Sophonisba. What unjust grief afflicts my worthy lord?
Massinissa. Thank me, ye gods, with much beholdingness;
For, mark, I do not curse you.
Sophonisba. Tell me, sweet,
The cause of thy much anguish.
Massinissa. Ha, the cause?
Let's see; wreathe back thine arms, bend down thy neck,
Practise base prayers, make fit thyself for bondage.
Sophonisba. Bondage!
Massinissa. Bondage: Roman bondage.
Sophonisba. No, no![[1]]
Massinissa. How then have I vowed well to Scipio?
Sophonisba. How then to Sophonisba?
Massinissa. Right: which way
Run mad? impossible distraction![[2]]