High Massinissa! by your vows to Carthage,
By th’ god of great men,—glory,—fight for Carthage!
Ten thousand strong Massulians, ready troop’d,
Expect their king; double that number waits
The leading of loved Asdrubal: beat loud
Our Afric drums! and, whilst our o’er-toil’d foe 150
Snores on his unlacked casque, all faint, though proud,
Through his successful fight, strike fresh alarms.
Gods are not if they grace not bold, just arms.
Mass. Carthage, thou straight shalt know
Thy favours have been done unto a king.
[Exit with Asdrubal and the Page.
So. My lords, ’tis most unusual such sad haps
Of sudden horror should intrude ’mong beds
Of soft and private loves; but strange events
Excuse strange forms. O you that know our blood,
Revenge if I do feign. I here protest, 160
Though my lord leave his wife a very maid,
Even this night, instead of my soft arms
Clasping his well-strung limbs with glossful steel,
What’s safe to Carthage shall be sweet to me.
I must not, nor am I once ignorant
My choice of love hath given this sudden danger
To yet strong Carthage: ’twas I lost the fight;
My choice vex’d Syphax, enraged Syphax struck
Arms’ fate;[310] yet Sophonisba not repents:
O we were gods if that we knew events. 170
But let my[311] lord leave Carthage, quit his virtue,
I will not love him; yet must honour him,
As still good subjects must bad princes. Lords,
From the most ill-graced hymeneal bed
That ever Juno frown’d at, I entreat
That you’ll collect from our loose-formèd speech
This firm resolve: that no low appetite
Of my sex’ weakness can or shall o’ercome
Due grateful[312] service unto you or virtue.
Witness, ye gods, I never until now 180
Repined at my creation: now I wish
I were no woman, that my arms might speak
My heart to Carthage. But in vain: my tongue
Swears I am woman still, I talk too[313] long.
Cornets, a march. Enter two Pages with targets and javelins; two Pages with torches. Massinissa armed cap-à-pie; Asdrubal armed.
Mass. Ye Carthage lords, know Massinissa knows
Not only terms of honour, but his actions;
Nor must I now enlarge how much my cause
Hath danger’d Carthage, but how I may show
Myself most prest[314] to satisfaction.
The loathsome stain of kings’ ingratitude 190
From me O much be far! And since this torrent,
War’s rage, admits no anchor—since the billow
Is risen so high we may not hull,[315] but yield
This ample state to stroke of speedy swords;
What you with sober haste have well decreed,
We’ll put to sudden arms; no, not this night,
These dainties, these firstfruits of nuptials,
That well might give excuse for feeble lingerings,
Shall hinder Massinissa. Appetite,
Kisses, loves, dalliance, and what softer joys 200
The Venus of the pleasing’st ease can minister,
I quit you all. Virtue perforce is vice;
But he that may, yet holds, is manly wise.
Lo then, ye lords of Carthage, to your trust
I leave all Massinissa’s treasure: by the oath
Of right good men stand to my fortune just:
Most hard it is for great hearts to mistrust.
Car. We vow by all high powers.
Mass. No, do not swear;
I was not born so small to doubt or fear.