Enter Jugurth, amazed, his sword drawn.
Speak, speak! let terror strike slaves mute,
Much danger makes great hearts most resolute. 60
Jug. Uncle, I fear foul arms; myself beheld
Syphax on high speed run his well-breath’d horse
Direct to Cirta, that most beauteous city
Of all his kingdom; whilst his troops of horse,
With careless trot, pace gently toward our camp,
As friends to Carthage. Stand on guard, dear uncle;
For Asdrubal, with yet his well-rank’d army,
Bends a deep threat’ning brow to us, as if
He waited but to join with Syphax’ horse,
And hew us all to pieces. O my king, 70
My uncle, father, captain, O over all!
Stand like thyself, or like thyself now fall!
Thy troops yet hold good ground. Unworthy wounds,
Betray not Massinissa!
Mass. Jugurth, pluck,
Pluck! so, good coz.
Jug. O God! Do you not feel?
Mass. Not, Jugurth, no; now all my flesh is steel.
Gel. Off base disguise! high lights scorn not to view
A true old man. Up, Massinissa! throw
The lot of battle upon Syphax’ troops,
Before he join with Carthage; then amain 80
Make through to Scipio; he yields safe abodes:
Spare treachery, and strike the very gods.
Mass. Why wast thou born at Carthage! O my fate!
Divinest Sophonisba! I am full
Of much complaint, and many passions,
The least of which express’d would sad the gods,
And strike compassion in most[332] ruthless hell.
Up, unmaim’d heart, spend all thy grief and rage
Upon thy foe! the field’s a soldier’s stage,
On which his action shows. If you are just, 90
And hate those that contemn you, O you gods,
Revenge worthy your anger, your anger! O,
Down man, up heart! stoop Jove, and bend thy chin
To thy large breast; give sign th’art pleased, and just;
Swear good men’s foreheads must not print the dust.
[Exeunt.