Van. Here?
Sy. Zanthia, Zanthia!
Where’s Sophonisba? speak at full—at full.
Give me particular faith, or know thou art not——
Zan. Your pardon, just-moved prince, and private ear. 190
Sy. Ill actions have some grace, that they can fear.
Van. How came I laid? which way was I made drunk?
Where am I? think I, or is my state advanced?
O Jove, how pleasant is it but to sleep,
In a king’s bed!
Sy. Sleep there thy lasting sleep,
Improvident, base, o’er-thirsty slave.
[Syphax kills Vangue.
Die pleased, a king’s couch is thy too-proud grave.—
Through this vault say’st thou?
Zan. As you give me grace
To live, ’tis true.
Sy. We will be good to Zanthia;
Go, cheer thy lady, and be private to us. 200