,

Rack'd by a thousand mingling passions, fear,

Hope, jealousy, disdain, submission, grief,

Anxiety, and love in every shape.

To these as different sentiments succeeded,

As mixt emotions, when the man divine

Thus the dread silence to the lover broke.

" We both are young, both charm'd. The Right of War

" Has put thy beauteous mistress in my power;

" With whom I could, in the most sacred ties,

" Live out a happy life: But know that Romans

" Their hearts as well as enemies can conquer.

" Then take her to thy soul; and with her take

" Thy liberty and kingdom. In return

" I ask no more, but, when you view these eyes,

" These charms, with transport, be a friend to Rome.

MASINISSA.

There spoke the soul of Scipio—But the Lovers?

NARVA.

Joy and extatic wonder held them mute;

While the lowd camp, and all the clustring crowd,

That hung around, rang with repeated shouts.

Fame took th' alarm, and thro' resounding Spain

Blew fast the fair report; which, more than arms,

Admiring nations to the Romans gain'd,

MASINISSA.

My friend in glory! thy awaken'd prince

Springs at thy faithful tale. It fires my soul,

And nerves each thought anew; apt oft perhaps,

Too much, too much to slacken into love.

But now the soft oppression flies; and all

My mounting powers expand to deeds like thine,

Thou pattern and inspirer of my fame,

Scipio, thou first of men, and best of friends!

What man of soul would live, my Narva, breathe

This idle-puffing element; and run,

Day after day, the still-returning round

Of life's mean offices, and sickly joys;

But in compassion to mankind? to be

A guardian God below? to dissipate

An ardent being in heroic aims?

Do something vastly great like what you told?

Something to raise him o'er the groveling herd,

And make him shine for ever?—Oh, my friend!

Bleed every vein about me; every nerve

With anguish tremble; every sinew ake;

Be toil familiar to my limbs; ambition

Mix all my thoughts in an incessant whirl;

The third time may I lose my kingdom; and again

Wander the false inhospitable Syrts;

Yet oh, ye liberal Gods! in rich award,

And amplest recompence—I ask no more—

Share me the wreath of fame from Scipio's brow!

But see, she comes! mark her majestic port.

SCENE II.

MASINISSA, SOPHONISBA, NARVA, PHOENISSA.

SOPHONISBA.

Behold, victorious prince! the scene revers'd;

And Sophonisba kneeling here; a captive,

O'er whom the Gods, thy Fortune, and thy Virtue,

Have given unquestion'd power of life and death.

If such a one may raise her suppliant voice,

Once music to thy ear; if she may touch

Thy knee, thy purple, and thy victor-hand;

Oh listen, Masinissa! Let thy soul

Intensely listen! While I fervent pray,

And strong adjure thee, by that regal state,

In which with equal pomp we lately shone!

By the Numidian name, our common boast!

And by those houshold gods! who may, I wish,

With better omens take thee to this palace,

Than Syphax hence they sent. As is thy pleasure,

In all beside determine of my fate.

This, this alone I beg. Never, oh never!

Into the cruel, proud, and hated power

Of Romans let me fall. Since angry heaven

Will have it so, that I must be a slave,

And that a galling chain must bind these hands;

It were some little softning in my doom,

To call a kindred son of the same clime,

A native of Numidia, my lord.

But if thou canst not save me from the Romans,

If this sad favour be beyond thy power;

At least to give me death is what thou canst.

Here strike—my naked bosom courts thy sword;

And my last breath shall bless thee, Masinissa.

MASINISSA.

Rise, Sophonisha, rise. To see thee thus

Is a revenge I scorn; and all the man

Within me, though much injur'd by thy pride,

And spirit too tempestuous for thy sex,

Yet blushes to behold thus at my feet,

Thus prostrate low, her, for whom kings have kneel'd,

The fairest, but the falsest of her sex.

SOPHONISBA.

Spare thy reproach.—'Tis cruel thus to lose

In ranckling discord, and ungenerous strife,

The few remaining moments that divide me

From the last evil, bondage—Roman bondage!

Yes, shut thy heart against me. Shut thy heart

Against compassion, every human thought,

Even recollected love: Yet know, rash Youth!

That when thou seest me swell their lofty triumph,

Thou seest thy self in me. This is my day;

To morrow may be thine. But here, assur'd,

Here will I lie on this vile earth, forlorn,

Of hope abandon'd, since despis'd by thee;

These locks all loose and sordid in the dust;

This sullied bosom growing to the ground,

Scorch'd up with anguish, and of every shape

Of misery full: till comes the soldier fierce

From recent blood; and, in thy very eye,

Lays raging his rude sanguinary grasp

On these weak limbs; and clinches them in chains.

Then if no friendly steel, no nectar'd draught

Of deadly poison, can enlarge my soul;

It will indignant burst from a slave's body;

And, join'd to mighty Dido, scorn ye all.

MASINISSA.

Oh Sophonisba! 'tis not safe to hear thee;

And I mistook my Heart, to trust it thus.

Hence let me fly.

SOPHONISBA.

You shall not, Masinissa!

Here will I hold you, tremble here for ever;

Here unremitting grow, till you consent.

And can'st thou think, oh! canst thou think to leave me?

Expos'd, defenceless, wretched, here alone?

A prey to Romans flush'd with blood and conquest?

The subject of their scorn or baser love?

Sure Masinissa cannot; and, tho' chang'd,

Tho' cold as that averted look he wears;

Sure love can ne'er in generous breasts be lost

To that degree, as not from shame and outrage

To save what once they lov'd.

MASINISSA.

Enchantment! Madness!

What would'st thou, Sophonisba!—Oh my heart!

My treacherous heart!

SOPHONISBA.

What would I, Masinissa?

My mean Request sits blushing on my cheek.

To be thy slave, young prince, is what I beg;

Here Sophonisba kneels to be thy slave;

Yet kneels in vain. But thou'rt a slave thy self,

And canst not from the Romans save one woman;

Her, who was once the triumph of thy soul;

E'er they seduc'd it by their lying glory.

Immortal gods! and am I fallen so low?

Scorn'd by a lover? by a slave to Rome?

Nought can be worth this baseness, life, nor empire!

I loath me for it.—On this kinder earth,

Then leave me, leave me, to despair and death!

MASINISSA.

What means this conflict with almighty nature?

With the whole warring heart?—Rise, quickly rise,

In all the conquering majesty of charms,

O Sophonisba, rise! while here I swear,

By the tremendous powers that rule mankind!

By heaven and earth, and hell! by love, and glory!

The Romans shall not hurt you—Romans cannot;

For Rome is generous as the gods themselves,

And honours, not insults, a generous foe.

Yet since you dread them, take this sacred pledge,

This hand of surety, by which kings are bound;

By which I hold you mine, and vow to treat you,

With all the rev'rence due to ruin'd state,

With all the softness of remember'd love,

All that can sooth thy fate, and make thee happy.

SOPHONISBA.

I thank thee, Masinissa! now the same;

The same warm youth, exalted, full of soul;

With whom in happier days I wont to pass

The sighing hour: while, dawning fair in love,

All song and sweetness, life set joyous out;

Ere the black tempest of ambition rose,

And drove us different ways.—Thus dress'd in war,

In nodding plumes, o'ercast with sullen thought,

With purpos'd vengeance dark, I knew thee not;

But now breaks out the beauteous fun anew,

The gay Numidian shines who warm'd me once,

Whose love was glory.—Vain ideas, hence!

—Long since my heart, to nobler passions known,

Has your acquaintance scorn'd.

MASINISSA.

Oh! while you talk,

Enchanting fair one! my deluded thought

Runs back to days of love; when fancy still

Found worlds of beauty, ever rising new

To the transported eye; when flattering hope

Form'd endless prospects of increasing bliss;

And still the credulous heart believ'd them all,

Even more than love could promise.—But the scene

Is full of danger for a tainted eye;

I must not, dare not, will not look that way.

O hide it, wisdom, glory, from my view!

Or in sweet ruin I shall link again.

Disaster clouds thy cheek; thy colour goes.

Retire, and from the troubles of the day

Repose thy weary soul; worn out with care,

And rough unhappy thought.

SOPHONISBA.

May Masinissa

Ne'er want the goodness he has shewn to me.

SCENE III.

MASINISSA, NARVA.

MASINISSA.

The danger's o'er, I've heard the Syren's song,

Yet still to glory hold my steady course.

I mark'd thy kind concern, thy friendly fears,

And own them just; for she has beauty, Narva,

So full, so perfect, with so great a soul

Inform'd, so pointed high with spirit,

As strikes like lightning from the hand of Jove,

And raises love to glory.

NARVA.

Ah, my Prince!

Too true, it is too true; her fatal charms

Are powerful, and to Masinissa's heart

But know the way too well. And art thou sure,

That the soft poison, which within thy veins

Lay unextinguish'd, is not rouz'd a new?

Is not this moment working thro' thy soul?

Doft thou not love? Confess.

MASINISSA.

What said my friend,

Of poison? love? of loving Sopkon sba?

Yes, I admire her, wonder at her beauty;

And he who does not is as dull as earth,

The cold unanimated form of man,

E'er lighted up with the celestial fire.

Wheree'r she goes still admiration gazes,

And listens while she talks. Even thou thy self,

Who saw'st her with the malice of a friend,

Even thou thy self admir'st her.—Dost thou not?

Say, speak sincerely.

NARVA.

She has Charms indeed;

But has she charms like virtue? Tho' majestic;

Does she command us, is her force like glory?

MASINISSA.

All glory's in her eye! Perfection thence

Looks from his throne; and on her ample brow

Sits majesty. Her features glow with life,

Warm with heroic soul. Her mien!—she walks,

As when a towering goddess treads this earth.

But when her language flows; when such a one

Descends to sooth, to sigh, to weep, to grasp

The tottering knee; oh! Narva, Narva, oh.!

Expression here is dumb.

NARVA.

Alas! my Lord,

Is this the talk of sober admiration?

Are these the sallies of a heart at ease?

Of Scipio's friend? And was it the calm sense

Of fair perfection, that, the while she kneel'd

For what you rashly promis'd, seiz'd your soul;

Stole out in secret transports from your eye;

That writh'd you groaning round, and shook your Frame.

MASINISSA.

I tell thee once again, too cautious man,

That when a woman begs, a matchless woman,

A woman once belov'd, a fallen queen,

A Sophonisba! when she twines her charms

Around our soul, and all her power of looks,

Of tears, of sighs, of softness, plays upon us;

He's more or less than man who can resist her.

For me, my stedfast soul approves, nay more,

Exults in the protection it has promis'd.

And nought, tho' plighted honour did not bind me,

Shall shake the happy purpose of my heart;

Nought, by th'avenging gods! who heard my vow,

And hear me now again.

NARVA.

And was it then

For this you conquer'd?

MASINISSA.

Yes, and triumph in it.

This was my fondest wish; the very point,

The plume of glory, the delicious prize

Of bleeding years. And I had been a brute,

A greater monster than Numidia breeds,

A horror to my self; if on the ground,

Cast vilely from me, I th'illustrious fair one

Had left to bondage, bitterness, and death.

Nor is there ought in war worth what I feel;

In pomp and hollow state, like this sweet sense

Of infelt bliss; which the reflection gives me,

Of saving thus such excellence and beauty

From her supreme abhorrence.

NARVA.

Masinissa,

My friend! my royal lord! alas! you slide,

You sink from virtue. On the giddy brink

Of fate you stand.—One step, and all is loft!

MASINISSA.

No more, no more! if this is being lost.

If this, mistaken! is forsaking virtue,

And rushing down the precipice of fate;

Then down I go, far far beyond the din

Of scrupulous dull precaution.—Leave me, Narva.

I want to be alone, to find some Shade,

Some solitary gloom; there to shake off

This weight of life, this tumult of mankind,

This sick ambition on it self recoiling;

And there to listen to the gentle voice,

The sigh of peace, something, I know not what,

That whispers transport to my heart.—Farewel.

SCENE IV.

NARVA alone.

Struck, and he knows it not.—So when the field,

Elate in heart, the warriour scorns to yield;

The streaming blood can scarce convince his eyes;

Nor will he feel the wound by which he dies.

The End of the Second Act.

ACT III. SCENE I.

MASINISSA alone.

IN vain I wander thro' the shade for peace;

'Tis with the calm alone, the pure of heart,

That there the goddess talks—But in my breast

Some busy thought, some secret-eating pang,

Throbs inexpressible; and rowls from—What?

From charm to charm, on Sophonisba still

Earnest, intent, devoted all to her.

Oh it must out!—'Tis love, almighty love!

Returning on me with a stronger tide.

I'll doubt no more, but give it up to love.

Come to my breast, thou rosy-smiling god!

Come unconfin'd! bring all thy joys along,

All thy soft cares, and mix them copious here.

But why invoke I thee? Thy power is weak,

To Sophonisba's eye, thy quiver poor,

To the resistless lightning of her form;

And dull thy bare insinuating arts,

To the sweet mazes of her flowing tongue.

Quick, let me fly to her; and there forget

This tedious absence, war, ambition, noise,

Even friendship's self, the vanity of fame,

And all but love, for love is more than all!

SCENE II.

MASINISSA, NARVA.

MASINSSSA.

Welcome again, my friend,—Come nearer, Narva;

Lend me thine arm, and I will tell thee all,

Unfold my secret heart, whose every pulse

With Sophonisba beats.—Nay hear me out—

Swift, as I mus'd, the conflagration spread;

At once too strong, too general, to be quench'd.

I love, and I approve it, doat upon her,

Even think these minutes lost I talk with thee.

Heavens! what emotions have possess'd my soul!

Snatch'd by a moment into years of passion.

NARVA.

Ah Masinissa!—

MASINISSA.

Argue not against me.

Talk down the circling winds that lift the desart;

And, touch'd by Heaven, when all the forests blaze,

Talk down the flame, but not my stronger love.

I have for love a thousand thousand reasons,

Dear to the heart, and potent o'er the soul.

My ready thoughts all rising, restless all,

Are a perpetual spring of tenderness;

Oh! Sophonisba! Sophonisba! oh!

NARVA.

Is this deceitful day then come to nought?

This day, that set thee on a double throne?

That gave thee Syphax chain'd, thy deadly foe?

With perfect conquest crown'd thee, perfect glory?

Is it so soon eclips'd? and does yon sun,

Yon setting sun, who this fair morning saw thee

Ride through the ranks of long extended war,

As radiant as himself; with every glance

Wheeling the pointed files; and, when the storm

Began, beheld thee tread the rising surge

Of battle high, and drive it on the foe;

Does he now, blushing, see thee sunk so weak?

Caught in a smile? the captive of a look?

I cannot name it without tears.

MASINISSA.

Away!

I'm sick of war, of the destroying trade,

Smooth'd o'er, and gilded with the name of glory.

Thou need'st not spread the martial field to me;

My happier eyes are turn'd another way,

Behold it not; or, if they do, behold it

Shrunk up, far off, a visionary scene;

As to the waking man appears the dream.

NARVA.

Or rather as realities appear,

The virtue, pomp, and dignities of life,

In sick disorder'd dreams,

MASINISSA.

Think not I scorn

The task of heroes, when oppression rages,

And lawless violence confounds the world.

Who would not bleed with transport for his country,

Tear every dear relation from his heart,

And greatly die to make a people happy;

Ought not to taste of happiness himself,

And is low-soul'd indeed—But sure, my friend,

There is a time for love, or life were vile!

A sickly circle of revolving days,

Led on by hope, with senseless hurry fill'd,

And clos'd by disappointment. Round and round,

Still hope for ever wheels the daily cheat;

Impudent hope! unjoyous madness all!

Till lóve comes stealing in, with his kind hours,

His healing lips, his cordial sweets, his cares.

Infusing joy, his joys ineffable!

That make the poor account of life compleat,

And justify the Gods.

NARVA.

Mistaken Prince,

I blame not love. But—

MASINISSA.

Slander not my passion.

I've suffer'd thee too far.—Take heed, old man.—

Love will not bear an accusation, Narva.

NARVA.

I'll speak the truth, when truth and friendship call,

Nor fear thy frown unkind.—Thou hast no right

To Sophonisba; she belongs to Rome.

MASINISSA.

Ha! she belongs to Rome.—'Tis true—My thoughts

Where have you wander'd, not to think of this?

Think e'er I promis'd? e'er I lov'd?—Confusion!

I know not what I say—I should have lov'd,

Tho' Jove in muttering thunder had forbid it.

But Rome will not refuse so small a boon,

Whose gifts are kingdoms; Rome must grant it sure,

One captive to my wish, one poor request,

So small to them, but oh so dear to me!

Here let my heart confide.

NARVA.

Delusive love!

Thro' what wild projects is the frantick mind

Beguil'd by thee?—And think'st thou that the Romans,

The senators of Rome, these gods on earth,

Wise, steady to the right, severely just,

All incorrupt, and like eternal fate

Not to be mov'd, will listen to the sigh

Of idle love? They, when their country calls,

Who know no pain, no tenderness, no joy,

But bid their children bleed before their eyes;

That they'll regard the light fantastick pangs

Of a fond heart? and with thy kingdom give thee

Their most inveterate foe; from their firm side,

Like Syphax, to delude thee? and the point

Of their own bounty on themselves to turn?

Thou canst not hope it sure.—Impossible!

MASINISSA.

What shall I do?—Be now the friend exerted.

For love and honour press me; love and honour,

All that is dear and excellent in life,

All that or sooths the man or lifts the heroe,

Bind my soul deep.

NARVA.

Rash was your vow, my lord.

I know not what to counsel.—When you vow'd,

You vow'd what was not in your power to grant;

And therefore 'tis not binding.

MASINISSA.

Never! Never!

Oh never will I falsify that vow!

E'er then destruction seize me! Yes, ye Romans,

If it be so, there, take your kingdoms back,

Your royal gewgaws, all for Sophonisba!

Hold,—Let me think a while—It shall be so!

By all th'inspiring gods that prompt my thought!

This very night shall solemnize our vows;

And the next joyous sun, that visits Afric,

See Sophonisba seated on my throne.—

Then if they spare her not,—not spare my queen,—

Perdition on their stubborn pride call'd virtue!

Be theirs the world, but Sophonisha mine!

NARVA.

And is it possible, ye Gods, that rule us!

Can Masinissa in his pride of youth,

In his meridian glory shining wide,

The light of Afric, and the friend of Scipio;

He take a woman to the nuptial bed,

Who scorn'd him for a tyrant, old, and peevish,

His rancorous foe? and gave her untouch'd bloom,

Her spring of charms to Syphax?

MASINISSA.

Horrid friendship!

This, this, has thrown a serpent to my heart;

While it o'erflow'd with tenderness, with joy,

With all the sweetness of exulting love.

Now nought but gall is there, and burning poison!

Yes, it was so!—Curse on her vain ambition!

What had her medling sex to do with states?

The Business of men! For him! for Syphax!

Forsook for him! my love for his gross passion!

The thought is hell!—Oh I had treasur'd up

A world of indignation, years of scorn;

But her sad suppliant witchcraft sooth'd it down.

Where is she now? That it may burst upon her;

Bear her unbounded from me, down the torrent,

Far, far away! And tho' my plighted faith,

Shall save her from the Romans, yet to tell her,

That I will never, never see her more!

Ha! there she comes.—Pernicious fair one!—Leave me.

SCENE III.

SOPHONISBA, MASINISSA.

SOPHONISBA.

Forgive this quick return.—The rage, confusion,

And mingled passions of this luckless day,

Made me forget another warm request

I had to beg of generous Masinissa;

For oh to whom, save to the generous, can

The miserable fly?—But much disturb'd

You look, and scowl upon me a denial.

Repentance frowns on your contracted brow.

Already, weary of my sinking fate,

You seem to droop; and for unhappy Syphax

I shall implore in vain.

MASINISSA.

For Syphax? vengeance!

And canst thou mention him? Oh grant me breath!

SOPHONISBA.

I know, young prince, how deep he has prov ok'd thee;

How keen he sought thy youth; thro' what a fire

Of great distress, from which you come the brighter.

On dull indifferent objects, or perhaps

Dislik'd a little, 'tis but common bounty

To shower relief; but when our bitterest foe

Lies sunk, disarm'd, and desolate, then! then!

To feel the mercies of a pitying God,

To raise him from the dust, and that best way

To triumph o'er him, is heroic goodness.

Oh let unhappy Syphax touch thy heart,

Victorious Masinissa!

MASINISSA.

Monstrous this!

Still dost thou blast me with that cursed name!

The very name thy conscious guilt should shun.

Oh had he heap'd all ills upon my head,

While it was young, and for the storm unfit;

Had he but driven me from my native throne,

From regal pomp and luxury, to dwell

Among the forest beasts; to bear the beam

Of red Numidian suns, and the rank dew

Of cold unshelter'd nights; to mix with wolves,

To hunt with hungry tygers for my prey,

And thirst with Dipsas on the burning sand;

I could have thank'd him for his angry lesson;

The fair occasion that his rage afforded

Of learning patience, fortitude, and hope,

Still rising stronger on incumbent fate,

And all that try'd humanity can dictate.

But there is one curs'd bitterness behind,

One injury, the man can never pardon;

That scorches up the tear in pity's eye,

And even sweet mercy's self converts to gall.

I cannot—will not name it—Heart of anguish!

Down! down!

SOPHONISBA.

Ah! whence this sudden storm? this madness,

That hurries all thy soul?

MASINISSA.

And dost thou ask?

Ask thy own faithless heart; snatch'd from my Vows,

From the warm wishes of my springing youth,

And given to that old hated monster, Syphax.

Perfidious Sophonisba!

SOPHONISBA.

Nay no more.

With too much truth I can return thy charge.

Why didst thou drive me to that cruel choice?

Why leave me, with my country, to destruction?

Why break thy love? thy faith? and join the Romans?

MASINISSA.

By heavens! the Romans were my better genius,

Sav'd me from fate, and form'd my youth to glory;

But for the Romans I had been a savage,

A wretch like Syphax, a forgotten thing,

The tool of Carthage.

SOPHONISBA.

Meddle not with Carthage,

Impatient youth, for that I will not bear;

Tho' here I were a thousand fold thy slave.

Not one base word of Carthage—on thy soul!

MASINISSA.

How vain thy phrenzy! Go, command thy slaves,

Thy fools, thy Syphaxes; but I will speak,

Speak loud of Carthage, call it false, ungenerous,

—Yet shall I check me, since it is thy country?

While the Romans are the light, the glory—

SOPHONISBA.

Romans!

Perdition on the Romans!—and almost

On the too—Romans are the scourge

Of the red world, destroyers of mankind,

The ruffians, ravagers of earth; and all

Beneath the smooth dissimulating mask

Of justice, and compassion; as if slave

Was but another name for civiliz'd.

All vengeance on the Romans!—While fair Carthage

Unblemish'd rises on the base of commerce;

And asks of heaven nought but the general winds,

And common tides, to carry plenty, joy,

Civility, and grandeur, round the world.

MASINISSA.

No more compare them! for the gods themselves

Declare for Rome.

SOPHONISBA.

It was not always so.

The gods declar'd for Hannibal; when Italy

Blaz'd all around him, all her streams ran blood,

All her incarnate vales were vile with death;

And when at Trebia, Thrasymene, and Cannae,

The Carthaginian sword with Roman blood

Was drunk—Oh that he then, on that dread day,

While lifeless consternation blacken'd Rome,

Had raz'd th' accursed city to the ground,

And sav'd the world!—When will it come again,

A day so glorious, and so big with vengeance,

On those my soul abhors?

MASINISSA.

Avert 〈◊〉 heaven!

The Romans not enslave, but save the world

From Carthaginian rage.—

SOPHONISBA.

I'll bear no more!

Nor tenderness, nor life, nor liberty,

Nothing shall make me bear it.—Perish Rome!

And all her menial friends!—Yes, rather, rather,

Detested as ye are, ye Romans, take me,

Oh pitying take me to your nobler chains!

And save me from this abject youth, your slave!

—How canst thou kill me thus?—

MASINISSA.

I meant it not.

I only meant to tell thee, haughty fair one!

How this alone might bind me to the Romans;

That, in a frail and sliding hour, they snatch'd me

From the perdition of thy love; which fell,

Like baleful lightning, where I most could wish,

And prov'd destruction to my mortal foe.

Oh pleasing! fortunate!

SOPHONISBA.

I thank them too.

By heavens! for once, I love them; since they turn'd

My better thoughts from thee, thou—But I will not

Give thee the name, thy mean servility

From my just scorn deserves.

MASINISSA.

Oh freely call me,

By every name thy fury can inspire;

Enrich me with contempt—I love no more—

It will not hurt me, Sophonisba.—Love,

Long since I gave it to the passing winds,

And would not be a lover for the world.

A lover is the very fool of nature;

Made sick by his own wantonness of thought,

His feaver'd fancy: while, to your own charms

Imputing all, you swell with boundless pride.

Shame on the wretch! who should be driven from men,

To live with Asian slaves, in one soft herd,

All wretched, all ridiculous together.

For me, this moment, here I mean to bid

Farewel, a glad farewel to love and thee.

SOPHONISBA.

With all my soul, farewel!—Yet, ere you go;

Know that my spirit burns as high as thine,

As high to glory, and as low to love.

Thy promises are void; and I absolve thee,

Here in the presence of the listning gods.—

Take thy repented vows—To proud Cornelia

I'd rather be a slave, to Scipio's mother;

Than queen of all Numidia, by the favour

Of him, who dares insult the helpless thus.

(Pausing.)

Still dost thou stay? behold me then again,

Hopeless, and wild, a lost abandon'd slave.

And now thy brutal purpose must be gain'd.

Away, thou cruel, and ungenerous, go!

MASINISSA.

No, not for worlds would I resume my vow!

Dishonour blast me then! all kind of ills

Fill up my cup of bitterness, and shame!

When I resign thee to triumphant Rome.

Oh lean not thus dejected on the ground!

The sight is misery.—what roots me here?

(Aside)

Alas! I have urg'd my foolish heart too far;

And love depress'd, recoils with greater force.

Oh Sophonisha!

SOPHONISBA.

By thy pride she dies.

Inhuman prince!

MASINISSA.

Thine is the conquest, nature!

By heaven and earth! I cannot hold it more.

Wretch that I was! to crush th' unhappy thus;

The fairest too, the dearest of her sex!

For whom my soul could dye!—Turn, quickly turn,

O Sophonisha! my belov'd! my glory!

Turn and forgive the violence of love,

Of love that knows no bounds!

SOPHONISBA.

And can it be?

Can that soft passion prove so fierce of heart,

As on the tears of misery, the sighs

Of death, to 〈◊〉? to torture what it loves?

MASINISSA.

Yes it can be, thou goddess of my soul!

Whose each emotion is but varied love,

All over love, its powers, its passions, all:

Its anger, indignation, fury, love;

Its pride, disdain, even detestation, love;

And when it, wild, resolves to love no more,

Then is the triumph of excessive love.

Didst thou not mark me? mark the dubious rage,

That tore my heart with anguish while I talk'd?

Thou didst; and must forgive so kind a fault.

What would thy trembling lips?

SOPHONISBA.

That I must die.

For such another storm, so much contempt

Thrown out on Carthage, so much Praise on Rome,

Were worse than death. Why should I longer tire

My weary fate? The most relentless Roman

What could he more?

MASINISSA.

Oh Sophonisba, hear!

See me thy suppliant now. Talk not of death.

I have no life but thee.—Alas! Alas!

Hadst thou a little tenderness for me,

The smallest part of what I feel, thou wouldst—

What wouldst thou not forgive? But how indeed

How can I hope it? Yet I from this moment,

Will so devote my being to thy pleasure,

So live alone to gain thee; that thou must,

If there is human nature in thy breast,

Feel some relenting warmth.

SOPHONISBA.

Well, well, 'tis past.

To be inexorable suits not slaves.

MASINISSA.

Spare, spare that word; it stabs me to the soul;

My crown, my life, and liberty are thine.

Oh give my passion way! My heart is full,

Oppress'd by love; and I could number tears,

With all the dews that sprinkle o'er the morn;

While thus with thee conversing, thus with thee

Even happy to distress.—Enough, enough,

Have we been cheated by the trick of state,

For Rome and Carthage suffer'd much too long;

And led, by gaudy fantoms, wander'd far,

Far from our bliss. But now since met again,

Since here I hold thee, circle all perfection,

The prize of life! since fate too presses hard,

Since Rome and slavery drive thee to the brink;

Let this immediate night exchange our vows,

Secure my bliss, our future fortunes blend,

Set thee, the queen of beauty, on my throne,

And make it doubly mine.—A wretched gift

To what my love could give!

SOPHONISBA.

What? marry thee,

This night?

MASINISSA.

Thou dear one! yes, this very night,

Let injur'd Hymen have his rights restor'd,

And bind our broken vows.—Think, serious, think!

On what I plead.—A thousand reasons urge.—

Captivity dissolves thy former marriage;

And if 'tis with the meanest vulgar so,

Can Sophonisba to a slave, to Syphax,

The most exalted of her sex, be bound?

Besides it is the best, perhaps sole way,

To save thee from the Romans; and must sure

Bar their pretensions: or if ruin comes,

To perish with thee is to perish happy.

SOPHONISBA.

Yet must I still insist.—

MASINISSA.

It shall be so.

I know thy purpose; it would plead for Syphax.

He shall have all, thou dearest! shall have all,

Crowns, trifles, kingdoms, all again, but thee,

But thee, thou more than all!

SOPHONISBA. (Aside)

Bear witness heaven!

This is alone for Carthage.

(To him)

Gain'd by goodness,

I may be thine. Expect no love, no sighing.

Perhaps, hereafter, I may learn again

To hold thee dear. If on these terms thou canst,

Here take me, take me, to thy wishes.

MASINISSA.

Yes,

Yes, Sophonisba! as a wretch takes life

From off the bleeding rack.—All wild with joy,

Thus hold thee, press thee, to my bounding heart;

And bless the bounteous Gods.—Can heaven give more?

Oh happy! happy! happy!—Come, my fair,

This ready minute sees thy will perform'd;

From Syphax knocks his chains; and I my self,

Even in his favour, will request the Romans.

Oh, thou hast smil'd my passions into peace!

So, while conflicting winds embroil'd the Seas,

In perfect bloom, warm with immortal blood,

Young Venus rear'd her o'er the raging flood;

She smil'd around, like thine her beauties glow'd;

When smooth, in gentle swells, the surges flow'd;

Sunk, by degrees, into a liquid plain;

And one bright calm sat trembling on the main.

The End of the Third Act.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

SOPHONISBA, PHOENISSA.

PHOENISSA.

HAIL queen of Masaesylia once again!

And fair Massylia join'd! This rising day

Saw Sophonisba, from the height of life,

Thrown to the very brink of slavery:

State, honours, armies vanquish'd; nothing left

But her own great unconquerable mind.

And yet, ere evening comes, to larger power

Restor'd, I see my royal friend; and kneel

In grateful homage to the Gods, and her.

Ye Powers, what awful changes often mark

The fortunes of the great!

SOPHONISBA.

Phoenissa, true;

'Tis awful all, the wonderous work of fate.

But ah! this sudden marriage damps my soul;

I like it not, that wild precipitance

Of youth, that ardor, that impetuous stream

In which his love return'd. At first, my friend,

He vainly rag'd with disappointed love;

And, as the hasty storm subsided, then

To softness varied, to returning fondness,

To sighs, to tears, to supplicating vows;

But all his vows were idle, till at last

He shook my heart by Rome.—To be his queen,

Could only save me from their horrid power.

And there is madness in that thought, enough

In that strong thought alone to make me run

From nature.

PHOENISSA.

Was it not auspicious, madam?

Just as we hop'd? just as our wishes plan'd?

Nor let your spirit sink. Your serious hours,

When you behold the Roman ravage check'd,

From their enchantment Masinissa freed,

And Carthage mistress of the world again,

This marriage will approve: then will it rise

In all its glory, virtuous, wise and great,

While happy nations, then deliver'd, join

Their loud acclaim. And, had the white occasion

Neglected flown, where now had been your hopes?

Your liberty? your country? where your all?

Think well of this, think that, think every way,

And Sophonisba cannot but exult

In what is done.

SOPHONISBA.

So may my hopes succeed!

As love alone to Carthage, to the public,

Led me a marriage-victim to the temple,

And justifies my vows.—Ha! Syphax here!

What would his rage with me?—Phoenissa, stay.

But this one tryal more—Heroic truth,

Support me now!

SCENE II.

SYPHAX, SOPHONISBA, PHOENISSA.

SYPHAX.

You seem to fly me, madam,

To shun my gratulations.—Here I come,

To join the general joy; and I, sure I,

Who have to dotage, have to ruin lov'd you,

Must take a tender part in your success,

In your recover'd state.

SOPHONISBA.

'Tis very well.

I thank you, sir.

SYPHAX.

And gentle Masinissa,

Say, will he prove a very coming fool?

All pliant, all devoted to your will?

A glorious wretch like Syphax?—Ha! not mov'd!

Speak, thou perfidious! canst thou bear it thus?

With such a steady countenance? canst thou

Here see the man thou hast so grosly wrong'd,

And yet not sink in shame? And yet not shake

In every guilty nerve?

SOPHONISBA.

What have I done,

That I should tremble? that I should not dare

To bear thy presence? Was my heart to blame,

I'd tremble for my self, and not for thee,

Proud man! Nor would I live to be asham'd.

My soul it self would die, could the least shame

On her unspotted fame be justly cast:

For of all evils, to the generous, shame

Is the last deadly-pang.—But you behold

My late engagement with a jealous, false,

And selfish eye.

SYPHAX.

Avenging Juno, hear!

And canst thou think to justify thy self?

I blush to hear thee, traitress!

SOPHONISBA.

O my soul!

Canst thou hear this, this base opprobrious language,

And yet be tamely calm?—Well, well, for once

It shall be so—in pity to thy madness—

Impatient spirit down!—Yes, Syphax, yes,

Yes I will greatly justify my self;

Even by the consort of the thundering Jove,

Who binds the holy marriage-vow, be judg'd.

And every public heart, not meanly lost

In little low pursuits, to wretched self

Not all devoted, will absolve me too.

But in the tempest of the soul, when rage,

Loud indignation, unattending pride,

And jealousy confound it, how can then

The nobler passions, how can they be heard?

Yet let me tell thee—

SYPHAX.

Thou canst tell me nought.

Away! away! nought but illusion, falshood—

SOPHONISBA.

My heart will burst, in honour to my self,

If here I speak not; tho' they rage, I know,

Can never be convinc'd, yet shall it be

Confounded.—And must I renounce my freedom?

Forgoe the power of doing general good?

Must yield my self the slave, the barbarous triumph

Of insolent, enrag'd, inveterate Rome?

And all for nothing but to grace thy fall?

Nay by my self to perish for thy pleasure?

For thee, the Romans may be mild to thee;

But I, a Carthaginian, I, whose blood

Holds unrelenting enmity to theirs;

Who have my self much hurt them, and who live

Alone to work them woe; what, what can I

Hope from their vengeance, but the very dregs

Of the worst fate, the bitterness of bondage?

Yet thou, thou kind man, wouldst in thy generous love,

Wouldst have me suffer that; be bound to thee,

For that dire end alone, beyond the stretch

Of nature, and of law.

SYPHAX.

Confusion! Law!

I know the laws permit thee, the gross laws

That rule the vulgar. I'm a captive, true;

And therefore may'st thou plead a shameful right

To leave me to my chains—But say, thou base one!

Ungrateful! say, for whom am I a captive?

For whom these many years with war, and death,

Defeats, and desolation have I liv'd?

For whom has battle after battle bled?

For whom my crown, my kingdom, and my all,

Been vilely cast away? For whom this day,

This very day, have I been stain'd with slaughter?

With yon last reeking field?—For one, ye gods!

Who leaves me for the victor, for the wretch

I hold in utter endless detestation.

Fire! fury! hell!—Oh I am richly paid!—

But thus it is to love a woman—Woman!

The source of all disaster, all perdition!

Man in himself is social, would be happy,

Too happy; but the gods, to keep him down,

Curs'd him with woman! fond, enchanting, smooth,

And harmless seeming woman; while at heart

All poison, serpents, tygers, furies, all

That is destructive, in one form combin'd,

And gilded o'er with beauty!

SOPHONISBA.

Hapless man!

I pity thee; this madness only stirs

My bosom to compassion, not to rage.

Think as you list of our unhappy sex,

Too much subjected to your tyrant force;

Yet know that all, we were not all, at least,

Form'd for your trifles, for your wanton hours.

Our passions too can sometimes soar above

The houshold task assign'd us, can expand

Beyond the narrow sphere of families,

And take in states into the panting heart,

As well as yours, ye partial to yourselves!

And this is my support, my joy, my glory,

The Conscience that my heart abhors all baseness,

And of all baseness most ingratitude.

This sure affronted honour may declare,

With an unblushing cheek.

SYPHAX.

False, false as Hell!

False as your sex! when it pretends to virtue.

You talk of honour, conscience, patriotism.

A female patriot!—Vanity!—Absurd!

Even doating dull credulity would laugh

To scorn your talk. Was ever Woman yet

Had any better purpose in her eye,

Than how to please her pride or wanton will?

In various shapes, and various manners, all,

All the same plagues, or open, or conceal'd,

The bane of life!

SOPHONISBA.

Must I then, must I, Syphax,

Give thee a bitter proof of what I say?

I would not seem to heighten thy distress,

Not in the least insult thee; thou art fallen,

So fate severe has will'd it, fallen by me.

I therefore have been patient; from another,

Such language, such indignity, had fir'd

My soul to madness. But since driven so far,

I mu stremind thy blind injurious rage

Of our unhappy Marriage.—

SYPHAX.

Horror!—Oh!

Blot it eternal night!

SOPHONISBA.

Allow me, Syphax!

Hear me but once! If what I here declare

Shines not with reason, and the clearest truth;

May I be base, despis'd, and dumb for ever!

I pray thee think, when unpropitious Hymen

Our hands united, how I stood engag'd.

I need not mention what full well thou know'st.

But pray recal, was I not flatter'd? young?

With blooming life elate, with the warm years

Of vanity? sunk in a passion too,

Which few resign? Yet then I married thee,

Because to Carthage deem'd a stronger friend;

For that alone. On these conditions, say,

Didst thou not take me, court me to thy throne?

Have I deceiv'd thee since? Have I dissembled?

To gain one purpose, 〈◊〉 pretended what

I never felt? Thou 〈…〉 say I have.

And if that 〈…〉 inspir'd

My marrying 〈…〉 cannot now

Be wrong. Nay since my native city wants

Assistance more, and sinking calls for aid,

Must be more right—

SYPHAX.

This reasoning is insult!

SOPHONISBA.

I'm sorry that thou dost oblige me to it.

Then in a word take my full-open'd soul.

All love, but that of Carthage, I despise.

I formerly to Masinissa thee

Preferr'd not, nor to thee now Masinissa,

But Carthage to you both. And if preferring

Thousands to one, a whole collected people,

All nature's tenderness, whate'er is sacred,

The liberty the welfare of a state,

To one man's frantic happiness, be shame;

Here, Syphax, I invoke it on my head!

This set aside; I, careless of my self,

And, scorning prosperous state, had still been thine,

In all the depth of misery proudly thine!

But since the public good, the law supreme,

Forbids it; I will leave thee with a kingdom,

The same I found thee, or not reign my self.

Alas! I see thee hurt—Why cam'st thou here,

Thus to inflame thee more?

SYPHAX.

Why sorceress? why?

Thou complication of all deadly mischief!

Thou lying, soothing, specious, charming fury!

I'll tell thee why—To breathe my great revenge;

To throw this load of burning madness from me;

To stab thee!—

SOPHONISBA.

Ha!—

SYPHAX.

—And, springing from thy heart,

To quench me with thy blood!

(Phoenissa interposes)

SOPHONISBA.

Off, give me way!

Phoenissa; tempt not thou his brutal rage.

Me, me, he dares not murder: if he dares,

Here let his fury strike; for I dare die.

What holds thy trembling point?

PHOENISSA.

Guards!

SOPHONISBA.

Seize the king.

But look you treat him well, with all the state

His dignity demands.

SYPHAX.

Goodness from thee

Is the worst death,—The Roman trumpets!—Ha!

Now I bethink me, Rome will do me justice.

Yes, I shall see thee walk the slave of Rome;

Forget my wrongs, and glut me with the sight.

Be that my best revenge.

SOPHONISBA.

Inhuman! that,

If there is death in Afric, shall not be.

SCENE III.

LAELIUS, SYPHAX.

LAELIUS.

Syphax! alas, how fallen! how chang'd! from what

I here beheld thee once in pomp, and splendor;

At that illustrious interview, when Rome

And Carthage met beneath this very roof,

Their too great generals, Asdrubal and Scipio,

To court thy friendship. Of the same repast

Both gracefully partook, and both reclin'd

On the same couch: for personal distaste

And hatred seldom burn between the brave.

Then the superiour virtues of the Roman

Gain'd all thy heart. Even Asdrubal himself,

With admiration struck and just despair,

Own'd him as dreadful at the social feast

As in the battle. This thou may'st remember;

And how thy faith was given before the Gods,

And sworn and seal'd to Scipio; yet how false

Thou since has prov'd, I need not now recount:

But let thy sufferings for thy guilt attone,

The captive for the king. A Roman tongue

Scorns to pursue the triumph of the sword,

With mean upbraidings.

SYPHAX.

Laelius, 'tis too true.

Curse on the cause!

LAELIUS.

But where is Masinissa?

The brave young victor, the Numidian Roman!

Where is he? that my joy, my glad applause,

From envy pure, may hail his happy state.

Why that contemtuous smile?

SYPHAX.

Too credulous Roman,

I smile to think how that this Masinissa,

This Rome-devoted heroe, must still more

Attract thy praises by a late exploit.

In every thing successful.

LAELIUS.

What is this?

These public shouts? A strange unusual joy

O'er all the captive city blazes wide.

What wanton riot reigns to night in Cirtha?

Within these conquer'd walls?

SYPHAX.

This, Laelius, is

A night of triumph o'er my conqueror,

O'er Masinissa.

LAELIUS.

Masinissa! How?

SYPHAX.

Why he to night is married to my queen.

LAELIUS.

Impossible!—

SYPHAX.

Yes, she, the fury! she,

Who put the nuptial torch into my hand,

That set my throne, my palace, and my kingdom,

All in a blaze—she now has seiz'd on him.

Will turn him soon from Rome—I know her power,

Her lips distil unconquerable poison.

O glorious thought!—will sink this hated youth,

Will crush him deep, beneath the mighty ruins

Of falling Carthage.

LAELIUS.

Can it be? Amazement!

SYPHAX.

Nay learn it from himself.—He comes—Away!

Ye furies snatch me from his sight! For hell,

Its tortures all are gentle to the presence

Of a triumphant rival?

LAELIUS.

What is man?

SCENE IV.

MASINISSA, LAELIUS.

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, Laelius.—Thy brave legions

Now taste the sweet repose by valour purchas'd;

This city pours refreshment on their toils.

I order'd Narva—

LAELIUS.

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, Laelius? In my care.

Think not of her. I'll answer for her conduct.

LAELIUS.

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.

Laelius, no more.

You know my marriage.—Syphax has been busy—

It is unkind to dally with my passion.

LAELIUS.

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, Laelius? Robb'd!

LAELIUS.

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.

LAELIUS.

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?

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!

MASINISSA.

Be not so haughty, Laelius.

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.

LAELIUS.

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 fad,

Turn from a captive brighter than themselves.

But Scipio will be milder.

LAELIUS.

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.

SCENE V.

SOPHONISBA, MASINISSA.

SOPHONISBA.

Was not that Roman Laelius, as I enter'd,

Who parted gloomy hence?

MASINISSA.

Madam, the same.

SOPHONISBA.

Unhappy Afric! since these haughty Romans

Have in this lordly manner trod thy courts.

I read his fresh reproaches in thy face;

The lesson'd pupil in thy fallen look,

In that forc'd smile which sickens on thy cheek.

MASINISSA.

Oh say not so, thou rapture of my soul!

For while I see thee, meditate thy charms,

I smile as cordial as the sun in may;

Deep from the heart, in every sense of joy

I fondly smile.

SOPHONISBA.

Nay, tell me, Masinissa;

How feels their tyranny, when 'tis brought home?

When, lawless grown, it touches what is dear?

Pomp for a while may dazle thoughtless man,

False glory blind him; but there is a time,

When ev'n the slave in heart will spurn his chains,

Nor know submission more.—What said his pride?

MASINISSA.

His disappointment for a moment only

Burst in vain passion▪ and—

SOPHONISBA.

You stood aba••'d;

You bore his threats, and tamely-silent heard him,

Heard the fierce Roman mark me for his triumph.

Oh bitter!

MASINISSA.

Banish that unkind suspicion.

The thought enflam'd my soul. I vow'd my life,

My last Massylian to the sword, ere he

Shou'd touch thy freedom with the least dishonour.

But that from Scipio—

SOPHONISBA.

Scipio!

MASINISSA.

That from him—

SOPHONISBA.

I tell thee, Masinissa, if from him

I gain my freedom, from my self conceal it.

I shall disdain such freedom.

MASINISSA.

Sophonisba!

Thou all my heart holds precious! doubt no more.

Nor Rome, nor Scipio, nor a world combin'd

Shall tear thee from me; till outstretch'd I lie,

A nameless wretch!

SOPHONISBA.

If thy protection fails,

Of this at least be sure, be very sure,

To give me timely death.

MASINISSA.

Cease thus to talk,

Of death of Romans, of unkind Ambition.

My softer thoughts those rugged themes refuse,

Can turn alone to love.—All, all, but thee,

All nature is a passing dream to me.

Fix'd in my view, thou dost for ever shine,

Thy form forth-beaming from the soul divine▪

A spirit thine, which mortals might adore;

Despising love, and thence creating more.

Thou the high passions, I the tender prove,

Thy heart was form'd for glory, mine for love.

The End of the Fourth Act.

ACT V. SCENE I.

MASINISSA, NARVA.

MASINISSA.

HAil to the joyous day! With purple clouds,

The whole horizon glows. The breezy Spring

Stands loosely-floating on the mountain-top,

And deals her sweets around. The sun too seems,

As conscious of my joy, with brighter eye

To look abroad the world; and all things smile

Like Sophonisba. Love and friendship sure

Have mark'd this day from out their choicest stores;

For beauty rais'd by dignity and virtue,

With all the graces all the loves embellish'd;

Oh Sophonisba's mine! and Scipio comes!

NARVA.

My lord, the trumpets speak his near approach.

MASINISSA.

I want his secret audience—Leave us, Narva.

SCENE II.

SCIPIO, MASINISSA.

MASINISSA.

Scipio! more welcome than my tongue can speak!

Oh greatly, dearly welcome!

SCIPIO.

Masinissa!

My heart beats back thy joy.—A happy friend,

With laurel green, with conquest crown'd, and glory;

Rais'd by his prudence, fortitude, and valour,

O'er all his foes; and on his native throne,

Amidst his rescu'd shouting subjects, set:

Say, can the gods in lavish bounty give

A sight more pleasing?

MASINSSSA.

My great friend! and patron!

It was thy timely thy restoring arm,

That brought me from the fearful desart-life;

To live again in state, and purple splendor.

And now I wield the sceptre of my fathers,

See my dear people from the tyrant's scourge,

From Syphax freed; I hear their glad applauses;

And, to compleat my happiness, have gain'd

A friend worth all. O gratitude, esteem,

And love like mine, with what divine delight

Ye fill the heart!

SCIPIO.

Heroic youth! thy virtue

Has earn'd whate'er thy fortune can bestow.

It was thy patience, Masinissa, patience,

A champion clad in steel, that in the waste

Attended still thy step, and sav'd my friend

For better days. What cannot patience do?

A great design is seldom snatch'd at once;

'Tis patience heaves it on. From savage nature,

'Tis patience that has built up human life,

The nurse of arts! and Rome exalts her head

An everlasting monument of patience.

MASINISSA.

If I have that, or any virtue, Scipio,

'Tis copy'd all from thee.

SCIPIO.

No Masinissa,

'Tis all unborrow'd, the spontaneous growth

Of nature in thy breast.—Friendship for once

Must, tho' thou blushest, wear a liberal tongue;

Must tell thee, noble youth, that long experience,

In councils, battles, many a hard event,

Has found thee still so constant, so sincere,

So wise, so brave, so generous, so humane,

So well attemper'd, and so fitly turn'd

For what is either great or good in life,

As casts distinguish'd honour on thy country;

And cannot but endear thee to the Romans.

For me, I think my labours all repaid,

My wars in Afric. Masinissa's friendship

Smiles at my soul. Be that my dearest triumph,

To have assisted thy forlorn estate,

And lent a happy hand in raising thee

To thy paternal throne, usurp'd by Syphax.

The greatest service could be done my country,

Distracted Afric, and Mankind in general,

Was aiding sure thy cause. To put the power,

The public power, into the good man's hand,

Is giving plenty, life, and joy to millions.

But has my friend, since late we parted armies;

Since he with Laelius acted such a brave,

Auspicious part against the common foe;

Has he been blameless quite? has he consider'd,

How pleasure often on the youthful heart,

Beneath the rosy soft disguise of love;

(All sweetness, smiles, and seeming innocence)

Steals unperceiv'd, and lays the victor low?

I would not, cannot, put thee to the pain—

—It pains me deeper—of the least reproach.—

Let thy too faithful memory supply

The rest.

(Pausing)

Thy silence, that dejected look,

That honest colour flushing o'er thy cheek,

Impart thy better soul.

MASINISSA.

Oh my good lord!

Oh Scipio! Love has seiz'd me, tyrant love

Inthralls my soul. I am undone by love!

SCIPIO.

And art thou then to ruin reconcil'd?

Tam'd to destruction? Wilt thou be undone?

Resign the towering thought? the vast design,

With future glories big? the warriour's wreathe?

The glittering files? the trumpets sprightly clang?

The praise of senates? an applauding world?

The patriot's statue, and the heroes triumph?

All for a sigh? all for a soft embrace?

For a gay transient fancy, Masinissa?

For shame, my friend! for honour's sake, for glory!

Sit not with folded arms, despairing, weak,

And careless all, till certain ruin comes:

Like a sick virgin sighing to the gale,

Unconquerable love!

MASINISSA.

How chang'd indeed!

The time has been, when, fir'd from Scipio's tongue,

My soul had mounted in a flame with his.—

Where is ambition flown? Hopeless attempt!

Can love like mine be quell'd? Can I forget

What still possesses, charms my thoughts for ever

Throw scornful from me what I hold most dear?

Not feel the force of excellence? To joy

Be dead? And undelighted with delight?

Soft, let me think a moment—no! no! no!—

I am unequal to thy virtue, Scipio!

SCIPIO.

Fie, Masinissa, fie! By heavens! I blush

At thy dejection, this degenerate language.

What! perish for a woman! Ruin all,

All the fair deeds which an admiring world

Hopes from thy rising day; only to sooth

A stubborn fancy, a luxurious will?

How must it, think you, sound in future story?

Young Masinissa was a virtuous prince,

And Afric smil'd beneath his early ray;

But that a Carthaginian captive came,

By whom untimely in the common fate

Of love he fell. The wise will scorn the page.

And all thy praise be some fond maid exclaiming,

Where are those lovers now?—O rather, rather,

Had I ne'er seen the vital light of heaven,

Than like the vulgar live, and like them die!

Ambition sickens at the very thought.—

To puff, and bustle here from day to day,

Lost in the passions of inglorious life,

Joys which the careless brutes possess above us.

And when some years, each duller than another,

Are thus elaps'd, in nauseous pangs to die;

And pass away, like those forgotten things,

That soon become as they had never been.

MASINISSA.

And am I dead to this?

SCIPIO.

The gods, young man,

Who train up heroes in misfortune's school,

Have shook thee with adversity, with each

Illustrious evil, that can raise, expand,

And fortify the mind. Thy rooted worth

Has stood these wintry blasts, grown stronger by them.

Shall then in prosperous times, while all is mild,

All vernal, fair; and glory blows around thee;

Shall then the dead Serene of pleasure come,

And lay thy faded honours in the dust?

MASINISSA.

O gentle Scipio! spare me, spare my weakness.

SCIPIO.

Remember Hannibal—A signal proof,

A fresh example of destructive pleasure.

He was the dread of nations, once of Rome!

When from Bellona's bosom, nurs'd in camps,

And hard with toil, he down the rugged Alps

Rush'd in a torrent over Italy;

Unconquer'd, till the loose delights of Capua

Sunk his victorious arm, his genius broke,

Perfum'd, and made a lover of the heroe.

And now he droops in Bruttium, fear'd no more,

Sinks on our borders like a scatter'd storm.

Remember him; and yet resume thy spirit,

Ere it is quite dissolv'd.

MASINISSA.

Shall Scipio stoop,

Thus to regard, to teach me wisdom thus;

And yet a stupid anguish at my heart

Repel whate'er he says?—But why, my lord,

Why should we kill the best of passions, love?

It aids the heroe, bids ambition rise,

Turns us to please, inspires immortal deeds,

Even softens brutes, and makes the good more good.

SCIPIO.

There is a holy tenderness indeed,

A nameless sympathy, a fountain-love;

Branch'd infinite from parents to their children,

From child to child, from kindred on to kindred,

In various streams, from citizen to citizen,

From friend to friend, from man to man in general;

That binds, supports, and sweetens human life.

But is thy passion such?—List, Masinissa,

While I the hardest office of a friend

Discharge; and, with a necessary hand,

A hand tho' harsh at present really tender,

I paint this passion. And if then thou still

Art bent to sooth it, I must sighing leave thee,

To what the Gods think fit.

MASINISSA.

O never, Scipio!

O never leave me to my self! Speak on.

I dread, and yet desire thy friendly hand.

SCIPIO.

I hope that Masinissa need not now

Be told, how much his happiness is mine;

With what a warm benevolence I'd spring

To raise, confirm it, to prevent his wishes.

O luxury to think!—But while he rages,

Burns in a fever, shall I let him quaff

Delicious poison for a cooling draught,

In foolish pity to his thirst? shall I

Let a swift flame consume him as he sleeps,

Because his dreams are gay? shall I indulge

A frenzy flash'd from an infectious eye?

A sudden impulse unapprov'd by reason?

Nay by thy cool deliberate thought condemn'd?

Resolv'd against?—A passion for a woman,

Who has abus'd thee basely? left thy youth,

Thy love as sweet as tender as the spring,

The blooming heroe for the hoary tyrant?

And now who makes thy sheltering arms alone

Her last retreat, to save her from the vengeance,

Which even her very perfidy to thee

Has brought upon her head?—Nor is this all.—

A woman who will ply her deepest arts,

(Ah too prevailing, as appears already)

Will never rest, till Syphax' fate is thine;

Till friendship weeping flies; we join no more

In glorious deeds, and thou fall off from Rome?

I too could add, that there is something mean,

Inhuman in thy passion. Does not Syphax,

While thou rejoicest, die? The generous heart

Should scorn a pleasure which gives others pain.

If this, my friend, all this consider'd deep,

Allarm thee not, not rouze thy resolution,

And call the heroe from his wanton slumber,

Then Masinissa's lost.

MASINISSA.

Oh, I am pierc'd!

In every thought am pierc'd! 'Tis all too true.—

I wish I could refuse it.—Whither, whither,

Thro' what inchanted wilds have I been wandering?

They seem'd Elysium, the delightful plains,

The happy groves of heroes and of lovers:

But the divinity that breathes in thee

Has broke the charm, and I am in a desart;

Far from the land of peace. It was but lately

That a pure joyous calm o'erspread my soul,

And reason tun'd my passions into bliss;

When love came hurrying in, and with rash hand,

Mix'd them delirious, till they now ferment

To misery.—There is no reasoning down

This deep, deep anguish! this continual pang!

A thousand things! whene'er my raptur'd thought

Runs back a little.—But I will not think.—

And yet I must—Oh Gods! that I could lose

What a fond few hours memory has grav'd

On adamant.

SCIPIO.

But one strong effort more,

And the fair field is thine—A conquest far

Excelling that o'er Syphax. What remains,

Since now thy madness to thy self appears,

But an immediate manly resolution,

To shake off this effeminate disease;

These soft ideas, which seduce thy soul,

Make it all idle, unaspiring, weak,

A scene of dreams; to puff them to the winds,

And be my former friend, thy self again?

I joy to find thee touch'd by generous motives;

And that I need not bid thee recollect,

Whose awful property thou hast usurp'd;

Need not assure thee, that the Roman people,

The senators of Rome, will never suffer

A dangerous woman, their devoted foe,

A woman, whose irrefragable spirit

Has in great part sustain'd this bloody war,

Whose charms corrupted Syphax from their side,

And fir'd embattled nations into rage;

Will never suffer her, when gain'd so dear,

To ruin thee too, taint thy faithful breast,

And kindle future war. No, fate it self

Is not more steady to the right than they.

And, where the public good but seems concern'd,

No motive their impenetrable hearts,

Nor fear nor tenderness, can touch: such is

The spirit, that has rais'd Imperial Rome.

MASINISSA.

Ah killing truth!—But I have promis'd, Scipio!

Have sworn to save her from the Roman power.

My plighted faith is pass'd, my hand is given.

And, by the conscious gods! who mark'd my vows▪

The whole united world shall never have her.

For I will die a thousand thousand deaths,

With all Massylia in one field expire;

Ere to the lowest wretch, much more to her

I love, to Sophonisba, to my queen,

I violate my word.

SCIPIO.

My heart approves

Thy resolution, thy determin'd honour.

For ever sacred be thy word, and oath.

Virtue by virtue will alone be clear'd,

And scorns the crooked methods of dishonour.

But, thus divided, how to keep thy faith

At once to Rome and Sophonisba; how

To save her from our chains, and yet thyself

From greater bondage; this thy secret thought

Can best inform thee.

MASINISSA.

Agony! Distraction!

These wilful tears!—O look not on me, Scipio!

For I'm a child again.

SCIPIO.

Thy tears are no reproach.

Tears oft look graceful on the manly cheek.

The Cruel cannot weep. Even Friendship's eye

Gives thee the drop it would refuse itself.

I know 'tis hard, wounds every bleeding nerve

About thy heart, thus to tear off thy passion.

But for that very reason, Masinissa,

'Tis hop'd from thee. The harder, thence results

The greater glory.—Why should we pretend

To conquer, rule mankind, be first in power,

In great assemblies, honour, place, and pleasure,

While slaves at heart? while by fantastick turns

Our frantic passions rage? The very thought

Should turn our pomp to shame, our sweet to bitter;

And, when the shouts of millions meet our ears,

Whisper reproach.—O ye celestial powers!

What is it, in a torrent of success,

To bear down nations, and o'erflow the world?

All your peculiar favour. Real glory

Springs from the silent conquest of ourselves;

And without that the conqueror is nought

Save the first slave.—Then rouze thee, Masinissa!

Nor in one weakness all thy virtues lose;

And oh beware of long, of vain repentance!

MASINISSA.

Well! well! no more.—It is but dying too!

SCENE III.

SCIPIO alone.

I wish I have not urg'd the truth to rigour!

There is a time when virtue grows severe,

Too much for nature, and even almost cruel.

SCENE IV.

SCIPIO, LAELIUS.

SCIPIO.

Poor Masinissa, Laelius, is undone;

Betwixt his passion and his reason tost

In miserable conflict.

LAELIUS.

Entering, Scipio,

He shot athwart me, nor vouchsaf'd one look.

Hung on his clouded brow I mark'd despair,

And his eye glaring with some dire resolve.

Fast o'er his cheek too ran the hasty tear.

It were great pity that he should be lost!

SCIPIO.

By heavens! to lose him were a shock, as if

I lost thee, Laelius, lost my dearest brother,

Bound up in friendship from our infant years.

A thousand lovely qualities endear him,

Only too warm of heart.

LAELIUS.

What shall be done?

SCIPIO.

Here let it rest, till time abates his passion.

Nature is nature, Laelius, let the Wise

Say what they please. But now perhaps he dies.—

Haste! haste! and give him hope—I have not time

To tell thee what.—Thy prudence will direct—

Whatever is consistent with my honour,

My duty to the publick, and my friendship

To him himself, say, promise, shall be done.

I hope returning reason will prevent

Our farther care.

LAELIUS.

I fly with joy.

SCIPIO.

His life

Not only save, but Sophonisba's too:

For both I fear are in this passion mixt.

LAELIUS.

It shall be done.

SCENE V.

SCIPIO alone.

If friendship pierces thus,

When love pours in his added violence,

What are the pangs which Masinissa feels!

SCENE VI.

SOPHONISBA, PHOENISSA.

SOPHONISBA.

Yes, Masinissa loves me—Heavens! how fond!

But yet I know not what hangs on my spirit,

A dismal boding; for this fatal Scipio,

I dread his virtues, this prevailing Roman,

Even now perhaps deludes the generous king,

Fires his ambition with mistaken glory,

Demands me from him; for full well he knows,

That, while I live, I must intend their ruin.

PHOENISSA.

Madam, these fears—

SOPHONISBA.

And yet it cannot be.

Can Scipio, whom even hostile fame proclaims

Of perfect honour, and of polish'd manners,

Smooth, artful, winning, moderate, and wise,

Make such a wild demand? Or, if he could,

Can Masinissa grant it? give his queen,

Whom love and honour bind him to protect,

Yield her a captive to triumphant Rome?

'Tis baseness to suspect it; 'tis inhuman.

What then remains?—Suppose they should resolve

By right of war to seize me for their prize.

Ay, there it kills!—What can his single arm,

Against the Roman power? that very power

By which he stands restor'd? Distracting thought!

Still o'er my head the rod of bondage hangs.

Shame on my weakness!—This poor catching hope,

This transient taste of joy, will only more

Imbitter death.

PHOENISSA.

A moment will decide.

Madam, till then—

SOPHONISBA.

Would I had dy'd before!

And am I dreaming here? Here from the Romans,

Beseeching I may live to swell their triumph?

When my free spirit should ere now have join'd

That great assembly, those devoted shades,

Who scorn'd to live till liberty was lost,

But ere their country fell, abhorr'd the light.

Whence this pale slave? he trembles with his message.

SCENE VII.

SOPHONISBA, PHOENISSA; and to them a SLAVE, with a letter and poison from MASINISSA.

SLAVE kneeling.

This, Madam, from the King, and this.

SOPHONISBA.

Ha!—Stay—

(Reads the Letter.)

Rejoice, Phoenissa! Give me joy, my friend!

For here is liberty! My fears are air!

The hand of Rome can never touch me more!

Hail! perfect freedom, hail!

PHOENISSA.

How? what? my queen!

Ah what is this?

(Pointing to the poison.)

SOPHONISBA.

The first of blessings, death.

PHOENISSA.

Alas! alas! can I rejoice in that?

SOPHONISBA.

Shift not thy colour at the sound of death;

For death appears not in a dreary light,

Seem not a blank to me; a losing all

Those fond sensations, those enchanting dreams,

Which cheat a toiling world from day to day,

And form the whole of happiness they know.

It is to me perfection, glory, triumph.

Nay, fondly would I chuse it, tho' persuaded

It were a long dark night without a morning,

To bondage far prefer it! since it is

Deliverance from a world where Romans rule,

Where violence prevails—And timely too—

Before my country falls; before I feel

As many stripes, as many chains, and deaths,

As there are lives in Carthage.—Glorious charter!

By which I hold immortal life and freedom,

Come, let me read thee once again.—And then,

To thy great purpose.

(Reads the letter aloud.)

MASINISSA to his QUEEN.

The Gods know with what pleasure I would have kept my faith to Sophonisba in another manner. But since this fatal bowl can alone deliver thee from the Romans: call to mind thy father, thy country, that thou hast been the wife of two kings; and act up to the dictates of thy own heart. I will not long survive thee.

Oh, 'tis wondrous well!

Ye Gods of death! who rule the Stygian gloom,

Ye who have greatly dy'd! I come! I come!

I die contented, since I die a queen;

By Rome untouch'd, unsullied by their power;

So much their terror that I must not live.

And thou, go tell the king, if this is all

The nuptial present he can send his bride,

I thank him for it—But that death had worn

An easier face before I trusted him.

His poison, tell him too, he might have spar'd,

These times may want it for himself; and I

Live not of such a cordial unprovided.

Add, hither had he come, I could have taught

Him how to die.—I linger not, remember,

I stand not shivering on the brink of life;

And, but these votive drops, which grateful thus (Taking them from the poison)

To Jove the high Deliverer I shed,

Assure him that I drank it, drank it all,

With an unalter'd smile—Away. (Drinks.)

SCENE VIII.

SOPHONISBA, PHOENISSA.

SOPHONISBA.

My friend!

In tears, my friend! Dishonour not my death

With womanish complaints. Weep not for me,

Weep for thy self, Phoenissa, for thy country,

But not for me. There is a certain hour,

Which one would wish all undisturb'd and bright,

No care, no sorrow, no dejected passions,

And that is when we die; when hence we go,

Ne'er to be seen again; then let us spread

A bold exalted wing, and the last voice

We hear be that of wonder and applause.

PHOENISSA.

Who with the patriot wishes not to die!

SOPHONISBA.

And is the sacred moment then so near?

The moment, when yon sun, those heavens, this earth

Hateful to me, polluted by the Romans,

And all the busy slavish race of men,

Shall sink at once; and strait another state,

New scenes, new joys, new faculties, new wonders,

Rise on a sudden round: but this the gods

In clouds and horror wrap, or none would live!

How liberal is death!—Methinks, I seem

To touch the happy shore.—Behind me frowns

A stormy sea, with tossing mortals thick;

While, unconfin'd and green, before me lies

The land of bliss, and everlasting freedom:

Where walk the mighty dead; all of one mind,

One blooming smile, one language, and one country.

Oh to be there!—my breast begins to burn;

My tainted heart grows sick.—Ah me! Phoenissa,

How many virgins, infants, tender wretches,

Must feel these pangs, ere Carthage is no more!

Soft—lead me to my couch—My shivering Limbs,

Do this last office, and then rest for ever.

I pray thee weep not, pierce me not with groans.

The king too here.—Nay then my death is full!

SCENE IX.

SOPHONISBA, PHOENISSA, MASINISSA, LAELIUS, NARVA.

MASINISSA.

Has Sophonisha drank this cursed bowl?

Oh horror! horror! what a sight is here!

SOPHONISBA.

Had I not drank, Masinissa, then,

I had deserv'd it.

MASINISSA.

Exquisite distress!

Oh bitter, bitter fate! And this last hope

Compleats my woe.

SOPHONISBA.

When will these ears be deaf,

To misery's complaint? These eyes be blind,

To mischief wrought by Rome?

MASINISSA.

Too soon! too soon!—

Ah why so hasty? But a little while,

Hadst thou delay'd this horrid draught; I then

Had been as happy, as I now am wretched!

SOPHONISBA.

What means this talk of hope? of coward waiting?

MASINISSA.

What have I done? Oh heavens! I cannot think

Without distraction, hell, and burning anguish,

On my rash deed!—But, while I talk, she dies!

And how? what? where am I then?—Say, canst thou

Forgive me, Sophonisba?

SOPHONISBA.

Yes, and more,

More than forgive thee, thank thee, Masinissa.

Hadst thou been weak, and dally'd with my freedom,

Till by proud Rome enslav'd; that injury

I never had forgiven.

MASINISSA.

I came with life!

Laelius and I from Scipio hasted hither;

But Death was here before us—this vile poison!

SOPHONISBA.

With life!—There was some merit in the poison;

But this destroys it all.—And couldst thou think

Me mean enough to take it?—Oh! Phoenissa,

This mortal toil is almost at an end.—

Receive my parting soul.

PHOENISSA.

Alas, my queen!

MASINISSA.

Dies! dies! and scorns me!—Mercy! Sophonisba!

Grant one forgiving look, while yet thou canst;

Or death it self, the grave cannot relieve me:

But with the furies join'd, my frantic ghost

Will how• for ever.—Quivering! and pale!

Have I done this?

SOPHONISBA.

Come nearer, Masinissa.—

Out! stubborn nature!—

MASINISSA.

Misery! these pangs

To me transfer'd were ease.—A moment only!

An agonizing moment! while I have

An age of things to say!

SOPHONISBA.

We, but for Rome,

Might have been happy.—Rouze thee now, my soul!

The cold deliverer comes.—Be mild to Syphax!—

In my surviving friend behold me still!—

Farewell!—'Tis done.—O never, never, Carthage,

Shall I behold thee more!

(Dies.)

MASINISSA.

Dead! dead! oh dead!

Is there no death for me?

(Snatches Laelius's sword to stab himself.)

LAELIUS.

Hold, Masinissa!

MASINISSA.

And wouldst thou make a coward of me, Laelius?

Have me survive that murder'd excellence?

Did she not stir? Ha! Who has shock'd my brain!

It whirls, it blazes.—Was it thou, old man?

NARVA.

Alas! alas!—good Masinissa, softly!

Let me conduct thee to thy couch.

MASINISSA.

The grave

Were welcome.—But ye cannot make me live!

Oppress'd with life!—Off!—crowd not thus around me!

For I will hear, see, think no more!—Thou sun,

Keep up thy hated beams! And all I want

Of thee, kind earth, is an immediate grave!

Ay, there she lyes!—Why to that pallid sweetness

Can not I, Nature! lay my lips, and die!

(Throws himself beside her.)

LAELIUS.

See there the ruins of the noble mind,

When from calm reason passion tears the sway.

What pity she should perish!—Cruel war,

'Tis not the least misfortune in thy train,

That oft by thee the brave destroy the brave.

She had a Roman soul; for every one

Who loves, like her, his country is a Roman.

Whether on Afric's sandy plains he glows,

Or lives untam'd among Riphoean snows;

If parent-liberty the breast inflame,

The gloomy Libyan then deserves that name:

And, warm with freedom, under frozen skies,

In farthest Britain Romans yet may rise.

The End of the Fifth Act.

EPILOGUE.

By a FRIEND.

Spoken by Mrs. CIBBER.

NOW, I'm afraid, the modest taste in vogue

Demands a strong, high-season'd epilogue.

Else might some silly soul take pity's part,

And odious virtue sink into the heart.

Our squeamish author scruples this proceeding;

He says it hurts sound morals, and good breeding:

Nor Sophonisba would he here produce,

A glaring model, of no private use.

Ladies, he bid me say, behold your Cato.

What tho' no Stoic she, nor read in Plato?

Yet sure she offer'd, for her country's sake,

A sacrifice, which Cato could not make—

—Already, now, these wicked men are sneering,

Some wresting what one says, and others leering.

I vow they have not strength for—public spirit.

That, ladies, must be your superior merit.

Mercy forbid! we should lay down our lives;

Like these old, Punic, barbarous, heathen wives.

Spare christian blood.—But sure the devil's in her,

Who for her country would not lose a pinner.

—Lard! how could such a creature shew her face?

How?—Just as you do there—thro' Brussels Lace.

The Roman fair, the public in distress,

Gave up the dearest ornaments of dress.

How much more cheaply might you gain applause?

—One yard of Ribban, and two ells of Gause.

And Gause each deep-read critic must adore;

Your Roman ladies dress'd in Gause all o'er.

Should you, fair patriots, come to dress so thin;

How clear might all your—sentiments be seen.

To foreign looms no longer owe your charms;

Nor make their trade more fatal than their arms.

Each British dame, who courts her country's praise,

By quitting these outlandish modes, might raise

(Not from yon powder'd band, so thin, and spruce)

Ten able-bodied men, for—public use.

But now a serious word about the play.—

Auspicious smile on this his first essay,

Ye generous Britons! your own sons inspire;

Let your applauses fan their native fire.

Then other Shakespears yet may rouze the stage,

And other Otways melt another age.

FINIS.

A NUPTIAL SONG, intended to have been inserted in the Fourth Act.

COME, gentle Venus! and asswage

A warring world, a bleeding age.

For nature lives beneath thy ray,

The wintry tempests haste away,

A lucid calm invests the sea,

Thy native deep is full of thee;

And flowering earth, where'er you fly,

Is all o'er spring, all sun the sky.

A genial spirit warms the breeze;

Unseen, among the blooming trees,

The feather'd lovers tune their throat,

The desart growls a soften'd note,

Glad o'er the meads the cattle bound,

And love and harmony go round.

But chief, into the human heart

You strike the dear delicious dart;

You teach us pleasing pangs to know,

To languish in luxurious woe,

To feel the generous passions rise,

Grow good by gazing, mild by sighs;

Each happy moment to improve,

And fill the perfect year with love.

Come, thou delight of heaven and earth!

To whom all creatures owe their birth;

Oh come, red-smiling! tender, come!

And yet prevent our final doom.

For long the furious god of war

Has crush'd us with his iron car,

Has rag'd along our ruin'd plains,

Has curs'd them with his cruel stains,

Has clos'd our youth in endless sleep,

And made the widow'd virgin weep.

Now let him feel thy wonted charms;

Oh take him to thy twining arms!

And, while thy bosom heaves on his,

While deep he prints the humid kiss,

Ah then! his stormy heart controul,

And sigh thy self into his soul.

Thy son too, Cupid, we implore,

To leave the green Idalian shore;

Be he, sweet god! our only foe;

Long let him draw the twanging bow,

Transfix us with his golden darts,

Pour all his quiver on our hearts,

With gentler anguish make us sigh,

And teach us sweeter deaths to die.

ERRATA.

PAGE 3. Line 3. read fair-seeming instead of fair seeming. Page 32. Line 17. read Ere for E'er. Page 38. Line 9. read to for on. Page 45. Line 10. read thy for they. Page 46. Line 13. read harmless-seeming for harmless seeming.

Just published the following BOOKS, printed for A. MILLAR.

1. COllections relating to the History of Mary Queen of Scotland; containing a great Number of original Papers never before printed: Also a few scarce Pieces reprinted, taken from the best Copies, by the learned and judicious James Anderson, Esq late Post-Master-General, and Antiquary of Scotland: With an explanatory Index of the obsolete Words; and Prefaces shewing the Importance of these Collections, in 4 Vols. on a fine imperial Paper, and a most beautiful Letter, 4to.

2. Spring, a Poem, the Second Edition, by Mr. Thomson.

3. An Essay on the Education of a young British Nobleman after he leaves the Schools; to which is added, some Observations on the Office of an Ambassador.

4. A System of Heraldry, Speculative and Practical: With the true Art of Blazon, according to the most approved Heralds in Europe. Illustrated with suitable Examples of armorial Figures at Atchievements of the most considerable Surnames and Families in Scotland, &c. Together with Historical and Genealogical Memorials relating thereto. By Alex. Nisbett, Esq Folio.

Soon will be publish'd

6. The History of the Church under the Old Testament from the Creation of the World; with a particular Account of the State of the Jews before and after the Babylonish Captivity, and down to the present Time: Wherein the Affairs and Learning of Heathen-Nations before the Birth of Christ, are also illustrated; to which is adjoyned a Discourse to promote the Conversion of the Jews to Christianity, by Robert Millar, M. A.

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Title statement

The tragedy of Sophonisba: Acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. By His Majesty's servants. By Mr. Thomson.

Thomson, James, 1700-1748.

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ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/5498

ID [isbn10]

1106024974

ID [isbn13]

9781106024978

ID [TCP]

K132743.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3307744278

ID [ECFA]

1269801800

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Source

— The tragedy of Sophonisba: Acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. By His Majesty's servants. By Mr. Thomson., Thomson, James, 1700-1748.. [8],75,[5]p. ; 8⁰. London :: printed for A. Millar,. 1730.. [The ornaments are those used by William Bowyer.] [In this issue the press figures are as follows: pp. [6], 61 and 66 have the press figure 7; pp. 2, 15, 23, 33 and 68 have the press figure 2; and pp. 16 and 31 have the press figure 1.] [Reproduction of original from the Cambridge University Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT230316.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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