Riv. Why this is mending matters with a witness! And fo you think because I am not legally bound, I am under no neceffity of keeping my word! Sir Harry, laws were

never

made for men of honor; they want no bond but the rectitude of their own fentiments; and laws are of no ufe but to bind the villains of fociety.

Sir Har. Well! But my dear Colonel, if you have no regard for me, fhew fome little regard for your daughter.

Riv. I fhow the greatest regard for my daughter by giving her to a man of honor, and I must not be infulted with any further repetition of your propofals.

Sir Har. Infult you, Colonel! Is the offer of my alliance an infult? Is my readiness to make what fettlements you think proper

Riv. Sir Harry, I should confider the offer of a kingdom an infult, if it was to be purchased by the violation of my word. Befides, tho my daughter fhall never go a beggar to the arms of her husband, I would rather fee her happy than rich; and if fhe has enough to provide handfomely for a young family, and fomething to spare for the exigencies of a worthy friend, I fhall think her as affluent as if she was mistress of Mexico.

Sir Har. Well, Colonel, I have done; but I believe

Riv. Well, Sir Harry, and as our conference is done, we will, if you pleafe, retire to the ladies. I fhall be always glad of your acquaintance, though I cannot receive you as fon-inlaw; for a union of interest I look upon as a union of dif honor, and confider marriage for money, at beft but a legal proftitution.

Scene between SHYLOCK and TUBAL.*

Shy. How now, Tubal! What news from Genoa? Have you heard any thing of my backfliding daughter?

Tub. I often came where I heard of her, but could not find her.

Shy. Why, there, there, there, a diamond gone that coft me two thousand ducats at Frankfort! The curfe never fell upon the nation till now! I never felt it before! Two thoufand ducats in that and other precious jewels! I wifh fhe lay dead at my feet! No news of them! And I know not what fpent in the fearch. Lofs upon lofs. The thief gone with fo much, and fo much to find the thief; and no fatisfaction, no

Fevenge; no ill luck ftirring but what lights on my shoulders. Tub. O yes, other men have ill luck too, Antonio, as I heard in Genoa

Shy. [interrupting him.] What has he had ill luck?

Tub. Has had a fhip caft away coming from Tripoli.
Shy. Thank fortune! Is it true? Is it true?

Tub. I fpoke with fome of the failors that efcaped from the wreck.

Shy. I thank you, good Tubal. Good news! Good news! What, in Genoa, you spoke with them.

Tub. Your daughter, as I heard, fpent twenty ducats in one night.

Shy. You ftick a dagger in me, Tubal. I never fhall fee my gold again. Twenty ducats in one night! Twenty ducats! O father Abraham!

Tub. There came feveral of Antonio's creditors in my company to Venice, who say he cannot but break.

Shy. I am glad on't. I'll plague him; I'll torture him; I am glad on't.

Tub. One of them fhewed me a ring he had of your daughter for a monkey.

Shy. Out upon her; you turture me, Tubal! It was my Ruby. I would not have given it for as many monkies as could ftand together upon the Rialta.

Tub. Antonia is certainly undone.

Shy, Ay, ay, there is fome comfort in that. Go, Tubal, engage an officer. Tell him to be ready: I'll be revenged on Antonio: I'll wash my hands to the elbows in his heart's blood.

Shylock had fent Tubal after his daughter, who had cloped from his houfe. Antonio was a merchant hated by Shylock.

JUBA and SYPHAX.

Jub. SYPHAX, I joy to meet thee thus alone.
I have obferv'd of late thy looks are fall'n,
O'er caft with gloomy cares and difcontent :
Then, tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee, tell me

What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in frowns,
And turn thy eyes thus coldly on thy prince?

Syph. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts,
Or carry fimiles, or funfhine in my face,

When difcontent fits heavy at my heart:
I have not fo much of the Roman in me.

Jub. Why dost thou caft out fuch ungenerous terms,
Against the lords and fovereigns of the world?
Doft not thou fee manking fall down before them,
And own the force of their fuperior virtue ?
Is there a nation in the wilds of Afric,
Amidst our barren rocks and burning fands,
That does not tremble at the Roman name ?

Syph. Gods! Where's the worth that fets this people up Above your own Numidia's tawny fons !

Do they with tougher finews bend the bow?
Or flies the javelin fwifter to its mark,
Lanch'd with the vigor of a Roman arm?
Who like our active African instructs

The fiery steed, and trains him to his hand?
Or guides in troops the embattled elephant,
Laden with war? Thefe, these are arts, my prince
In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome.
Jub. Thefe all are virtues of a meaner rank,
Perfections that are placed in bones and nerves :
A Roman foul is bent on higher views;
To civilize the rude unpolish'd world;
To lay it under the reftraint of laws;
To make man mild, and fociable to man ;
To cultivate the wild licentious favage
With wifdom, difciplin, and liberal arts;
The establishments of life; virtues like thefe
Make human nature fhine, reform the foul,
And break our fierce barbarians into men.

Syph. Patience, juft Heavens !-Excufe an old man's

What are those wondrous civilizing arts,

This Roman polifh, and this fmooth behaviour,
That render man thus tractable and tame?
Are they not only to disguise our paffions,
To fet our looks at variance with our thoughts,
To check the ftarts and fallies of the foul,
And break off all its commerce with the tongue
In fhort to change us into other creatures,
Than what our nature or the gods defign'd us?

warmth.

Jub. To ftrike thee dumb, turn up thy eyes to Cato!

There may'ft thou fee to what a godlike height,
The Roman virtues lift up mortal man.

While good, and juft, and anxious for his friends,
He's still feverely bent against himself;
Renouncing fleep, and reft, and food, and eafe,
He ftrives with thirst and hunger, toil and heat;
And when his fortune fets before him all

The pomp and pleasure which his foul can wish,
His rigid virtue will accept of none.

Syph. Believe me, prince, there's not an African
That traverfes our vaft Numidian defarts
In queft of prey and lives upon his bow
But better practices these boafted virtues;
Coarfe are his meals, the fortune of the chafe,
Amidst the running streams he flakes his thirst,
Toils all the day, and at the approach of night,
On the first friendly bank he throws him down,
Or refts his head upon a rock till morn;
Then rifes fresh, purfues the wonted game,
And if the following day he chance to find
A new repast, or an untasted spring,

Bleffes his ftars, and thinks it luxury.

Jub. Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't difcern

What virtues grow from ignorance, and what from choice, Nor how the hero differs from the brute.

But grant that others could with equal glory

Look down on pleasures and the baits of fenfe;

Where fhall we find the man that bears affliction,
Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato?

Heavens! with what ftrength, what fteadiness of mind,
He triumphs in the midst of all his fufferings?
How does he rise against a load of woes,

him!

And thank the gods that threw the weight upon
Syph. 'Tis pride, rank pride and haughtiness of foul;

I think the Romans call it stoicifm.

Had not your royal father thought fo highly
Of Roman virtue and of Cato's caufe,
He had not fallen by a flave's hand inglorious;
Nor would his flaughtered army now have lain
On Afric's fands, disfigured by their wounds,
To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia

Fub. Why doft thou call my forrows up a fresh
My father's name brings tears into mine eyes.
Syph. Oh, that you'd profit by your father's ills!
Fub. What would't thou have me do ?
Syph. Abandon Cato.

Jub. Syphax, I fhould be more than twice an orphan, By fuch a lofs.

Syph. Ay, there's the tie that binds you!
You long to call him father. Marcia's charms
Work in your heart, unfeen, and plead for Cato.
No wonder you are deaf to all I fay.

Jub. Syphax, your zeal becomes importunate;
I've hitherto permitted it to rave,

And talk at large! but learn to keep it in,
Left it should take more freedom than I'll give it.
Syph. Sir, your great father never used me thus.
Alas! he's dead! but can you e'er forget
The tender forrows and the pangs of nature,
The fond embraces, and repeated bleffings,
Which you drew from him in your laft farewel!
Still mult I cherifl, the dear, fad remembrance,
At once to torture and to please my foul.
The good old king, at parting, wrung my band,
(His eyes brimful of tears) then fighing cry'd ;
Prithee be careful of my fon !His grief
Swell'd up fo high he could not utter more.
Jub. Alas, the ftory melts away my foul!
The best of fathers! how fhall I discharge
The gratitude and duty which I owe him?
Syph. By laying up his counfels in your heart.
Fub. His counfels bade me yield to thy directions:
Then, Syphax, chide me in severest terms;
Vent all thy paffion and I'll ftand its shock,

Calm and unruffled as a fummer's sea,

When not a breath of wind flies o'er its furface.

Syph. Alafs my prince, I'll guide you to your fafety.

Fub. I do believe thou would'it; but tell me how? Syph. Fly from the fate of Cæfar's foes.

Jub. My father fcorn'd to do it.

Syph. And therefore dy'd.

Fub. Better to die ten thousand deaths, Than wound my honor.