Jub. Better to die ten thousand thousand deaths,

Syph. Rather say, your love.

Jub. Syphax, I've promised to preserve my temper;

Syph. Believe me, prince, though hard to conquer love,

Jub. 'Tis not a set of features, or complexion,

Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton in her praise!

Jub. Ha! Syphax, is't not she?—She moves this way;

Syph. Ten thousand curses fasten on them both!

[Exit

Syphax

Marcia

Lucia

Jub. Hail, charming maid! How does thy beauty smooth

Marcia. I should be grieved, young prince, to think my presence

Jub. Oh, Marcia, let me hope thy kind concerns

Marcia. My pray'rs and wishes always shall attend

Jub. That Juba may deserve thy pious cares,

Marcia. My father never, at a time like this,

Jub. Thy reproofs are just,

[Exit

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