[Erictho slips into the ground, as Syphax offers his sword to her.
Sy. Can we yet breathe? Is any plagued like me?
Are we—let’s think—O now contempt, my hate
To thee, thy thunder, sulphur, and scorn’d name!
He whose life’s loath’d, and he who breathes to curse
His very being,[371] let him thus with me
[Syphax kneels at the altar.
Fall ’fore an altar, sacred to black powers,
And thus dare heavens! O thou whose blasting flames
Hurl barren droughts upon the patient earth, 31
And thou, gay god of riddles and strange tales,
Hot-brainèd Phœbus, all add if you can
Something unto my misery! if aught
Of plagues lurk in your deep-trench’d brows,
Which yet I know not,—let them fall like bolts,
Which wrathful Jove drives strong into my bosom!
If any chance of war, or news ill-voiced,
Mischief unthought of lurk, come, give’t us all,
Heap curse on curse, we can no lower fall! 40
[Out of the altar the ghost of Asdrubal ariseth.
Asd. Lower—lower!
Sy. What damn’d air is form’d
Into that shape? Speak, speak, we cannot quake!
Our flesh knows not ignoble tremblings. Speak!
We dare thy terror. Methinks hell and fate
Should dread a soul with woes made desperate.
Asd. Know me the spirit of great Asdrubal,
Father to Sophonisba, whose bad heart
Made justly most unfortunate; for know,
I turn’d unfaithful, after that[372] the field
Chanced to our loss, when of thy men there fell 50
Six thousand souls, next fight of Libyans ten.
After which loss we unto Carthage flying,
Th’ enragèd people cried their army fell
Through my base treason. Straight my revengeful Furies[373]
Makes them pursue me; I with resolute haste
Made to the grave of all our ancestors,
Where poisoned, hoped my bones should have long rest:
But see, the violent multitude arrives,
Tear down our monument, and me now dead
Deny a grave; hurl us among the rocks 60
To staunch beasts’ hunger; therefore thus ungraved
I seek slow rest. Now dost thou know more woes,
And more must feel. Mortals, O fear to slight
Your gods and vows. Jove’s arm is of dread might.