And left me scarce a grasp; I thank your love for't. Vent. Well pushed: that last was home. Ant. If I have urged a falsehood, yes; else not. You called; my love obeyed the fatal summons: Vent. What haste she made to hoist her purple sails! And to appear magnificent in flight, Ant. All this you caused: And would you multiply more ruins on me? To seize them too. If you have aught to answer, Alex. She stands confounded: Despair is in her eyes. [Aside. Vent. Now lay a sigh in the way to stop his passage; Prepare a tear, and bid it for his legions: 'Tis like they shall be sold. Cleo. How shall I plead my cause, when you, Already have condemned me? Shall I bring That you would pry with narrow searching eyes For I end here. Though I deserve this usage, Ant. Oh, you wrong me, To think I sought this parting, or desired Cleo. Thus low I thank you, Vent. After this, I think she'll blush at nothing. Cleo. You seem grieved (And therein you are kind) that Cæsar first Vent. Oh, siren! siren! Yet grant that all the love she boasts were true, Cleo. The consequence indeed, Yes; but he'll say you left Octavia for me: Cleo. Ev'n there I dare his malice. True, I counselled To fight at sea; but I betrayed you not: Who envy me your love. Ant. We are both unhappy: If nothing else, yet our ill fortune parts us. Speak! would you have me perish by my stay? Cleo. If, as a friend, you ask my judgment, go; If, as a lover, stay. If you must perish'Tis a hard word-but stay. Vent. See now the effects of her so boasted love! She strives to drag you down to ruin with her; But could she 'scape without you, oh, how soon Would she let go her hold, and haste to shore, And never look behind! Cleo. Then judge my love by this. [Giving Antony a writing. Could I have borne A life or death, a happiness or woe, Ant. By Hercules the writing of Octavius! I know it well: 'tis that proscribing hand, Young as it was, that led the way to mine, And left me but the second place in murderSee, see, Ventidius ! here he offers Egypt, And joins all Syria to it as a present, Cleo. And yet you leave me! You leave me, Antony; and yet I love you! For I could part with life, with any thing, Ant. Next living with you 'Tis all, that heaven can give. Alex. He melts; we conquer. [Aside. Cleo. No, you shall go; your interest call you Yes, your dear interest pulls to strong for these SCENE I. Ant. What is it, Ventidius? it outweighs them all. Why, we have more than conquered Cæsar now; Would she let slip her hold, and make to shore, Down on thy knees, blasphemer as thou art, Ant. Go! whither? go from all that's excel- Faith, honour, virtue, all good things, forbid This rattle of a globe to play withal, Cleo. She's wholly yours. My heart's so full That I shall do some wild extravagance Have not such power of doing good to man [Exit. Ant. Our men are armed: For all the pleasures I have known beat thick ACT III, Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, IRAS, ALEXAS, and a train of Egyptians, ANTONY and Romans; CLEOPATRA Crowns ANTONY. Ant. I THOUGHT how those white arms would fold me in, And strain me close and melt me into love : Ant: My brighter Venus! Ant. Thou joinest us well, my love. So pleased with that sweet image I sprung for-In thy embraces I would be beheld wards, And added all my strength to every blow. Cleo. Come to me, come, my soldier, to my You have been too long away from my embraces; By heaven and earth at once, And make their envy what they meant their sport, Let those, who took us, blush; I would love on, There's no satiety of love in thee; And blossoms rise to fill its empty place, Enter VENTIDIUS, and stands apart. comes; He joins not in your joys, nor minds your triumphs, But with contracted brows looks frowning on, As envying your success. Ant. Now, on my soul, he loves me, truly loves me; He never flattered me in any vice, But awes me with his virtue: even this minute, Methinks, he has a right of chiding me. Lead to the temple; I'll avoid his presence; It checks too strong upon me. [Exeunt the rest. [As Antony is going, Ventidius pulls him by the robe. For foreign aids, to hunt my memory, Yet I have one, the bravest youth of Rome, Just such a one we want. Ant. He loved me too; I was his soul; he lived not but in me : Vent. He moves as I would wish him. [Aside. I need not tell his name: 'twas Dolabella. Ant. No matter where, Since he is no longer mine. He took unkindly, her, Else he had staid; but he perceived you jealous, And would not grieve his friend. I know he loves you. Ant. I should have seen him, then, ere now. He has thus long been labouring for your peace. Vent. Would you believe he loved you? I read your answer in your eyes, you would, A messenger from Cæsar's camp with letters. Vent. I'll bring him instantly. [Exit Ventidius, and re-enters immediately with Dolabella. If the young bridegroom, longing for his night, Was ever half so fond! Dol. I must be silent, for my soul is busy About a nobler work. She's new come home, Like a long absent man, and wanders o'er Each room, a stranger to her own, to look If all be safe. Ant. Thou hast what's left of me, For I am now so sunk from what I was, Thou findest me at my lowest watermark : The rivers, that ran in, and raised my fortunes, Are all dried up, or take another course : What I have left is from my native spring; I have still a heart, that swells, in scorn of fate, And lifts me to my banks. Dol. Still you are lord of all the world to me. Ant. Why then, I yet am so, for thou art all! If I had any joy, when thou wert absent, I grudged it to myself; methought I robbed Thee of thy part. But oh, my Dolabella! Thou hast beheld me other than I amHast thou not seen my morning chambers filled With sceptered slaves, who waited to salute me? With eastern monarchs, who forgot the sun, To worship my uprising? Menial kings Ran coursing up and down my palace-yard, Stood silenced in my presence, watched my eyes, And, at my least command, all started out, Like racers to the goal. Dol. Slaves to your fortune. Ant. Fortune is Cæsar's now; and what am I? Vent. What you have made yourself: I will not flatter. Ant. Is this friendly done? Dol. Yes, when his end is so: I must join with Indeed I must, and yet you must not chide: Ant. Take heed, young man, How thou upbraidest my love! the queen has eyes, And thou too hast a soul! Canst thou remember When, swelled with hatred, thou beheldest her first, As accessary to thy brother's death? Ant. Oh, you must! She lay, and leant her cheek upon her hand, Stood fanning with their painted wings the winds, For she so charmed all hearts, that gazing crowds Then, Dolabella, where was then thy soul? Dol. And should my weakness be a plea for Mine was an age, when love might be excused,. When kindly warmth, and when my springing youth Made it a debt to nature: yours Vent. Speak boldly : Yours, he would say, in your declining age, When no more heat was left but what you forced, When all the sap was needful for the trunk, When it went down, then they constrained the Ant. Oh, ye gods! Dol. Spare my remembrance! 'twas a guilty Have I then lived to be excused to Cæsar! day, And still the blush hangs here. Ant. To clear herself For sending him no aid, she came from Egypt. Where she, another sea-born Venus, lay. Dol. As to your equal. Ant. Well, he's but my equal: While I wear this, he never shall be more. Methinks thou shouldst not bring them else; yet he Is full of deep dissembling, knows no honour Vent. Then, granting this, What power was theirs, who wrought so hard a temper To honourable terms? Ant. It was my Dolabella, or some god. that man, Show me Oct. That's unkind! Had I been nothing more than Cæsar's sister, In spite of Cæsar's sister, still is yours. 'Tis true, I have a heart disdains your coldness, And prompts ine not to seek what you should offer; Who has preserved my life, my love, my honour; But a wife's virtue still surmounts that pride: Let me but see his face! Ant. But she shall do it. The queen, my labella! Do Hast thou not still some grudgings of thy fever? Leave me my better stars, for she has truth Ant. Where Octavia there! [Starting back. Dol. For shame, my lord, if not for love, re ceive them With kinder eyes. If you confess a man, Your arms should open, even without your know- To clasp them in; your feet should turn to To bear you to them; and your eyes dart out, Vent. I sent for them; I brought them in, un- To Cleopatra's guards. Dol. Yet are you cold? Oct. Thus long have I attended for my wel come, Which, as a stranger, sure I might expect, Ant. Cæsar's sister. VOL. I. I come to claim you as my own, to show And so she does. She's neither too submissive, Ant. Yes, begged it, my ambassadress; Ant. Shall I, who to my kneeling slave could Subjects me still to your unkind mistakes: He shall draw back his troops, and you shall To rule the east. I may be dropt at Athens; U |