Cato has piercing eyes, and will discern Our frauds, unless they're cover'd thick with art. Sem. Let me alone, good Syphax, I'll conceal My thoughts in passion ('tis the surest way); I'll bellow out for Rome, and for my country, And mouth at Cæsar, till I shake the senate. Your cold hypocrisy's a stale device, A worn-out trick: wouldst thou be thought in earnest, Clothe thy feign'd zeal in rage, in fire, in fury! Syph. In troth, thou'rt able to instruct grey hairs, And teach the wily African deceit.
