Sci. Stand!
Mass. Give the word—Stand!
Sci. Part the file!
Mass. Give way!
Scipio, by thy great name, but greater virtue,—
By our eternal love, give me the chance
Of this day’s battle! Let not thy envied fame
Vouchsafe t’oppose[374] the Roman legions
Against one weakened Prince of Libya.
This quarrel’s mine—mine be the stroke of fight!
Let us and Syphax hurl out well-forced darts
Each unto other’s breast. O (what should I say?)
Thou beyond epithet, thou whom proud lords of fortune
May even envy,—alas! my joy’s so vast 11
Makes me seem lost,—let us thunder and lightning
Strike from our brave arms! Look, look, seize that hill!
Hark! he comes near. From thence discern us strike
Fire worth Jove; mount up, and not repute
Me very proud, though wondrous resolute.
My cause, my cause is my bold heart’ning odds,
That sevenfold shield; just arms should fright the gods.
Sci. Thy words are full of honour; take thy fate.
Mass. Which we do scorn to fear, to Scipio state 20
Worthy his heart. Now let the forcèd brass
Sound on!
Cornets sound a march. Scipio leads his train up to the mount.
Jugurth, clasp sure our casque,
Arm us with care; and Jugurth, if I fall
Through this day’s malice or our fathers’ sins,
If it in thy sword lie, break up my breast,
And save my heart that never fell nor sued[375]
To aught but Jove and Sophonisba. Sound,
Stern heart’ners unto wounds and blood—sound loud,
For we have namèd Sophonisba!
[Cornets, a flourish.
So!