Mass. Mount us again; give us another horse!
Jug. Uncle, your blood flows fast: pray ye withdraw.
Mass. O Jugurth, I cannot bleed too fast, too much,
For that so great, so just, so royal Carthage!
My wound smarts not, blood’s loss makes me not faint,
For that loved city. O nephew, let me tell thee,
How good that Carthage is: it nourish’d me,
And when full time gave me fit strength for love,
The most adorèd creature of the city,
To us before great Syphax did they yield,— 10
Fair, noble, modest, and ’bove all, my [own],
My Sophonisba! O Jugurth, my strength doubles:
I know not how to turn a coward,—drop
In feeble baseness I cannot. Give me horse!
Know I’m Carthage’ very creature, and am grac’d
That I may bleed for them. Give me fresh horse!
Jug. He that doth public good for multitude,
Finds few are truly grateful.
Mass. O Jugurth! fie! you must not say so. Jugurth,
Some[330] common-weals may let a noble heart 20
Even bleed to death abroad, and not bemoan’d,
Neither revenged, at home. But, Carthage, fie!
It cannot be ungrate, faithless through fear:
It cannot, Jugurth: Sophonisba’s there.
Beat a fresh charge!
Enter Asdrubal, his sword drawn, reading a letter; Gisco follows him.
Asd. Sound the retreat; respect your health, brave prince;
The waste of blood throws paleness on your face.
Mass. By light, my heart’s not pale: O my loved father,
We bleed for Carthage; balsam to my wounds,
We bleed for Carthage; shall’s restore the fight? 30
My squadron of Massulians yet stands firm.