The British drama

Aler. Oh heavens! I dare not:

I meet my certain death.

Cleo. Slave, thou deservest it.

Not that I fear my lord will I avoid him;
I know him noble: when he banished me,
And thought me false, he scorned to take my life:
But I'll be justified, and then die with him.

Aler. Oh! pity me, and let me follow you! Cleo. To death, if thou stir hence. Speak, if thou canst,

Now for thy life, which basely thou wouldst save,
While mine I prize at this. Come, good Serapion.
Exeunt Cleo. Ser. Char, and Iras.
Alex. Oh, that I less could fear to lose this
being,

Which, like a snow-ball in my coward hand,
The more 'tis grasped the faster melts away.
Poor reason! what a wretched aid art thou!
For still, in spite of thee,

These two long lovers, soul and body, dread
Their final separation. Let me think;
What can I say to save myself from death?
No matter what becomes of Cleopatra.
Ant. Which way? where?
[Within.
Vent. This leads to the monument. [Within.
Aler. Ah me! I hear him: yet I'm unprepared:
My gift of lying's gone;

And this court-devil, which I so oft have raised,
Forsakes me at my need. I dare not stay,
Yet cannot go far hence.

[Exit.

Ant. They're enough.

We'll not divide our stars, but side by side
Fight emulous, and with malicious eyes
Survey each other's acts: so every
death
Thou givest, I'll take on me as a just debt,
And pay thee back a soul.

Vent. Now you shall see I love you. Not a word

Of chiding more. By my few hours of life,
I am so pleased with this brave Roman fate,
That I would not be Cæsar to outlive you!
When we put off this flesh, and mount together,
I shall be shewn to all the ethereal crowd,
Lo! this is he, who died with Antony!'

Ant. Who knows but we may pierce through all their troops,

And reach my veterans yet? 'Tis worth the tempting

To o'erleap this gulf of fate,

And leave our wandering destinies behind.
Enter ALEXAS, trembling.

Vent. See, see that villain!

See Cleopatra stamped upon that face,
With all her cunning, all her arts of falsehood!
How she looks out through those dissembling
eyes!

How he has set his countenance for deceit,
And promises a lie before he speaks!
Let me dispatch him first.

Alex. Oh, spare me, spare me!

[Drawing.

Ant. Hold; he's not worth your killing. On thy life,

(Which thou mayest keep, because I scorn to take it)

No syllable to justify thy queen;
Save thy base tongue its office.
Alex. Sir, she's gone

Where she shall never be molested more,
By love or you.

Ant Fled to her Dolabella!
Die, traitor! I revoke my promise;

die!
[Going to kill him.
Alex. Oh, hold; she is not fled.
Ant. She is; my eyes

Are open to her falsehood. My whole life
Has been a golden dream of love and friendship;
But now I wake, I'm like a merchant roused
From soft repose, to see his vessel sinking
And all his wealth cast o'er. Ungrateful woman!
Who followed me but as the swallow summer,
Hatching her young ones in my kindly beams,
Singing her flatteries to my morning wake;
But now my winter comes, she spreads her wings,
And seeks the spring of Cæsar.

Alex. Think not so;

Her fortunes have in all things mixed with yours:
Had she betrayed her naval force to Rome,
How easily might she have gone to Cæsar;
Secure by such a bribe?

Vent. She sent it first,
To be more welcome after.

Aler. She snatched her poniard,
And, ere we could prevent the fatal blow,
Plunged it within her breast; then turned to me;
Go, bear my lord,' said she, 'my last farewell,
And ask him if he yet suspect my faith.'
More she was saying, but death rushed betwixt.
She half pronounced your name with her last
breath,

And buried half within her.

Vent. Heaven be praised!

Ant. Why, let him enter:
He's welcome now.

Vent. What lethargy has crept into your soul?
Ant. 'Tis but a scorn of life, and just desire
To free myself from bondage.
Vent. Do it bravely.

Ant. I will, but not by fighting. Oh, Venti-
dius,

What should I fight for now? my queen is dead:
I was but great for her: my power, my empire,
Were but my merchandise to buy her love,
And conquered kings my factors. Now she's
dead,

Let Cæsar take the world

An empty circle, since the jewel's gone,
Which made it worth my strife: my being's nau-

seous,

For all the bribes of life are gone away.

Vent. Would you be taken?
Ant. Yes, I would be taken;

But as a Roman ought; dead, my Ventidius-
For I'll convey my soul from Cæsar's reach,
And lay down life myself. 'Tis time the world

Ant. Then art thou innocent, my poor dear Should have a lord, and know, whom to obey. love!

And art thou dead?

We two have kept its homage in suspense,
And bent the globe, on whose each side we trod,

Oh, those two words! their sound should be di- Till it was dinted inwards. Let him walk

vided.

Hadst thou been false and died, or hadst thou lived

Alone upon it: I'm weary of my part.
My torch is out, and the world stands before me,
Like a black desert at the approach of night:
I'll lay me down and stray no farther on.
Vent. I could be grieved,

And hadst been true-But innocence and death!
This shows not well above. Then what am I?
The murderer of this truth, this innocence! But that I'll not outlive you. Chuse your death,
Thoughts cannot form themselves in words so For I have seen him in such various shapes,

horrid

As can express my guilt!

I care not which I take: I'm only troubled
The life I bear is worn to such a rag,

Vent. Is it come to this? The gods have been 'Tis scarce worth giving. I could wish indeed

We threw it from us with a better grace,
That, like two lions taken in the toils,

We might at least thrust out our paws, and wound
The hunters, that enclose us.

Ant. I have thought on it;

Ventidius, you must live.

Vent. I must not, sir.

Ant. Wilt thou not live to speak some good

of me?

To stand by my fair fame, and guard the approaches

From the ill tongues of men?

Vent. Who shall guard mine
For living after you?

Ant. Say, I command it.

Vent. If we die well, our deaths will speak themselves,

And need no living witness.

Ant. Thou hast loved me,

And fain I would reward thee. I must die;
Kill me, and take the merit of my death,
To make thee friends with Cæsar.

Vent. Thank your kindness!
You said I loved you, and in recompense
You bid me turn a traitor! Did I think

Vent. I do indeed;

But think, 'tis the first time I e'er deceived you,
If that may plead my pardon. And you, gods!
Forgive me, if you will; for I die perjured,
Rather than kill my friend.
[Dies.
Ant. Farewell! ever my leader, even in
death!

My queen and thou have got the start of me,
And I'm the lag of honour.-Gone so soon!
Is death no more! He used him carelessly,
With a familiar kindness; ere he knocked,
Ran to the door, and took him in his arms,
As who should say, you're welcome at all hours,
A friend need give no warning-Books had spoil-
ed him,

For all the learned are cowards by profession.
'Tis not worth

My further thought; for death, for aught I know, Is but to think no more. Here's to be satisfied. [Falls on his sword. I have missed my heart-Oh, unperforming hand!

Thou never couldst have erred in a worse time.
My fortune jades me to the last; and death,
Like a great man, takes state, and makes me wait
For my admittance- [Trampling within.
Some, perhaps, from Cæsar!

If he should find me living, and suspect,
That I played booty with my life! I'll mend
My work ere they can reach me.

[Rises upon his knees.

Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, and IRAS.
Cleo. Where is my lord? where is he?

Or am I dead before I knew, and thou The first kind ghost, that meets me?

Cleo. Help me seat him!

Send quickly, send for help!

[They place him in a chair.

Ant. I am answered:
We live both. Sit thee down, my Cleopatra !
I'll make the most I can of life, to stay
A moment more with thee.

Cleo. How is it with you?
Ant. "Tis, as with a man

Removing in a hurry; all packed up
But one dear jewel, that his haste forgot,
And he for that returns upon the spur;
So I come back for thee.

Cleo. Too long, ye heavens! you have been
cruel to me
e!

Oh, now be kind, and give me back
His fleeting life!

Ant. It will not be, my love!
I keep my soul by force."
Say but thou art not false !

Cleo. "Tis now too late

Doubt not, my life! I'll come, and quickly too! Cæsar shall triumph o'er no part of thee.

Ant. But grieve not, while thou stayest, My last disastrous times! Think we have had a clear and glorious day, And heaven did kindly to delay the storm, Just till our close of evening. Ten years love, And not a moment lost, but all improved To the utmost joys! What ages have we lived! And now to die each other's! and so dying, While hand in hand we walk in groves below, Whole troops of lovers' ghosts shall flock about us, And all the train be ours.

Cleo. Your words are like the notes of dying

Cleo. Oh, tell me so again!

And take ten thousand kisses for that word

My lord! my lord! speak, if you yet have bimy being!

Sign to me if you cannot speak! or cast

One look! do any thing, that shows you live!
Iras. He is gone too far to hear you,
And this, you see, a lump of senseless clay,
The leavings of a soul.

Char. Remember, madam,

He charged you not to grieve.
Cleo. And I'll obey him.

I have not loved a Roman not to know

What should become his wife-his wife, my These ensigns of your pomp and royalty?

Charmion!

Cleo. Let him be so

To those, that want his mercy: My poor lord
Made no such covenant with him to spare me,
When he was dead. Yield me to Cæsar's pride!
What! to be led in triumph through the streets,
A spectacle to base plebeian eyes,
While some dejected friend of Antony's,
Close in a corner, shakes his head, and mutters
A secret curse on her, who ruined him!
I'll none of that.

Char. Whatever you resolve,

I'll follow, even to death.

Iras. I only feared

For you, but more should fear to live without you.

Cleo. Why, now, 'tis as it should be. Quick, my friends,

Dispatch! ere this the town's in Cæsar's hands: My lord looks down concerned, and fears my stay,

Lest I should be surprised:

Keep him not waiting for his love too long.
You, Charmion, bring my crown and richest
jewels;

With them the wreath of victory I made
(Vain augury!) for him, who now lies dead:
You, Iras, bring the cure of all our ills.

Iras. The aspicks, madam?
Cleo. Must I bid you twice?

[Ex. Char. and Iras.

'Tis sweet to die, when they would force life on

me,

To rush into the dark abode of death
And seize him first! If he be like my love,
He is not frightful sure!

We are now alone, in secrecy and silence,
And is not this like lovers? I may kiss

These pale cold lips-Octavia does not see me ;

Cleo. Dull, that thou art! why, 'tis to meet my love,

As when I saw him first on Cydno's bank,
All sparkling like a goddess; so adorned,
I'll find him once again; my second spousals
Shall match my first in glory. Haste, haste, both,
And dress the bride of Antony!

Char. 'Tis done.

Cleo. Now set me by my lord; I claim this place,

For I must conquer Cæsar, too, like him, And win my share of the world. Hail, you dear relicks

Of my immortal love!

Oh, let no impious hand remove you hence,
But rest for ever here! let Egypt give
His death that peace, which it denied his life!
Reach me the casket.

Iras. Underneath the fruit the aspick lies.
Cleo. Welcome, thou kind deceiver!

[Putting aside the leaves.
Thou best of thieves! who with an easy key
Dost open life, and, unperceived by us,
Even steals us from ourselves, discharging so
Death's dreadful office better than himself,
Touching our limbs so gently into slumber,
That Death stands by, deceived by his own image,
And thinks himself but sleep.

[Within.

Ser. The queen, where is she? The town is yielded, Cæsar's at the gates. Cleo. He comes too late to invade the rights

Cleo. Already, death, I feel thee in my
veins;

I go with such a will to find my lord,
That we shall quickly meet.

A heavy numbness creeps through every limb,
And now 'tis at my head: my eyelids fall,
And my dear love is vanished in a mist!
Where shall I find him, where? oh! turn me to
him,

And lay me on his breast!-Cæsar, thy worst!
Now part us if thou canst.
[Dies.
[Iras sinks down at her feet and dies, Charmion
stands behind her chair as dressing her head.
Enter SERAPION, two Priests, ALEXAS, bound,
and Egyptians.

Char. Yes, 'tis well done, and like a queen,
1 the last

Of her great race. I follow her. [Sinks down. Dies.
Alex. 'Tis true,

She has done well: much better thus to die,
Than live to make a holiday in Rome.

Ser. See how the lovers lie in state together,
As they were giving laws to half mankind!
The impression of a smile, left in her face,
Shows she died pleased with him, for whom she
lived,

And went to charm him in another world.
Cæsar's just entering; grief has now no leisure.
Secure that villain, as our pledge of safety,
To grace the imperial triumph. Sleep, blest
pair!
Secure from human chance, long ages out,

2 Priest. Behold, Serapion, what havoc death While all the storms of fate fly o'er your tomb:

has made!

Ser. "Twas what I feared.

Charmion, is this well done?

And fame to late posterity shall tell,
No lovers lived so great, or died so well.
[Exeunt omnes.

« Anterior Continuar »

Libros

The British drama, Volumen1