SCENE II.

_Near Cirta._

_Cornets sound a charge. Enter_ MASSINISSA _in his gorget_[329] _and shirt, shield, sword; his arm transfix'd with a dart_. JUGURTH _follows, with his cuirass and casque_.

_Mass._ Mount us again; give us another horse!

_Jug._ Uncle, your blood flows fast: pray ye withdraw.

_Mass._ O Jugurth, I cannot bleed too fast, too much, For that so great, so just, so royal Carthage! My wound smarts not, blood's loss makes me not faint, For that loved city. O nephew, let me tell thee, How good that Carthage is: it nourish'd me, And when full time gave me fit strength for love, The most adorèd creature of the city, To us before great Syphax did they yield,-- 10 Fair, noble, modest, and 'bove all, my [own], My Sophonisba! O Jugurth, my strength doubles: I know not how to turn a coward,--drop In feeble baseness I cannot. Give me horse! Know I'm Carthage' very creature, and am grac'd That I may bleed for them. Give me fresh horse!

_Jug._ He that doth public good for multitude, Finds few are truly grateful.

_Mass._ O Jugurth! fie! you must not say so. Jugurth, Some[330] common-weals may let a noble heart 20 Even bleed to death abroad, and not bemoan'd, Neither revenged, at home. But, Carthage, fie! It cannot be ungrate, faithless through fear: It cannot, Jugurth: Sophonisba's there. Beat a fresh charge!

_Enter_ ASDRUBAL, _his sword drawn, reading a letter_; GISCO _follows him_.

_Asd._ Sound the retreat; respect your health, brave prince; The waste of blood throws paleness on your face.

_Mass._ By light, my heart's not pale: O my loved father, We bleed for Carthage; balsam to my wounds, We bleed for Carthage; shall's restore the fight? 30 My squadron of Massulians yet stands firm.

_Asd._ The day looks off from Carthage; cease alarms! A modest temperance is the life of arms. Take our best surgeon Gisco; he is sent From Carthage to attend your chance of war.

_Gis._ We promise sudden ease.

_Mass._ Thy comfort's good.

_Asd._ --That nothing can secure us but thy blood! Infuse it in his wound, 'twill work amain.

_Gis._ --O Jove!

_Asd._ --What Jove? thy god must be thy gain,-- And as for me----Apollo Pythian, 40 Thou know'st a statist[331] must not be a man.

[_Exit_ ASDRUBAL.

_Enter_ GELOSSO _disguised like an old soldier, delivering to_ MASSINISSA (_as he is preparing to be dressed by_ GISCO) _a letter, which_ MASSINISSA _reading, starts, and speaks to_ GISCO.

_Mass._ Forbear; how art thou call'd?

_Gis._ Gisco, my lord.

_Mass._ Um, Gisco. Ha! touch not my arm.--[_To_ GELOSSO.] Most only man!-- [_To_ Gisco.] Sirra, sirra, art poor?

_Gis._ Not poor.

_Mass._ Nephew, command

[MASSINISSA _begins to draw_.

Our troops of horse make indisgraced retreat; Trot easy off.--Not poor!--Jugurth, give charge My soldiers stand in square battalia,

[_Exit_ JUGURTH.

Entirely of themselves.--Gisco, th' art old; 'Tis time to leave off murder; thy faint breath Scarce heaves thy ribs, thy gummy blood-shut eyes 50 Are sunk a great way in thee, thy lank skin Slides from thy fleshless veins: be good to men. Judge him, ye gods: I had not life to kill So base a creature. Hold, Gisco, live; The god-like part of kings is to forgive.

_Gis._ Command astonish'd Gisco.

_Mass._ No, return. Haste unto Carthage, quit thy abject fears, Massinissa knows no use of murderers.

[_Exit_ GISCO.

_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._

[329] Armour for the throat.

[330] I follow the reading of ed. 2.--Ed. 1. gives:-- "Some common weales melt at a noble hart, Too forward bleeds abrode and bleed bemond, But not revengd at home."

[331] Statesman.--The word is used by Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, &c.

[332] So ed. 1.--Ed. 2. "into ruthlesse hell."