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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of All for Love, by John Dryden
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: All for Love
+
+Author: John Dryden
+
+Posting Date: January 29, 2009 [EBook #2062]
+Release Date: February, 2000
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALL FOR LOVE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Gary R. Young
+
+
+
+
+
+
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+
+
+Comments on the preparation of this e-text
+
+SQUARE BRACKETS:
+
+The square brackets, i.e. [ ] are copied from the printed book,
+without change, except that a closing bracket "]" has been added
+to the stage directions.
+
+CHANGES TO THE TEXT:
+
+Character names have been expanded.  For Example, CLEOPATRA was
+CLEO.
+
+Three words in the preface were written in Greek Characters.
+These have been transliterated into Roman characters, and are
+set off by angle brackets, for example, <melichroos>.
+
+
+
+All for Love
+
+
+by
+
+John Dryden
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTORY NOTE
+
+The age of Elizabeth, memorable for so many reasons in the
+history of England, was especially brilliant in literature,
+and, within literature, in the drama.  With some falling off
+in spontaneity, the impulse to great dramatic production lasted
+till the Long Parliament closed the theaters in 1642; and when
+they were reopened at the Restoration, in 1660, the stage only
+too faithfully reflected the debased moral tone of the court
+society of Charles II.
+
+John Dryden (1631-1700), the great representative figure in
+the literature of the latter part of the seventeenth century,
+exemplifies in his work most of the main tendencies of the time.
+He came into notice with a poem on the death of Cromwell in 1658,
+and two years later was composing couplets expressing his loyalty
+to the returned king.  He married Lady Elizabeth Howard, the
+daughter of a royalist house, and for practically all the rest of
+his life remained an adherent of the Tory Party.  In 1663 he
+began writing for the stage, and during the next thirty years
+he attempted nearly all the current forms of drama.  His "Annus
+Mirabilis" (1666), celebrating the English naval victories over
+the Dutch, brought him in 1670 the Poet Laureateship.  He had,
+meantime, begun the writing of those admirable critical essays,
+represented in the present series by his Preface to the "Fables"
+and his Dedication to the translation of Virgil.  In these he
+shows himself not only a critic of sound and penetrating
+judgment, but the first master of modern English prose style.
+
+With "Absalom and Achitophel," a satire on the Whig leader,
+Shaftesbury, Dryden entered a new phase, and achieved what
+is regarded as "the finest of all political satires."  This
+was followed by "The Medal," again directed against the Whigs,
+and this by "Mac Flecknoe," a fierce attack on his enemy and
+rival Shadwell.  The Government rewarded his services by
+a lucrative appointment.
+
+After triumphing in the three fields of drama, criticism,
+and satire, Dryden appears next as a religious poet in his
+"Religio Laici," an exposition of the doctrines of the Church
+of England from a layman's point of view.  In the same year
+that the Catholic James II. ascended the throne, Dryden joined
+the Roman Church, and two years later defended his new religion
+in "The Hind and the Panther," an allegorical debate between two
+animals standing respectively for Catholicism and Anglicanism.
+
+The Revolution of 1688 put an end to Dryden's prosperity; and
+after a short return to dramatic composition, he turned to
+translation as a means of supporting himself.  He had already
+done something in this line; and after a series of translations
+from Juvenal, Persius, and Ovid, he undertook, at the age of
+sixty-three, the enormous task of turning the entire works of
+Virgil into English verse.  How he succeeded in this, readers of
+the "Aeneid" in a companion volume of these classics can judge
+for themselves.  Dryden's production closes with the collection
+of narrative poems called "Fables," published in 1700, in which
+year he died and was buried in the Poet's Corner in Westminster
+Abbey.
+
+Dryden lived in an age of reaction against excessive religious
+idealism, and both his character and his works are marked by
+the somewhat unheroic traits of such a period.  But he was,
+on the whole, an honest man, open minded, genial, candid, and
+modest; the wielder of a style, both in verse and prose,
+unmatched for clearness, vigor, and sanity.
+
+Three types of comedy appeared in England in the time of Dryden--the
+comedy of humors, the comedy of intrigue, and the comedy of
+manners--and in all he did work that classed him with the
+ablest of his contemporaries.  He developed the somewhat
+bombastic type of drama known as the heroic play, and brought
+it to its height in his "Conquest of Granada"; then, becoming
+dissatisfied with this form, he cultivated the French classic
+tragedy on the model of Racine.  This he modified by combining
+with the regularity of the French treatment of dramatic action
+a richness of characterization in which he showed himself
+a disciple of Shakespeare, and of this mixed type his best
+example is "All for Love."  Here he has the daring to challenge
+comparison with his master, and the greatest testimony to his
+achievement is the fact that, as Professor Noyes has said,
+"fresh from Shakespeare's 'Antony and Cleopatra,' we can still
+read with intense pleasure Dryden's version of the story."
+
+
+DEDICATION
+
+To the Right Honourable, Thomas, Earl of Danby, Viscount Latimer,
+and Baron Osborne of Kiveton, in Yorkshire; Lord High Treasurer
+of England, one of His Majesty's Most Honourable Privy Council,
+and Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Garter.
+
+My Lord,
+
+The gratitude of poets is so troublesome a virtue to great men,
+that you are often in danger of your own benefits:  for you are
+threatened with some epistle, and not suffered to do good in
+quiet, or to compound for their silence whom you have obliged.
+Yet, I confess, I neither am or ought to be surprised at this
+indulgence; for your lordship has the same right to favour
+poetry, which the great and noble have ever had--
+
+     Carmen amat, quisquis carmine digna gerit.
+
+There is somewhat of a tie in nature betwixt those who are born
+for worthy actions, and those who can transmit them to posterity;
+and though ours be much the inferior part, it comes at least
+within the verge of alliance; nor are we unprofitable members
+of the commonwealth, when we animate others to those virtues,
+which we copy and describe from you.
+
+It is indeed their interest, who endeavour the subversion of
+governments, to discourage poets and historians; for the best
+which can happen to them, is to be forgotten.  But such who,
+under kings, are the fathers of their country, and by a just and
+prudent ordering of affairs preserve it, have the same reason
+to cherish the chroniclers of their actions, as they have to lay
+up in safety the deeds and evidences of their estates; for such
+records are their undoubted titles to the love and reverence of
+after ages.  Your lordship's administration has already taken up
+a considerable part of the English annals; and many of its most
+happy years are owing to it.  His Majesty, the most knowing judge
+of men, and the best master, has acknowledged the ease and
+benefit he receives in the incomes of his treasury, which you
+found not only disordered, but exhausted.  All things were in the
+confusion of a chaos, without form or method, if not reduced
+beyond it, even to annihilation; so that you had not only
+to separate the jarring elements, but (if that boldness of
+expression might be allowed me) to create them.  Your enemies
+had so embroiled the management of your office, that they looked
+on your advancement as the instrument of your ruin.  And as if
+the clogging of the revenue, and the confusion of accounts, which
+you found in your entrance, were not sufficient, they added their
+own weight of malice to the public calamity, by forestalling the
+credit which should cure it.  Your friends on the other side were
+only capable of pitying, but not of aiding you; no further help
+or counsel was remaining to you, but what was founded on
+yourself; and that indeed was your security; for your diligence,
+your constancy, and your prudence, wrought most surely within,
+when they were not disturbed by any outward motion.  The highest
+virtue is best to be trusted with itself; for assistance only can
+be given by a genius superior to that which it assists; and it is
+the noblest kind of debt, when we are only obliged to God and
+nature.  This then, my lord, is your just commendation, and that
+you have wrought out yourself a way to glory, by those very means
+that were designed for your destruction:  You have not only
+restored but advanced the revenues of your master, without
+grievance to the subject; and, as if that were little yet,
+the debts of the exchequer, which lay heaviest both on the crown,
+and on private persons, have by your conduct been established
+in a certainty of satisfaction.  An action so much the more great
+and honourable, because the case was without the ordinary relief
+of laws; above the hopes of the afflicted and beyond the
+narrowness of the treasury to redress, had it been managed by a
+less able hand.  It is certainly the happiest, and most unenvied
+part of all your fortune, to do good to many, while you do injury
+to none; to receive at once the prayers of the subject, and the
+praises of the prince; and, by the care of your conduct, to give
+him means of exerting the chiefest (if any be the chiefest)
+of his royal virtues, his distributive justice to the deserving,
+and his bounty and compassion to the wanting.  The disposition
+of princes towards their people cannot be better discovered than
+in the choice of their ministers; who, like the animal spirits
+betwixt the soul and body, participate somewhat of both natures,
+and make the communication which is betwixt them.  A king, who is
+just and moderate in his nature, who rules according to the laws,
+whom God has made happy by forming the temper of his soul to the
+constitution of his government, and who makes us happy, by
+assuming over us no other sovereignty than that wherein our
+welfare and liberty consists; a prince, I say, of so excellent
+a character, and so suitable to the wishes of all good men, could
+not better have conveyed himself into his people's apprehensions,
+than in your lordship's person; who so lively express the same
+virtues, that you seem not so much a copy, as an emanation of
+him.  Moderation is doubtless an establishment of greatness; but
+there is a steadiness of temper which is likewise requisite in a
+minister of state; so equal a mixture of both virtues, that he
+may stand like an isthmus betwixt the two encroaching seas of
+arbitrary power, and lawless anarchy.  The undertaking would be
+difficult to any but an extraordinary genius, to stand at the
+line, and to divide the limits; to pay what is due to the great
+representative of the nation, and neither to enhance, nor to
+yield up, the undoubted prerogatives of the crown.  These, my
+lord, are the proper virtues of a noble Englishman, as indeed
+they are properly English virtues; no people in the world being
+capable of using them, but we who have the happiness to be born
+under so equal, and so well-poised a government;--a government
+which has all the advantages of liberty beyond a commonwealth,
+and all the marks of kingly sovereignty, without the danger of
+a tyranny.  Both my nature, as I am an Englishman, and my reason,
+as I am a man, have bred in me a loathing to that specious name
+of a republic; that mock appearance of a liberty, where all who
+have not part in the government, are slaves; and slaves they are
+of a viler note, than such as are subjects to an absolute
+dominion.  For no Christian monarchy is so absolute, but it is
+circumscribed with laws; but when the executive power is in the
+law-makers, there is no further check upon them; and the people
+must suffer without a remedy, because they are oppressed by their
+representatives.  If I must serve, the number of my masters, who
+were born my equals, would but add to the ignominy of my bondage.
+The nature of our government, above all others, is exactly suited
+both to the situation of our country, and the temper of the
+natives; an island being more proper for commerce and for
+defence, than for extending its dominions on the Continent; for
+what the valour of its inhabitants might gain, by reason of its
+remoteness, and the casualties of the seas, it could not so
+easily preserve:  And, therefore, neither the arbitrary power of
+One, in a monarchy, nor of Many, in a commonwealth, could make us
+greater than we are.  It is true, that vaster and more frequent
+taxes might be gathered, when the consent of the people was not
+asked or needed; but this were only by conquering abroad, to be
+poor at home; and the examples of our neighbours teach us, that
+they are not always the happiest subjects, whose kings extend
+their dominions farthest.  Since therefore we cannot win by an
+offensive war, at least, a land war, the model of our government
+seems naturally contrived for the defensive part; and the consent
+of a people is easily obtained to contribute to that power which
+must protect it.  Felices nimium, bona si sua norint, Angligenae!
+And yet there are not wanting malcontents among us, who,
+surfeiting themselves on too much happiness, would persuade the
+people that they might be happier by a change.  It was indeed the
+policy of their old forefather, when himself was fallen from the
+station of glory, to seduce mankind into the same rebellion with
+him, by telling him he might yet be freer than he was; that is
+more free than his nature would allow, or, if I may so say, than
+God could make him.  We have already all the liberty which
+freeborn subjects can enjoy, and all beyond it is but licence.
+But if it be liberty of conscience which they pretend, the
+moderation of our church is such, that its practice extends not
+to the severity of persecution; and its discipline is withal so
+easy, that it allows more freedom to dissenters than any of the
+sects would allow to it.  In the meantime, what right can be
+pretended by these men to attempt innovation in church or state?
+Who made them the trustees, or to speak a little nearer their own
+language, the keepers of the liberty of England?  If their call
+be extraordinary, let them convince us by working miracles; for
+ordinary vocation they can have none, to disturb the government
+under which they were born, and which protects them.  He who has
+often changed his party, and always has made his interest the
+rule of it, gives little evidence of his sincerity for the public
+good; it is manifest he changes but for himself, and takes the
+people for tools to work his fortune.  Yet the experience of all
+ages might let him know, that they who trouble the waters first,
+have seldom the benefit of the fishing; as they who began the
+late rebellion enjoyed not the fruit of their undertaking,
+but were crushed themselves by the usurpation of their own
+instrument.  Neither is it enough for them to answer, that
+they only intend a reformation of the government, but not the
+subversion of it:  on such pretence all insurrections have been
+founded; it is striking at the root of power, which is obedience.
+Every remonstrance of private men has the seed of treason in it;
+and discourses, which are couched in ambiguous terms, are
+therefore the more dangerous, because they do all the mischief
+of open sedition, yet are safe from the punishment of the laws.
+These, my lord, are considerations, which I should not pass so
+lightly over, had I room to manage them as they deserve; for no
+man can be so inconsiderable in a nation, as not to have a share
+in the welfare of it; and if he be a true Englishman, he must at
+the same time be fired with indignation, and revenge himself as
+he can on the disturbers of his country.  And to whom could I
+more fitly apply myself than to your lordship, who have not only
+an inborn, but an hereditary loyalty?  The memorable constancy
+and sufferings of your father, almost to the ruin of his estate,
+for the royal cause, were an earnest of that which such a parent
+and such an institution would produce in the person of a son.
+But so unhappy an occasion of manifesting your own zeal, in
+suffering for his present majesty, the providence of God, and
+the prudence of your administration, will, I hope, prevent; that,
+as your father's fortune waited on the unhappiness of his
+sovereign, so your own may participate of the better fate which
+attends his son.  The relation which you have by alliance to the
+noble family of your lady, serves to confirm to you both this
+happy augury.  For what can deserve a greater place in the
+English chronicle, than the loyalty and courage, the actions and
+death, of the general of an army, fighting for his prince and
+country?  The honour and gallantry of the Earl of Lindsey is so
+illustrious a subject, that it is fit to adorn an heroic poem;
+for he was the protomartyr of the cause, and the type of his
+unfortunate royal master.
+
+Yet after all, my lord, if I may speak my thoughts, you are happy
+rather to us than to yourself; for the multiplicity, the cares,
+and the vexations of your employment, have betrayed you from
+yourself, and given you up into the possession of the public.
+You are robbed of your privacy and friends, and scarce any hour
+of your life you can call your own.  Those, who envy your
+fortune, if they wanted not good-nature, might more justly pity
+it; and when they see you watched by a crowd of suitors, whose
+importunity it is impossible to avoid, would conclude, with
+reason, that you have lost much more in true content, than you
+have gained by dignity; and that a private gentleman is better
+attended by a single servant, than your lordship with so
+clamorous a train.  Pardon me, my lord, if I speak like a
+philosopher on this subject; the fortune which makes a man
+uneasy, cannot make him happy; and a wise man must think himself
+uneasy, when few of his actions are in his choice.
+
+This last consideration has brought me to another, and a very
+seasonable one for your relief; which is, that while I pity your
+want of leisure, I have impertinently detained you so long a
+time.  I have put off my own business, which was my dedication,
+till it is so late, that I am now ashamed to begin it; and
+therefore I will say nothing of the poem, which I present to you,
+because I know not if you are like to have an hour, which, with a
+good conscience, you may throw away in perusing it; and for the
+author, I have only to beg the continuance of your protection to
+him, who is,
+
+     My Lord,
+          Your Lordship's most obliged,
+               Most humble, and
+                    Most obedient, servant,
+                                   John Dryden.
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+The death of Antony and Cleopatra is a subject which has been treated
+by the greatest wits of our nation, after Shakespeare; and by all so
+variously, that their example has given me the confidence to try
+myself in this bow of Ulysses amongst the crowd of suitors, and,
+withal, to take my own measures, in aiming at the mark.  I doubt not
+but the same motive has prevailed with all of us in this attempt;
+I mean the excellency of the moral:  For the chief persons
+represented were famous patterns of unlawful love; and their end
+accordingly was unfortunate.  All reasonable men have long since
+concluded, that the hero of the poem ought not to be a character of
+perfect virtue, for then he could not, without injustice, be made
+unhappy; nor yet altogether wicked, because he could not then be
+pitied.  I have therefore steered the middle course; and have drawn
+the character of Antony as favourably as Plutarch, Appian, and Dion
+Cassius would give me leave; the like I have observed in Cleopatra.
+That which is wanting to work up the pity to a greater height, was
+not afforded me by the story; for the crimes of love, which they both
+committed, were not occasioned by any necessity, or fatal ignorance,
+but were wholly voluntary; since our passions are, or ought to be,
+within our power.  The fabric of the play is regular enough, as to
+the inferior parts of it; and the unities of time, place, and action,
+more exactly observed, than perhaps the English theatre requires.
+Particularly, the action is so much one, that it is the only one of
+the kind without episode, or underplot; every scene in the tragedy
+conducing to the main design, and every act concluding with a turn
+of it.  The greatest error in the contrivance seems to be in the
+person of Octavia; for, though I might use the privilege of a poet,
+to introduce her into Alexandria, yet I had not enough considered,
+that the compassion she moved to herself and children was destructive
+to that which I reserved for Antony and Cleopatra; whose mutual love
+being founded upon vice, must lessen the favour of the audience to
+them, when virtue and innocence were oppressed by it.  And, though
+I justified Antony in some measure, by making Octavia's departure to
+proceed wholly from herself; yet the force of the first machine still
+remained; and the dividing of pity, like the cutting of a river into
+many channels, abated the strength of the natural stream.  But this
+is an objection which none of my critics have urged against me; and
+therefore I might have let it pass, if I could have resolved to have
+been partial to myself.  The faults my enemies have found are rather
+cavils concerning little and not essential decencies; which a master
+of the ceremonies may decide betwixt us.  The French poets,
+I confess, are strict observers of these punctilios:  They would not,
+for example, have suffered Cleopatra and Octavia to have met; or,
+if they had met, there must have only passed betwixt them some cold
+civilities, but no eagerness of repartee, for fear of offending
+against the greatness of their characters, and the modesty of their
+sex.  This objection I foresaw, and at the same time contemned; for
+I judged it both natural and probable, that Octavia, proud of her
+new-gained conquest, would search out Cleopatra to triumph over her;
+and that Cleopatra, thus attacked, was not of a spirit to shun the
+encounter:  And it is not unlikely, that two exasperated rivals
+should use such satire as I have put into their mouths; for, after
+all, though the one were a Roman, and the other a queen, they were
+both women.  It is true, some actions, though natural, are not fit to
+be represented; and broad obscenities in words ought in good manners
+to be avoided:  expressions therefore are a modest clothing of our
+thoughts, as breeches and petticoats are of our bodies.  If I have
+kept myself within the bounds of modesty, all beyond, it is but
+nicety and affectation; which is no more but modesty depraved into
+a vice.  They betray themselves who are too quick of apprehension in
+such cases, and leave all reasonable men to imagine worse of them,
+than of the poet.
+
+Honest Montaigne goes yet further:  Nous ne sommes que ceremonie;
+la ceremonie nous emporte, et laissons la substance des choses.  Nous
+nous tenons aux branches, et abandonnons le tronc et le corps.  Nous
+avons appris aux dames de rougir, oyans seulement nommer ce qu'elles
+ne craignent aucunement a faire:  Nous n'osons appeller a droit nos
+membres, et ne craignons pas de les employer a toute sorte de
+debauche.  La ceremonie nous defend d'exprimer par paroles les choses
+licites et naturelles, et nous l'en croyons; la raison nous defend de
+n'en faire point d'illicites et mauvaises, et personne ne l'en croit.
+My comfort is, that by this opinion my enemies are but sucking
+critics, who would fain be nibbling ere their teeth are come.
+
+Yet, in this nicety of manners does the excellency of French poetry
+consist.  Their heroes are the most civil people breathing; but their
+good breeding seldom extends to a word of sense; all their wit is in
+their ceremony; they want the genius which animates our stage; and
+therefore it is but necessary, when they cannot please, that they
+should take care not to offend.  But as the civilest man in the
+company is commonly the dullest, so these authors, while they are
+afraid to make you laugh or cry, out of pure good manners make you
+sleep.  They are so careful not to exasperate a critic, that they
+never leave him any work; so busy with the broom, and make so clean
+a riddance that there is little left either for censure or for
+praise:  For no part of a poem is worth our discommending, where the
+whole is insipid; as when we have once tasted of palled wine, we stay
+not to examine it glass by glass.  But while they affect to shine in
+trifles, they are often careless in essentials.  Thus, their
+Hippolytus is so scrupulous in point of decency, that he will rather
+expose himself to death, than accuse his stepmother to his father;
+and my critics I am sure will commend him for it.  But we of grosser
+apprehensions are apt to think that this excess of generosity is not
+practicable, but with fools and madmen.  This was good manners with
+a vengeance; and the audience is like to be much concerned at the
+misfortunes of this admirable hero.  But take Hippolytus out of his
+poetic fit, and I suppose he would think it a wiser part to set the
+saddle on the right horse, and choose rather to live with the
+reputation of a plain-spoken, honest man, than to die with the infamy
+of an incestuous villain.  In the meantime we may take notice, that
+where the poet ought to have preserved the character as it was
+delivered to us by antiquity, when he should have given us the
+picture of a rough young man, of the Amazonian strain, a jolly
+huntsman, and both by his profession and his early rising a mortal
+enemy to love, he has chosen to give him the turn of gallantry, sent
+him to travel from Athens to Paris, taught him to make love, and
+transformed the Hippolytus of Euripides into Monsieur Hippolyte.
+I should not have troubled myself thus far with French poets, but
+that I find our Chedreux critics wholly form their judgments by them.
+But for my part, I desire to be tried by the laws of my own country;
+for it seems unjust to me, that the French should prescribe here,
+till they have conquered.  Our little sonneteers, who follow them,
+have too narrow souls to judge of poetry.  Poets themselves are the
+most proper, though I conclude not the only critics.  But till some
+genius, as universal as Aristotle, shall arise, one who can penetrate
+into all arts and sciences, without the practice of them, I shall
+think it reasonable, that the judgment of an artificer in his own art
+should be preferable to the opinion of another man; at least where he
+is not bribed by interest, or prejudiced by malice.  And this,
+I suppose, is manifest by plain inductions:  For, first, the crowd
+cannot be presumed to have more than a gross instinct of what pleases
+or displeases them:  Every man will grant me this; but then, by a
+particular kindness to himself, he draws his own stake first, and
+will be distinguished from the multitude, of which other men may
+think him one.  But, if I come closer to those who are allowed for
+witty men, either by the advantage of their quality, or by common
+fame, and affirm that neither are they qualified to decide
+sovereignly concerning poetry, I shall yet have a strong party of my
+opinion; for most of them severally will exclude the rest, either
+from the number of witty men, or at least of able judges.  But here
+again they are all indulgent to themselves; and every one who
+believes himself a wit, that is, every man, will pretend at the same
+time to a right of judging.  But to press it yet further, there are
+many witty men, but few poets; neither have all poets a taste of
+tragedy.  And this is the rock on which they are daily splitting.
+Poetry, which is a picture of nature, must generally please; but it
+is not to be understood that all parts of it must please every man;
+therefore is not tragedy to be judged by a witty man, whose taste is
+only confined to comedy.  Nor is every man, who loves tragedy, a
+sufficient judge of it; he must understand the excellences of it too,
+or he will only prove a blind admirer, not a critic.  From hence it
+comes that so many satires on poets, and censures of their writings,
+fly abroad.  Men of pleasant conversation (at least esteemed so),
+and endued with a trifling kind of fancy, perhaps helped out with
+some smattering of Latin, are ambitious to distinguish themselves
+from the herd of gentlemen, by their poetry--
+
+     Rarus enim ferme sensus communis in illa Fortuna.
+
+And is not this a wretched affectation, not to be contented with what
+fortune has done for them, and sit down quietly with their estates,
+but they must call their wits in question, and needlessly expose
+their nakedness to public view?  Not considering that they are not to
+expect the same approbation from sober men, which they have found
+from their flatterers after the third bottle.  If a little glittering
+in discourse has passed them on us for witty men, where was the
+necessity of undeceiving the world?  Would a man who has an ill title
+to an estate, but yet is in possession of it; would he bring it of
+his own accord, to be tried at Westminster?  We who write, if we want
+the talent, yet have the excuse that we do it for a poor subsistence;
+but what can be urged in their defence, who, not having the vocation
+of poverty to scribble, out of mere wantonness take pains to make
+themselves ridiculous?  Horace was certainly in the right, where he
+said, "That no man is satisfied with his own condition." A poet is
+not pleased, because he is not rich; and the rich are discontented,
+because the poets will not admit them of their number.  Thus the case
+is hard with writers:  If they succeed not, they must starve; and if
+they do, some malicious satire is prepared to level them, for daring
+to please without their leave.  But while they are so eager to
+destroy the fame of others, their ambition is manifest in their
+concernment; some poem of their own is to be produced, and the slaves
+are to be laid flat with their faces on the ground, that the monarch
+may appear in the greater majesty.
+
+Dionysius and Nero had the same longings, but with all their power
+they could never bring their business well about.  'Tis true, they
+proclaimed themselves poets by sound of trumpet; and poets they were,
+upon pain of death to any man who durst call them otherwise.  The
+audience had a fine time on't, you may imagine; they sat in a bodily
+fear, and looked as demurely as they could:  for it was a hanging
+matter to laugh unseasonably; and the tyrants were suspicious, as
+they had reason, that their subjects had them in the wind; so, every
+man, in his own defence, set as good a face upon the business as he
+could.  It was known beforehand that the monarchs were to be crowned
+laureates; but when the show was over, and an honest man was suffered
+to depart quietly, he took out his laughter which he had stifled,
+with a firm resolution never more to see an emperor's play, though he
+had been ten years a-making it.  In the meantime the true poets were
+they who made the best markets:  for they had wit enough to yield the
+prize with a good grace, and not contend with him who had thirty
+legions.  They were sure to be rewarded, if they confessed themselves
+bad writers, and that was somewhat better than to be martyrs for
+their reputation.  Lucan's example was enough to teach them manners;
+and after he was put to death, for overcoming Nero, the emperor
+carried it without dispute for the best poet in his dominions.
+No man was ambitious of that grinning honour; for if he heard the
+malicious trumpeter proclaiming his name before his betters, he knew
+there was but one way with him.  Maecenas took another course, and we
+know he was more than a great man, for he was witty too:  But finding
+himself far gone in poetry, which Seneca assures us was not his
+talent, he thought it his best way to be well with Virgil and with
+Horace; that at least he might be a poet at the second hand; and we
+see how happily it has succeeded with him; for his own bad poetry is
+forgotten, and their panegyrics of him still remain.  But they who
+should be our patrons are for no such expensive ways to fame; they
+have much of the poetry of Maecenas, but little of his liberality.
+They are for prosecuting Horace and Virgil, in the persons of their
+successors; for such is every man who has any part of their soul and
+fire, though in a less degree.  Some of their little zanies yet go
+further; for they are persecutors even of Horace himself, as far as
+they are able, by their ignorant and vile imitations of him; by
+making an unjust use of his authority, and turning his artillery
+against his friends.  But how would he disdain to be copied by such
+hands!  I dare answer for him, he would be more uneasy in their
+company, than he was with Crispinus, their forefather, in the Holy
+Way; and would no more have allowed them a place amongst the critics,
+than he would Demetrius the mimic, and Tigellius the buffoon;
+
+     ------- Demetri, teque, Tigelli,
+     Discipulorum inter jubeo plorare cathedras.
+
+With what scorn would he look down on such miserable translators,
+who make doggerel of his Latin, mistake his meaning, misapply his
+censures, and often contradict their own?  He is fixed as a landmark
+to set out the bounds of poetry--
+
+     ------- Saxum antiquum, ingens,--
+     Limes agro positus, litem ut discerneret arvis.
+
+But other arms than theirs, and other sinews are required, to raise
+the weight of such an author; and when they would toss him against
+enemies--
+
+     Genua labant, gelidus concrevit frigore sanguis.
+     Tum lapis ipse viri, vacuum per inane volatus,
+     Nec spatium evasit totum, nec pertulit ictum.
+
+For my part, I would wish no other revenge, either for myself,
+or the rest of the poets, from this rhyming judge of the twelve-penny
+gallery, this legitimate son of Sternhold, than that he would
+subscribe his name to his censure, or (not to tax him beyond his
+learning) set his mark:  For, should he own himself publicly, and
+come from behind the lion's skin, they whom he condemns would be
+thankful to him, they whom he praises would choose to be condemned;
+and the magistrates, whom he has elected, would modestly withdraw
+from their employment, to avoid the scandal of his nomination.
+The sharpness of his satire, next to himself, falls most heavily on
+his friends, and they ought never to forgive him for commending them
+perpetually the wrong way, and sometimes by contraries.  If he have
+a friend, whose hastiness in writing is his greatest fault, Horace
+would have taught him to have minced the matter, and to have called
+it readiness of thought, and a flowing fancy; for friendship will
+allow a man to christen an imperfection by the name of some neighbour
+virtue--
+
+     Vellem in amicitia sic erraremus; et isti
+     Errori nomen virtus posuisset honestum.
+
+But he would never allowed him to have called a slow man hasty,
+or a hasty writer a slow drudge, as Juvenal explains it--
+
+     ------- Canibus pigris, scabieque vestusta
+     Laevibus, et siccae lambentibus ora lucernae,
+     Nomen erit, Pardus, Tigris, Leo; si quid adhuc est
+     Quod fremit in terris violentius.
+
+Yet Lucretius laughs at a foolish lover, even for excusing the
+imperfections of his mistress--
+
+     Nigra <melichroos> est, immunda et foetida <akosmos>
+     Balba loqui non quit, <traylizei>; muta pudens est, etc.
+
+But to drive it ad Aethiopem cygnum is not to be endured.  I leave
+him to interpret this by the benefit of his French version on the
+other side, and without further considering him, than I have the rest
+of my illiterate censors, whom I have disdained to answer, because
+they are not qualified for judges.  It remains that I acquiant the
+reader, that I have endeavoured in this play to follow the practice
+of the ancients, who, as Mr. Rymer has judiciously observed, are and
+ought to be our masters.  Horace likewise gives it for a rule in his
+art of poetry--
+
+     ------- Vos exemplaria Graeca
+     Nocturna versate manu, versate diurna.
+
+Yet, though their models are regular, they are too little for English
+tragedy; which requires to be built in a larger compass.  I could
+give an instance in the Oedipus Tyrannus, which was the masterpiece
+of Sophocles; but I reserve it for a more fit occasion, which I hope
+to have hereafter.  In my style, I have professed to imitate the
+divine Shakespeare; which that I might perform more freely, I have
+disencumbered myself from rhyme.  Not that I condemn my former way,
+but that this is more proper to my present purpose.  I hope I need
+not to explain myself, that I have not copied my author servilely:
+Words and phrases must of necessity receive a change in succeeding
+ages; but it is almost a miracle that much of his language remains
+so pure; and that he who began dramatic poetry amongst us, untaught
+by any, and as Ben Jonson tells us, without learning, should by the
+force of his own genius perform so much, that in a manner he has left
+no praise for any who come after him.  The occasion is fair, and the
+subject would be pleasant to handle the difference of styles betwixt
+him and Fletcher, and wherein, and how far they are both to be
+imitated.  But since I must not be over-confident of my own
+performance after him, it will be prudence in me to be silent.
+Yet, I hope, I may affirm, and without vanity, that, by imitating
+him, I have excelled myself throughout the play; and particularly,
+that I prefer the scene betwixt Antony and Ventidius in the first
+act, to anything which I have written in this kind.
+
+
+  PROLOGUE
+
+  What flocks of critics hover here to-day,
+  As vultures wait on armies for their prey,
+  All gaping for the carcase of a play!
+  With croaking notes they bode some dire event,
+  And follow dying poets by the scent.
+  Ours gives himself for gone; y' have watched your time:
+  He fights this day unarmed,--without his rhyme;--
+  And brings a tale which often has been told;
+  As sad as Dido's; and almost as old.
+  His hero, whom you wits his bully call,
+  Bates of his mettle, and scarce rants at all;
+  He's somewhat lewd; but a well-meaning mind;
+  Weeps much; fights little; but is wond'rous kind.
+  In short, a pattern, and companion fit,
+  For all the keeping Tonies of the pit.
+  I could name more:  a wife, and mistress too;
+  Both (to be plain) too good for most of you:
+  The wife well-natured, and the mistress true.
+    Now, poets, if your fame has been his care,
+  Allow him all the candour you can spare.
+  A brave man scorns to quarrel once a day;
+  Like Hectors in at every petty fray.
+  Let those find fault whose wit's so very small,
+  They've need to show that they can think at all;
+  Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow;
+  He who would search for pearls, must dive below.
+  Fops may have leave to level all they can;
+  As pigmies would be glad to lop a man.
+  Half-wits are fleas; so little and so light,
+  We scarce could know they live, but that they bite.
+  But, as the rich, when tired with daily feasts,
+  For change, become their next poor tenant's guests;
+  Drink hearty draughts of ale from plain brown bowls,
+  And snatch the homely rasher from the coals:
+  So you, retiring from much better cheer,
+  For once, may venture to do penance here.
+  And since that plenteous autumn now is past,
+  Whose grapes and peaches have indulged your taste,
+  Take in good part, from our poor poet's board,
+  Such rivelled fruits as winter can afford.
+
+
+
+
+ALL FOR LOVE
+
+  or
+
+THE WORLD WELL LOST
+
+
+A TRAGEDY
+
+
+  DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+  MARK ANTONY.
+  VENTIDIUS, his General.
+  DOLABELLA, his Friend.
+  ALEXAS, the Queen's Eunuch.
+  SERAPION, Priest of Isis.
+  MYRIS, another Priest.
+  Servants to Antony.
+
+  CLEOPATRA, Queen of Egypt.
+  OCTAVIA, Antony's Wife.
+  CHARMION, Cleopatra's Maid.
+  IRAS, Cleopatra's Maid.
+  Antony's two little Daughters.
+
+
+  SCENE.--Alexandria.
+
+
+
+       Act I
+
+       Scene I.--The Temple of Isis
+
+       Enter SERAPION, MYRIS, Priests of Isis
+
+  SERAPION.  Portents and prodigies have grown so frequent,
+  That they have lost their name.  Our fruitful Nile
+  Flowed ere the wonted season, with a torrent
+  So unexpected, and so wondrous fierce,
+  That the wild deluge overtook the haste
+  Even of the hinds that watched it:  Men and beasts
+  Were borne above the tops of trees, that grew
+  On the utmost margin of the water-mark.
+  Then, with so swift an ebb the flood drove backward,
+  It slipt from underneath the scaly herd:
+  Here monstrous phocae panted on the shore;
+  Forsaken dolphins there with their broad tails,
+  Lay lashing the departing waves:  hard by them,
+  Sea horses floundering in the slimy mud,
+  Tossed up their heads, and dashed the ooze about them.
+
+       Enter ALEXAS behind them
+
+  MYRIS.  Avert these omens, Heaven!
+
+  SERAPION.  Last night, between the hours of twelve and one,
+  In a lone aisle of the temple while I walked,
+  A whirlwind rose, that, with a violent blast,
+  Shook all the dome:  the doors around me clapt;
+  The iron wicket, that defends the vault,
+  Where the long race of Ptolemies is laid,
+  Burst open, and disclosed the mighty dead.
+  From out each monument, in order placed,
+  An armed ghost starts up:  the boy-king last
+  Reared his inglorious head.  A peal of groans
+  Then followed, and a lamentable voice
+  Cried, Egypt is no more!  My blood ran back,
+  My shaking knees against each other knocked;
+  On the cold pavement down I fell entranced,
+  And so unfinished left the horrid scene.
+
+  ALEXAS.  And dreamed you this? or did invent the story,
+       [Showing himself.]
+  To frighten our Egyptian boys withal,
+  And train them up, betimes, in fear of priesthood?
+
+  SERAPION.  My lord, I saw you not,
+  Nor meant my words should reach you ears; but what
+  I uttered was most true.
+
+  ALEXAS.  A foolish dream,
+  Bred from the fumes of indigested feasts,
+  And holy luxury.
+
+  SERAPION.  I know my duty:
+  This goes no further.
+
+  ALEXAS.  'Tis not fit it should;
+  Nor would the times now bear it, were it true.
+  All southern, from yon hills, the Roman camp
+  Hangs o'er us black and threatening like a storm
+  Just breaking on our heads.
+
+  SERAPION.  Our faint Egyptians pray for Antony;
+  But in their servile hearts they own Octavius.
+
+  MYRIS.  Why then does Antony dream out his hours,
+  And tempts not fortune for a noble day,
+  Which might redeem what Actium lost?
+
+  ALEXAS.  He thinks 'tis past recovery.
+
+  SERAPION.  Yet the foe
+  Seems not to press the siege.
+
+  ALEXAS.  Oh, there's the wonder.
+  Maecenas and Agrippa, who can most
+  With Caesar, are his foes.  His wife Octavia,
+  Driven from his house, solicits her revenge;
+  And Dolabella, who was once his friend,
+  Upon some private grudge, now seeks his ruin:
+  Yet still war seems on either side to sleep.
+
+  SERAPION.  'Tis strange that Antony, for some days past,
+  Has not beheld the face of Cleopatra;
+  But here, in Isis' temple, lives retired,
+  And makes his heart a prey to black despair.
+
+  ALEXAS.  'Tis true; and we much fear he hopes by absence
+  To cure his mind of love.
+
+  SERAPION.  If he be vanquished,
+  Or make his peace, Egypt is doomed to be
+  A Roman province; and our plenteous harvests
+  Must then redeem the scarceness of their soil.
+  While Antony stood firm, our Alexandria
+  Rivalled proud Rome (dominion's other seat),
+  And fortune striding, like a vast Colossus,
+  Could fix an equal foot of empire here.
+
+  ALEXAS.  Had I my wish, these tyrants of all nature,
+  Who lord it o'er mankind, rhould perish,--perish,
+  Each by the other's sword; But, since our will
+  Is lamely followed by our power, we must
+  Depend on one; with him to rise or fall.
+
+  SERAPION.  How stands the queen affected?
+
+  ALEXAS.  Oh, she dotes,
+  She dotes, Serapion, on this vanquished man,
+  And winds herself about his mighty ruins;
+  Whom would she yet forsake, yet yield him up,
+  This hunted prey, to his pursuer's hands,
+  She might preserve us all:  but 'tis in vain--
+  This changes my designs, this blasts my counsels,
+  And makes me use all means to keep him here.
+  Whom I could wish divided from her arms,
+  Far as the earth's deep centre.  Well, you know
+  The state of things; no more of your ill omens
+  And black prognostics; labour to confirm
+  The people's hearts.
+
+       Enter VENTIDIUS, talking aside with a Gentleman of ANTONY'S
+
+  SERAPION.  These Romans will o'erhear us.
+  But who's that stranger?  By his warlike port,
+  His fierce demeanour, and erected look,
+  He's of no vulgar note.
+
+  ALEXAS.  Oh, 'tis Ventidius,
+  Our emperor's great lieutenant in the East,
+  Who first showed Rome that Parthia could be conquered.
+  When Antony returned from Syria last,
+  He left this man to guard the Roman frontiers.
+
+  SERAPION.  You seem to know him well.
+
+  ALEXAS.  Too well.  I saw him at Cilicia first,
+  When Cleopatra there met Antony:
+  A mortal foe was to us, and Egypt.
+  But,--let me witness to the worth I hate,--
+  A braver Roman never drew a sword;
+  Firm to his prince, but as a friend, not slave,
+  He ne'er was of his pleasures; but presides
+  O'er all his cooler hours, and morning counsels:
+  In short the plainness, fierceness, rugged virtue,
+  Of an old true-stampt Roman lives in him.
+  His coming bodes I know not what of ill
+  To our affairs.  Withdraw to mark him better;
+  And I'll acquaint you why I sought you here,
+  And what's our present work.
+       [They withdraw to a corner of the stage; and VENTIDIUS,
+        with the other, comes forward to the front.]
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Not see him; say you?
+  I say, I must, and will.
+
+  GENTLEMAN.  He has commanded,
+  On pain of death, none should approach his presence.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I bring him news will raise his drooping spirits,
+  Give him new life.
+
+  GENTLEMAN.  He sees not Cleopatra.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Would he had never seen her!
+
+  GENTLEMAN.  He eats not, drinks not, sleeps not, has no use
+  Of anything, but thought; or if he talks,
+  'Tis to himself, and then 'tis perfect raving:
+  Then he defies the world, and bids it pass,
+  Sometimes he gnaws his lips, and curses loud
+  The boy Octavius; then he draws his mouth
+  Into a scornful smile, and cries, "Take all,
+  The world's not worth my care."
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Just, just his nature.
+  Virtue's his path; but sometimes 'tis too narrow
+  For his vast soul; and then he starts out wide,
+  And bounds into a vice, that bears him far
+  From his first course, and plunges him in ills:
+  But, when his danger makes him find his faults,
+  Quick to observe, and full of sharp remorse,
+  He censures eagerly his own misdeeds,
+  Judging himself with malice to himself,
+  And not forgiving what as man he did,
+  Because his other parts are more than man.--
+  He must not thus be lost.
+       [ALEXAS and the Priests come forward.]
+
+  ALEXAS.  You have your full instructions, now advance,
+  Proclaim your orders loudly.
+
+  SERAPION.  Romans, Egyptians, hear the queen's command.
+  Thus Cleopatra bids:  Let labour cease;
+  To pomp and triumphs give this happy day,
+  That gave the world a lord:  'tis Antony's.
+  Live, Antony; and Cleopatra live!
+  Be this the general voice sent up to heaven,
+  And every public place repeat this echo.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Fine pageantry!
+       [Aside.]
+
+  SERAPION.  Set out before your doors
+  The images of all your sleeping fathers,
+  With laurels crowned; with laurels wreath your posts,
+  And strew with flowers the pavement; let the priests
+  Do present sacrifice; pour out the wine,
+  And call the gods to join with you in gladness.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Curse on the tongue that bids this general joy!
+  Can they be friends of Antony, who revel
+  When Antony's in danger?  Hide, for shame,
+  You Romans, your great grandsires' images,
+  For fear their souls should animate their marbles,
+  To blush at their degenerate progeny.
+
+  ALEXAS.  A love, which knows no bounds, to Antony,
+  Would mark the day with honours, when all heaven
+  Laboured for him, when each propitious star
+  Stood wakeful in his orb, to watch that hour
+  And shed his better influence.  Her own birthday
+  Our queen neglected like a vulgar fate,
+  That passed obscurely by.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Would it had slept,
+  Divided far from his; till some remote
+  And future age had called it out, to ruin
+  Some other prince, not him!
+
+  ALEXAS.  Your emperor,
+  Though grown unkind, would be more gentle, than
+  To upbraid my queen for loving him too well.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Does the mute sacrifice upbraid the priest!
+  He knows him not his executioner.
+  Oh, she has decked his ruin with her love,
+  Led him in golden bands to gaudy slaughter,
+  And made perdition pleasing:  She has left him
+  The blank of what he was.
+  I tell thee, eunuch, she has quite unmanned him.
+  Can any Roman see, and know him now,
+  Thus altered from the lord of half mankind,
+  Unbent, unsinewed, made a woman's toy,
+  Shrunk from the vast extent of all his honours,
+  And crampt within a corner of the world?
+  O Antony!
+  Thou bravest soldier, and thou best of friends!
+  Bounteous as nature; next to nature's God!
+  Couldst thou but make new worlds, so wouldst thou give them,
+  As bounty were thy being! rough in battle,
+  As the first Romans when they went to war;
+  Yet after victory more pitiful
+  Than all their praying virgins left at home!
+
+  ALEXAS.  Would you could add, to those more shining virtues,
+  His truth to her who loves him.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Would I could not!
+  But wherefore waste I precious hours with thee!
+  Thou art her darling mischief, her chief engine,
+  Antony's other fate.  Go, tell thy queen,
+  Ventidius is arrived, to end her charms.
+  Let your Egyptian timbrels play alone,
+  Nor mix effeminate sounds with Roman trumpets,
+  You dare not fight for Antony; go pray
+  And keep your cowards' holiday in temples.
+       [Exeunt ALEXAS, SERAPION.]
+
+       Re-enter the Gentleman of M. ANTONY
+
+  2 Gent.  The emperor approaches, and commands,
+  On pain of death, that none presume to stay.
+
+  1 Gent.  I dare not disobey him.
+       [Going out with the other.]
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Well, I dare.
+  But I'll observe him first unseen, and find
+  Which way his humour drives:  The rest I'll venture.
+       [Withdraws.]
+
+       Enter ANTONY, walking with a disturbed motion before
+       he speaks
+
+  ANTONY.  They tell me, 'tis my birthday, and I'll keep it
+  With double pomp of sadness.
+  'Tis what the day deserves, which gave me breath.
+  Why was I raised the meteor of the world,
+  Hung in the skies, and blazing as I travelled,
+  'Till all my fires were spent; and then cast downward,
+  To be trod out by Caesar?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  [aside.]  On my soul,
+  'Tis mournful, wondrous mournful!
+
+  ANTONY.  Count thy gains.
+  Now, Antony, wouldst thou be born for this?
+  Glutton of fortune, thy devouring youth
+  Has starved thy wanting age.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  How sorrow shakes him!
+       [Aside.]
+  So, now the tempest tears him up by the roots,
+  And on the ground extends the noble ruin.
+       [ANTONY having thrown himself down.]
+  Lie there, thou shadow of an emperor;
+  The place thou pressest on thy mother earth
+  Is all thy empire now:  now it contains thee;
+  Some few days hence, and then 'twill be too large,
+  When thou'rt contracted in thy narrow urn,
+  Shrunk to a few ashes; then Octavia
+  (For Cleopatra will not live to see it),
+  Octavia then will have thee all her own,
+  And bear thee in her widowed hand to Caesar;
+  Caesar will weep, the crocodile will weep,
+  To see his rival of the universe
+  Lie still and peaceful there.  I'll think no more on't.
+
+  ANTONY.  Give me some music, look that it be sad.
+  I'll soothe my melancholy, till I swell,
+  And burst myself with sighing.--
+       [Soft music.]
+  'Tis somewhat to my humour; stay, I fancy
+  I'm now turned wild, a commoner of nature;
+  Of all forsaken, and forsaking all;
+  Live in a shady forest's sylvan scene,
+  Stretched at my length beneath some blasted oak,
+  I lean my head upon the mossy bark,
+  And look just of a piece as I grew from it;
+  My uncombed locks, matted like mistletoe,
+  Hang o'er my hoary face; a murm'ring brook
+  Runs at my foot.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Methinks I fancy
+  Myself there too.
+
+  ANTONY.  The herd come jumping by me,
+  And fearless, quench their thirst, while I look on,
+  And take me for their fellow-citizen.
+  More of this image, more; it lulls my thoughts.
+       [Soft music again.]
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I must disturb him; I can hold no longer.
+       [Stands before him.]
+
+  ANTONY.  [starting up].  Art thou Ventidius?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Are you Antony?
+  I'm liker what I was, than you to him
+  I left you last.
+
+  ANTONY.  I'm angry.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  So am I.
+
+  ANTONY.  I would be private:  leave me.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Sir, I love you,
+  And therefore will not leave you.
+
+  ANTONY.  Will not leave me!
+  Where have you learnt that answer?  Who am I?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  My emperor; the man I love next Heaven:
+  If I said more, I think 'twere scare a sin:
+  You're all that's good, and god-like.
+
+  ANTONY.  All that's wretched.
+  You will not leave me then?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  'Twas too presuming
+  To say I would not; but I dare not leave you:
+  And, 'tis unkind in you to chide me hence
+  So soon, when I so far have come to see you.
+
+  ANTONY.  Now thou hast seen me, art thou satisfied?
+  For, if a friend, thou hast beheld enough;
+  And, if a foe, too much.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Look, emperor, this is no common dew.
+       [Weeping.]
+  I have not wept this forty years; but now
+  My mother comes afresh into my eyes;
+  I cannot help her softness.
+
+  ANTONY.  By heavens, he weeps! poor good old man, he weeps!
+  The big round drops course one another down
+  The furrows of his cheeks.--Stop them, Ventidius,
+  Or I shall blush to death, they set my shame,
+  That caused them, full before me.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I'll do my best.
+
+  ANTONY.  Sure there's contagion in the tears of friends:
+  See, I have caught it too.  Believe me, 'tis not
+  For my own griefs, but thine.--Nay, father!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Emperor.
+
+  ANTONY.  Emperor!  Why, that's the style of victory;
+  The conqu'ring soldier, red with unfelt wounds,
+  Salutes his general so; but never more
+  Shall that sound reach my ears.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I warrant you.
+
+  ANTONY.  Actium, Actium!  Oh!--
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  It sits too near you.
+
+  ANTONY.  Here, here it lies a lump of lead by day,
+  And, in my short, distracted, nightly slumbers,
+  The hag that rides my dreams.--
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Out with it; give it vent.
+
+  ANTONY.  Urge not my shame.
+  I lost a battle,--
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  So has Julius done.
+
+  ANTONY.  Thou favour'st me, and speak'st not half thou think'st;
+  For Julius fought it out, and lost it fairly.
+  But Antony--
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Nay, stop not.
+
+  ANTONY.  Antony--
+  Well, thou wilt have it,--like a coward, fled,
+  Fled while his soldiers fought; fled first, Ventidius.
+  Thou long'st to curse me, and I give thee leave.
+  I know thou cam'st prepared to rail.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I did.
+
+  ANTONY.  I'll help thee.--I have been a man, Ventidius.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Yes, and a brave one! but--
+
+  ANTONY.  I know thy meaning.
+  But I have lost my reason, have disgraced
+  The name of soldier, with inglorious ease.
+  In the full vintage of my flowing honours,
+  Sat still, and saw it prest by other hands.
+  Fortune came smiling to my youth, and wooed it,
+  And purple greatness met my ripened years.
+  When first I came to empire, I was borne
+  On tides of people, crowding to my triumphs;
+  The wish of nations, and the willing world
+  Received me as its pledge of future peace;
+  I was so great, so happy, so beloved,
+  Fate could not ruin me; till I took pains,
+  And worked against my fortune, child her from me,
+  And returned her loose; yet still she came again.
+  My careless days, and my luxurious nights,
+  At length have wearied her, and now she's gone,
+  Gone, gone, divorced for ever.  Help me, soldier,
+  To curse this madman, this industrious fool,
+  Who laboured to be wretched:  Pr'ythee, curse me.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  No.
+
+  ANTONY.  Why?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  You are too sensible already
+  Of what you've done, too conscious of your failings;
+  And, like a scorpion, whipt by others first
+  To fury, sting yourself in mad revenge.
+  I would bring balm, and pour it in your wounds,
+  Cure your distempered mind, and heal your fortunes.
+
+  ANTONY.  I know thou would'st.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I will.
+
+  ANTONY.  Ha, ha, ha, ha!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  You laugh.
+
+  ANTONY.  I do, to see officious love.
+  Give cordials to the dead.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  You would be lost, then?
+
+  ANTONY.  I am.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I say you are not.  Try your fortune.
+
+  ANTONY.  I have, to the utmost.  Dost thou think me desperate,
+  Without just cause?  No, when I found all lost
+  Beyond repair, I hid me from the world,
+  And learnt to scorn it here; which now I do
+  So heartily, I think it is not worth
+  The cost of keeping.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Caesar thinks not so;
+  He'll thank you for the gift he could not take.
+  You would be killed like Tully, would you? do,
+  Hold out your throat to Caesar, and die tamely.
+
+  ANTONY.  No, I can kill myself; and so resolve.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I can die with you too, when time shall serve;
+  But fortune calls upon us now to live,
+  To fight, to conquer.
+
+  ANTONY.  Sure thou dream'st, Ventidius.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  No; 'tis you dream; you sleep away your hours
+  In desperate sloth, miscalled philosophy.
+  Up, up, for honour's sake; twelve legions wait you,
+  And long to call you chief:  By painful journeys
+  I led them, patient both of heat and hunger,
+  Down form the Parthian marches to the Nile.
+  'Twill do you good to see their sunburnt faces,
+  Their scarred cheeks, and chopt hands:  there's virtue in them.
+  They'll sell those mangled limbs at dearer rates
+  Than yon trim bands can buy.
+
+  ANTONY.  Where left you them?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I said in Lower Syria.
+
+  ANTONY.  Bring them hither;
+  There may be life in these.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  They will not come.
+
+  ANTONY.  Why didst thou mock my hopes with promised aids,
+  To double my despair?  They're mutinous.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Most firm and loyal.
+
+  ANTONY.  Yet they will not march
+  To succour me.  O trifler!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  They petition
+  You would make haste to head them.
+
+  ANTONY.  I'm besieged.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  There's but one way shut up:  How came I hither?
+
+  ANTONY.  I will not stir.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  They would perhaps desire
+  A better reason.
+
+  ANTONY.  I have never used
+  My soldiers to demand a reason of
+  My actions.  Why did they refuse to march?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  They said they would not fight for Cleopatra.
+
+  ANTONY.  What was't they said?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  They said they would not fight for Cleopatra.
+  Why should they fight indeed, to make her conquer,
+  And make you more a slave? to gain you kingdoms,
+  Which, for a kiss, at your next midnight feast,
+  You'll sell to her?  Then she new-names her jewels,
+  And calls this diamond such or such a tax;
+  Each pendant in her ear shall be a province.
+
+  ANTONY.  Ventidius, I allow your tongue free licence
+  On all my other faults; but, on your life,
+  No word of Cleopatra:  she deserves
+  More worlds than I can lose.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Behold, you Powers,
+  To whom you have intrusted humankind!
+  See Europe, Afric, Asia, put in balance,
+  And all weighed down by one light, worthless woman!
+  I think the gods are Antonies, and give,
+  Like prodigals, this nether world away
+  To none but wasteful hands.
+
+  ANTONY.  You grow presumptuous.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I take the privilege of plain love to speak.
+
+  ANTONY.  Plain love! plain arrogance, plain insolence!
+  Thy men are cowards; thou, an envious traitor;
+  Who, under seeming honesty, hast vented
+  The burden of thy rank, o'erflowing gall.
+  O that thou wert my equal; great in arms
+  As the first Caesar was, that I might kill thee
+  Without a stain to honour!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  You may kill me;
+  You have done more already,--called me traitor.
+
+  ANTONY.  Art thou not one?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  For showing you yourself,
+  Which none else durst have done? but had I been
+  That name, which I disdain to speak again,
+  I needed not have sought your abject fortunes,
+  Come to partake your fate, to die with you.
+  What hindered me to have led my conquering eagles
+  To fill Octavius' bands?  I could have been
+  A traitor then, a glorious, happy traitor,
+  And not have been so called.
+
+  ANTONY.  Forgive me, soldier;
+  I've been too passionate.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  You thought me false;
+  Thought my old age betrayed you:  Kill me, sir,
+  Pray, kill me; yet you need not, your unkindness
+  Has left your sword no work.
+
+  ANTONY.  I did not think so;
+  I said it in my rage:  Pr'ythee, forgive me.
+  Why didst thou tempt my anger, by discovery
+  Of what I would not hear?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  No prince but you
+  Could merit that sincerity I used,
+  Nor durst another man have ventured it;
+  But you, ere love misled your wandering eyes,
+  Were sure the chief and best of human race,
+  Framed in the very pride and boast of nature;
+  So perfect, that the gods, who formed you, wondered
+  At their own skill, and cried--A lucky hit
+  Has mended our design.  Their envy hindered,
+  Else you had been immortal, and a pattern,
+  When Heaven would work for ostentation's sake
+  To copy out again.
+
+  ANTONY.  But Cleopatra--
+  Go on; for I can bear it now.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  No more.
+
+  ANTONY.  Thou dar'st not trust my passion, but thou may'st;
+  Thou only lov'st, the rest have flattered me.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Heaven's blessing on your heart for that kind word!
+  May I believe you love me?  Speak again.
+
+  ANTONY.  Indeed I do.  Speak this, and this, and this.
+       [Hugging him.]
+  Thy praises were unjust; but, I'll deserve them,
+  And yet mend all.  Do with me what thou wilt;
+  Lead me to victory! thou know'st the way.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  And, will you leave this--
+
+  ANTONY.  Pr'ythee, do not curse her,
+  And I will leave her; though, Heaven knows, I love
+  Beyond life, conquest, empire, all, but honour;
+  But I will leave her.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  That's my royal master;
+  And, shall we fight?
+
+  ANTONY.  I warrant thee, old soldier.
+  Thou shalt behold me once again in iron;
+  And at the head of our old troops, that beat
+  The Parthians, cry aloud--Come, follow me!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Oh, now I hear my emperor! in that word
+  Octavius fell.  Gods, let me see that day,
+  And, if I have ten years behind, take all:
+  I'll thank you for the exchange.
+
+  ANTONY.  O Cleopatra!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Again?
+
+  ANTONY.  I've done:  In that last sigh she went.
+  Caesar shall know what 'tis to force a lover
+  From all he holds most dear.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Methinks, you breathe
+  Another soul:  Your looks are more divine;
+  You speak a hero, and you move a god.
+
+  ANTONY.  Oh, thou hast fired me; my soul's up in arms,
+  And mans each part about me:  Once again,
+  That noble eagerness of fight has seized me;
+  That eagerness with which I darted upward
+  To Cassius' camp:  In vain the steepy hill
+  Opposed my way; in vain a war of spears
+  Sung round my head, and planted on my shield;
+  I won the trenches, while my foremost men
+  Lagged on the plain below.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Ye gods, ye gods,
+  For such another honour!
+
+  ANTONY.  Come on, my soldier!
+  Our hearts and arms are still the same:  I long
+  Once more to meet our foes; that thou and I,
+  Like Time and Death, marching before our troops,
+  May taste fate to them; mow them out a passage,
+  And, entering where the foremost squadrons yield,
+  Begin the noble harvest of the field.
+       [Exeunt.]
+
+
+
+       Act II
+
+       Scene I
+
+       Enter CLEOPATRA, IRAS, and ALEXAS
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  What shall I do, or whither shall I turn?
+  Ventidius has o'ercome, and he will go.
+
+  ALEXAS.  He goes to fight for you.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Then he would see me, ere he went to fight:
+  Flatter me not:  If once he goes, he's lost,
+  And all my hopes destroyed.
+
+  ALEXAS.  Does this weak passion
+  Become a mighty queen?
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  I am no queen:
+  Is this to be a queen, to be besieged
+  By yon insulting Roman, and to wait
+  Each hour the victor's chain?  These ills are small:
+  For Antony is lost, and I can mourn
+  For nothing else but him.  Now come, Octavius,
+  I have no more to lose! prepare thy bands;
+  I'm fit to be a captive:  Antony
+  Has taught my mind the fortune of a slave.
+
+  IRAS.  Call reason to assist you.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  I have none,
+  And none would have:  My love's a noble madness,
+  Which shows the cause deserved it.  Moderate sorrow
+  Fits vulgar love, and for a vulgar man:
+  But I have loved with such transcendent passion,
+  I soared, at first, quite out of reason's view,
+  And now am lost above it.  No, I'm proud
+  'Tis thus:  Would Antony could see me now
+  Think you he would not sigh, though he must leave me?
+  Sure he would sigh; for he is noble-natured,
+  And bears a tender heart:  I know him well.
+  Ah, no, I know him not; I knew him once,
+  But now 'tis past.
+
+  IRAS.  Let it be past with you:
+  Forget him, madam.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Never, never, Iras.
+  He once was mine; and once, though now 'tis gone,
+  Leaves a faint image of possession still.
+
+  ALEXAS.  Think him inconstant, cruel, and ungrateful.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  I cannot:  If I could, those thoughts were vain.
+  Faithless, ungrateful, cruel, though he be,
+  I still must love him.
+
+       Enter CHARMION
+
+  Now, what news, my Charmion?
+  Will he be kind? and will he not forsake me?
+  Am I to live, or die?--nay, do I live?
+  Or am I dead? for when he gave his answer,
+  Fate took the word, and then I lived or died.
+
+  CHARMION.  I found him, madam--
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  A long speech preparing?
+  If thou bring'st comfort, haste, and give it me,
+  For never was more need.
+
+  IRAS.  I know he loves you.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Had he been kind, her eyes had told me so,
+  Before her tongue could speak it:  Now she studies,
+  To soften what he said; but give me death,
+  Just as he sent it, Charmion, undisguised,
+  And in the words he spoke.
+
+  CHARMION.  I found him, then,
+  Encompassed round, I think, with iron statues;
+  So mute, so motionless his soldiers stood,
+  While awfully he cast his eyes about,
+  And every leader's hopes or fears surveyed:
+  Methought he looked resolved, and yet not pleased.
+  When he beheld me struggling in the crowd,
+  He blushed, and bade make way.
+
+  ALEXAS.  There's comfort yet.
+
+  CHARMION.  Ventidius fixed his eyes upon my passage
+  Severely, as he meant to frown me back,
+  And sullenly gave place:  I told my message,
+  Just as you gave it, broken and disordered;
+  I numbered in it all your sighs and tears,
+  And while I moved your pitiful request,
+  That you but only begged a last farewell,
+  He fetched an inward groan; and every time
+  I named you, sighed, as if his heart were breaking,
+  But, shunned my eyes, and guiltily looked down:
+  He seemed not now that awful Antony,
+  Who shook and armed assembly with his nod;
+  But, making show as he would rub his eyes,
+  Disguised and blotted out a falling tear.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Did he then weep?  And was I worth a tear?
+  If what thou hast to say be not as pleasing,
+  Tell me no more, but let me die contented.
+
+  CHARMION.  He bid me say,--He knew himself so well,
+  He could deny you nothing, if he saw you;
+  And therefore--
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Thou wouldst say, he would not see me?
+
+  CHARMION.  And therefore begged you not to use a power,
+  Which he could ill resist; yet he should ever
+  Respect you, as he ought.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Is that a word
+  For Antony to use to Cleopatra?
+  O that faint word, RESPECT! how I disdain it!
+  Disdain myself, for loving after it!
+  He should have kept that word for cold Octavia.
+  Respect is for a wife:  Am I that thing,
+  That dull, insipid lump, without desires,
+  And without power to give them?
+
+  ALEXAS.  You misjudge;
+  You see through love, and that deludes your sight;
+  As, what is straight, seems crooked through the water:
+  But I, who bear my reason undisturbed,
+  Can see this Antony, this dreaded man,
+  A fearful slave, who fain would run away,
+  And shuns his master's eyes:  If you pursue him,
+  My life on't, he still drags a chain along.
+  That needs must clog his flight.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Could I believe thee!--
+
+  ALEXAS.  By every circumstance I know he loves.
+  True, he's hard prest, by interest and by honour;
+  Yet he but doubts, and parleys, and casts out
+  Many a long look for succour.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  He sends word,
+  He fears to see my face.
+
+  ALEXAS.  And would you more?
+  He shows his weakness who declines the combat,
+  And you must urge your fortune.  Could he speak
+  More plainly?  To my ears, the message sounds--
+  Come to my rescue, Cleopatra, come;
+  Come, free me from Ventidius; from my tyrant:
+  See me, and give me a pretence to leave him!--
+  I hear his trumpets.  This way he must pass.
+  Please you, retire a while; I'll work him first,
+  That he may bend more easy.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  You shall rule me;
+  But all, I fear, in vain.
+       [Exit with CHARMION and IRAS.]
+
+  ALEXAS.  I fear so too;
+  Though I concealed my thoughts, to make her bold;
+  But 'tis our utmost means, and fate befriend it!
+       [Withdraws.]
+
+       Enter Lictors with Fasces; one bearing the Eagle; then enter
+       ANTONY with VENTIDIUS, followed by other Commanders
+
+  ANTONY.  Octavius is the minion of blind chance,
+  But holds from virtue nothing.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Has he courage?
+
+  ANTONY.  But just enough to season him from coward.
+  Oh, 'tis the coldest youth upon a charge,
+  The most deliberate fighter! if he ventures
+  (As in Illyria once, they say, he did,
+  To storm a town), 'tis when he cannot choose;
+  When all the world have fixt their eyes upon him;
+  And then he lives on that for seven years after;
+  But, at a close revenge he never fails.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I heard you challenged him.
+
+  ANTONY.  I did, Ventidius.
+  What think'st thou was his answer?  'Twas so tame!--
+  He said, he had more ways than one to die;
+  I had not.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Poor!
+
+  ANTONY.  He has more ways than one;
+  But he would choose them all before that one.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  He first would choose an ague, or a fever.
+
+  ANTONY.  No; it must be an ague, not a fever;
+  He Has not warmth enough to die by that.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Or old age and a bed.
+
+  ANTONY.  Ay, there's his choice,
+  He would live, like a lamp, to the last wink,
+  And crawl the utmost verge of life.
+  O Hercules!  Why should a man like this,
+  Who dares not trust his fate for one great action,
+  Be all the care of Heaven?  Why should he lord it
+  O'er fourscore thousand men, of whom each one
+  Is braver than himself?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  You conquered for him:
+  Philippi knows it; there you shared with him
+  That empire, which your sword made all your own.
+
+  ANTONY.  Fool that I was, upon my eagle's wings
+  I bore this wren, till I was tired with soaring,
+  And now he mounts above me.
+  Good heavens, is this,--is this the man who braves me?
+  Who bids my age make way?  Drives me before him,
+  To the world's ridge, and sweeps me off like rubbish?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Sir, we lose time; the troops are mounted all.
+
+  ANTONY.  Then give the word to march:
+  I long to leave this prison of a town,
+  To join thy legions; and, in open field,
+  Once more to show my face.  Lead, my deliverer.
+
+       Enter ALEXAS
+
+  ALEXAS.  Great emperor,
+  In mighty arms renowned above mankind,
+  But, in soft pity to the opprest, a god;
+  This message sends the mournful Cleopatra
+  To her departing lord.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Smooth sycophant!
+
+  ALEXAS.  A thousand wishes, and ten thousand prayers,
+  Millions of blessings wait you to the wars;
+  Millions of sighs and tears she sends you too,
+  And would have sent
+  As many dear embraces to your arms,
+  As many parting kisses to your lips;
+  But those, she fears, have wearied you already.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  [aside.]  False crocodile!
+
+  ALEXAS.  And yet she begs not now, you would not leave her;
+  That were a wish too mighty for her hopes,
+  Too presuming
+  For her low fortune, and your ebbing love;
+  That were a wish for her more prosperous days,
+  Her blooming beauty, and your growing kindness.
+
+  ANTONY.  [aside.]  Well, I must man it out:--What would the queen?
+
+  ALEXAS.  First, to these noble warriors, who attend
+  Your daring courage in the chase of fame,--
+  Too daring, and too dangerous for her quiet,--
+  She humbly recommends all she holds dear,
+  All her own cares and fears,--the care of you.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Yes, witness Actium.
+
+  ANTONY.  Let him speak, Ventidius.
+
+  ALEXAS.  You, when his matchless valour bears him forward,
+  With ardour too heroic, on his foes,
+  Fall down, as she would do, before his feet;
+  Lie in his way, and stop the paths of death:
+  Tell him, this god is not invulnerable;
+  That absent Cleopatra bleeds in him;
+  And, that you may remember her petition,
+  She begs you wear these trifles, as a pawn,
+  Which, at your wished return, she will redeem
+       [Gives jewels to the Commanders.]
+  With all the wealth of Egypt:
+  This to the great Ventidius she presents,
+  Whom she can never count her enemy,
+  Because he loves her lord.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Tell her, I'll none on't;
+  I'm not ashamed of honest poverty;
+  Not all the diamonds of the east can bribe
+  Ventidius from his faith.  I hope to see
+  These and the rest of all her sparkling store,
+  Where they shall more deservingly be placed.
+
+  ANTONY.  And who must wear them then?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  The wronged Octavia.
+
+  ANTONY.  You might have spared that word.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  And he that bribe.
+
+  ANTONY.  But have I no remembrance?
+
+  ALEXAS.  Yes, a dear one;
+  Your slave the queen--
+
+  ANTONY.  My mistress.
+
+  ALEXAS.  Then your mistress;
+  Your mistress would, she says, have sent her soul,
+  But that you had long since; she humbly begs
+  This ruby bracelet, set with bleeding hearts,
+  The emblems of her own, may bind your arm.
+       [Presenting a bracelet.]
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Now, my best lord,--in honour's name, I ask you,
+  For manhood's sake, and for your own dear safety,--
+  Touch not these poisoned gifts,
+  Infected by the sender; touch them not;
+  Myriads of bluest plagues lie underneath them,
+  And more than aconite has dipt the silk.
+
+  ANTONY.  Nay, now you grow too cynical, Ventidius:
+  A lady's favours may be worn with honour.
+  What, to refuse her bracelet!  On my soul,
+  When I lie pensive in my tent alone,
+  'Twill pass the wakeful hours of winter nights,
+  To tell these pretty beads upon my arm,
+  To count for every one a soft embrace,
+  A melting kiss at such and such a time:
+  And now and then the fury of her love,
+  When----And what harm's in this?
+
+  ALEXAS.  None, none, my lord,
+  But what's to her, that now 'tis past for ever.
+
+  ANTONY.  [going to tie it.]
+  We soldiers are so awkward--help me tie it.
+
+  ALEXAS.  In faith, my lord, we courtiers too are awkward
+  In these affairs:  so are all men indeed:
+  Even I, who am not one.  But shall I speak?
+
+  ANTONY.  Yes, freely.
+
+  ALEXAS.  Then, my lord, fair hands alone
+  Are fit to tie it; she, who sent it can.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Hell, death! this eunuch pander ruins you.
+  You will not see her?
+
+       [ALEXAS whispers an ATTENDANT, who goes out.]
+
+  ANTONY.  But to take my leave.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Then I have washed an Aethiop.  You're undone;
+  Y' are in the toils; y' are taken; y' are destroyed:
+  Her eyes do Caesar's work.
+
+  ANTONY.  You fear too soon.
+  I'm constant to myself:  I know my strength;
+  And yet she shall not think me barbarous neither,
+  Born in the depths of Afric:  I am a Roman,
+  Bred in the rules of soft humanity.
+  A guest, and kindly used, should bid farewell.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  You do not know
+  How weak you are to her, how much an infant:
+  You are not proof against a smile, or glance:
+  A sigh will quite disarm you.
+
+  ANTONY.  See, she comes!
+  Now you shall find your error.--Gods, I thank you:
+  I formed the danger greater than it was,
+  And now 'tis near, 'tis lessened.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Mark the end yet.
+
+       Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, and IRAS
+
+  ANTONY.  Well, madam, we are met.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Is this a meeting?
+  Then, we must part?
+
+  ANTONY.  We must.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Who says we must?
+
+  ANTONY.  Our own hard fates.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  We make those fates ourselves.
+
+  ANTONY.  Yes, we have made them; we have loved each other,
+  Into our mutual ruin.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  The gods have seen my joys with envious eyes;
+  I have no friends in heaven; and all the world,
+  As 'twere the business of mankind to part us,
+  Is armed against my love:  even you yourself
+  Join with the rest; you, you are armed against me.
+
+  ANTONY.  I will be justified in all I do
+  To late posterity, and therefore hear me.
+  If I mix a lie
+  With any truth, reproach me freely with it;
+  Else, favour me with silence.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  You command me,
+  And I am dumb.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I like this well; he shows authority.
+
+  ANTONY.  That I derive my ruin
+  From you alone----
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  O heavens!  I ruin you!
+
+  ANTONY.  You promised me your silence, and you break it
+  Ere I have scarce begun.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Well, I obey you.
+
+  ANTONY.  When I beheld you first, it was in Egypt.
+  Ere Caesar saw your eyes, you gave me love,
+  And were too young to know it; that I settled
+  Your father in his throne, was for your sake;
+  I left the acknowledgment for time to ripen.
+  Caesar stept in, and, with a greedy hand,
+  Plucked the green fruit, ere the first blush of red,
+  Yet cleaving to the bough.  He was my lord,
+  And was, beside, too great for me to rival;
+  But, I deserved you first, though he enjoyed you.
+  When, after, I beheld you in Cilicia,
+  An enemy to Rome, I pardoned you.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  I cleared myself----
+
+  ANTONY.  Again you break your promise.
+  I loved you still, and took your weak excuses,
+  Took you into my bosom, stained by Caesar,
+  And not half mine:  I went to Egypt with you,
+  And hid me from the business of the world,
+  Shut out inquiring nations from my sight,
+  To give whole years to you.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Yes, to your shame be't spoken.
+       [Aside.]
+
+  ANTONY.  How I loved.
+  Witness, ye days and nights, and all ye hours,
+  That danced away with down upon your feet,
+  As all your business were to count my passion!
+  One day passed by, and nothing saw but love;
+  Another came, and still 'twas only love:
+  The suns were wearied out with looking on,
+  And I untired with loving.
+  I saw you every day, and all the day;
+  And every day was still but as the first,
+  So eager was I still to see you more.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  'Tis all too true.
+
+  ANTONY.  Fulvia, my wife, grew jealous,
+  (As she indeed had reason) raised a war
+  In Italy, to call me back.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  But yet
+  You went not.
+
+  ANTONY.  While within your arms I lay,
+  The world fell mouldering from my hands each hour,
+  And left me scarce a grasp--I thank your love for't.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Well pushed:  that last was home.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Yet may I speak?
+
+  ANTONY.  If I have urged a falsehood, yes; else, not.
+  Your silence says, I have not.  Fulvia died,
+  (Pardon, you gods, with my unkindness died);
+  To set the world at peace, I took Octavia,
+  This Caesar's sister; in her pride of youth,
+  And flower of beauty, did I wed that lady,
+  Whom blushing I must praise, because I left her.
+  You called; my love obeyed the fatal summons:
+  This raised the Roman arms; the cause was yours.
+  I would have fought by land, where I was stronger;
+  You hindered it:  yet, when I fought at sea,
+  Forsook me fighting; and (O stain to honour!
+  O lasting shame!) I knew not that I fled;
+  But fled to follow you.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  What haste she made to hoist her purple sails!
+  And, to appear magnificent in flight,
+  Drew half our strength away.
+
+  ANTONY.  All this you caused.
+  And, would you multiply more ruins on me?
+  This honest man, my best, my only friend,
+  Has gathered up the shipwreck of my fortunes;
+  Twelve legions I have left, my last recruits.
+  And you have watched the news, and bring your eyes
+  To seize them too.  If you have aught to answer,
+  Now speak, you have free leave.
+
+  ALEXAS.  [aside.]  She stands confounded:
+  Despair is in her eyes.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  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.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  How shall I plead my cause, when you, my judge,
+  Already have condemned me?  Shall I bring
+  The love you bore me for my advocate?
+  That now is turned against me, that destroys me;
+  For love, once past, is, at the best, forgotten;
+  But oftener sours to hate:  'twill please my lord
+  To ruin me, and therefore I'll be guilty.
+  But, could I once have thought it would have pleased you,
+  That you would pry, with narrow searching eyes,
+  Into my faults, severe to my destruction,
+  And watching all advantages with care,
+  That serve to make me wretched?  Speak, my lord,
+  For I end here.  Though I deserved this usage,
+  Was it like you to give it?
+
+  ANTONY.  Oh, you wrong me,
+  To think I sought this parting, or desired
+  To accuse you more than what will clear myself,
+  And justify this breach.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Thus low I thank you;
+  And, since my innocence will not offend,
+  I shall not blush to own it.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  After this,
+  I think she'll blush at nothing.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  You seem grieved
+  (And therein you are kind) that Caesar first
+  Enjoyed my love, though you deserved it better:
+  I grieve for that, my lord, much more than you;
+  For, had I first been yours, it would have saved
+  My second choice:  I never had been his,
+  And ne'er had been but yours.  But Caesar first,
+  You say, possessed my love.  Not so, my lord:
+  He first possessed my person; you, my love:
+  Caesar loved me; but I loved Antony.
+  If I endured him after, 'twas because
+  I judged it due to the first name of men;
+  And, half constrained, I gave, as to a tyrant,
+  What he would take by force.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  O Syren!  Syren!
+  Yet grant that all the love she boasts were true,
+  Has she not ruined you?  I still urge that,
+  The fatal consequence.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  The consequence indeed--
+  For I dare challenge him, my greatest foe,
+  To say it was designed:  'tis true, I loved you,
+  And kept you far from an uneasy wife,--
+  Such Fulvia was.
+  Yes, but he'll say, you left Octavia for me;--
+  And, can you blame me to receive that love,
+  Which quitted such desert, for worthless me?
+  How often have I wished some other Caesar,
+  Great as the first, and as the second young,
+  Would court my love, to be refused for you!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Words, words; but Actium, sir; remember Actium.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Even there, I dare his malice.  True, I counselled
+  To fight at sea; but I betrayed you not.
+  I fled, but not to the enemy.  'Twas fear;
+  Would I had been a man, not to have feared!
+  For none would then have envied me your friendship,
+  Who envy me your love.
+
+  ANTONY.  We are both unhappy:
+  If nothing else, yet our ill fortune parts us.
+  Speak; would you have me perish by my stay?
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  If, as a friend, you ask my judgment, go;
+  If, as a lover, stay.  If you must perish--
+  'Tis a hard word--but stay.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  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!
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Then judge my love by this.
+       [Giving ANTONY a writing.]
+  Could I have borne
+  A life or death, a happiness or woe,
+  From yours divided, this had given me means.
+
+  ANTONY.  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 murder.--
+  See, see, Ventidius! here he offers Egypt,
+  And joins all Syria to it, as a present;
+  So, in requital, she forsake my fortunes,
+  And join her arms with his.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  And yet you leave me!
+  You leave me, Antony; and yet I love you,
+  Indeed I do:  I have refused a kingdom;
+  That is a trifle;
+  For I could part with life, with anything,
+  But only you.  Oh, let me die but with you!
+  Is that a hard request?
+
+  ANTONY.  Next living with you,
+  'Tis all that Heaven can give.
+
+  ALEXAS.  He melts; we conquer.
+       [Aside.]
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  No; you shall go:  your interest calls you hence;
+  Yes; your dear interest pulls too strong, for these
+  Weak arms to hold you here.
+       [Takes his hand.]
+  Go; leave me, soldier
+  (For you're no more a lover):  leave me dying:
+  Push me, all pale and panting, from your bosom,
+  And, when your march begins, let one run after,
+  Breathless almost for joy, and cry--She's dead.
+  The soldiers shout; you then, perhaps, may sigh,
+  And muster all your Roman gravity:
+  Ventidius chides; and straight your brow clears up,
+  As I had never been.
+
+  ANTONY.  Gods, 'tis too much; too much for man to bear.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  What is't for me then,
+  A weak, forsaken woman, and a lover?--
+  Here let me breathe my last:  envy me not
+  This minute in your arms:  I'll die apace,
+  As fast as e'er I can, and end your trouble.
+
+  ANTONY.  Die! rather let me perish; loosened nature
+  Leap from its hinges, sink the props of heaven,
+  And fall the skies, to crush the nether world!
+  My eyes, my soul, my all!
+       [Embraces her.]
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  And what's this toy,
+  In balance with your fortune, honour, fame?
+
+  ANTONY.  What is't, Ventidius?--it outweighs them all;
+  Why, we have more than conquered Caesar now:
+  My queen's not only innocent, but loves me.
+  This, this is she, who drags me down to ruin!
+  "But, could she 'scape without me, with what haste
+  Would she let slip her hold, and make to shore,
+  And never look behind!"
+  Down on thy knees, blasphemer as thou art,
+  And ask forgiveness of wronged innocence.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I'll rather die, than take it.  Will you go?
+
+  ANTONY.  Go! whither?  Go from all that's excellent?
+  Faith, honour, virtue, all good things forbid,
+  That I should go from her, who sets my love
+  Above the price of kingdoms!  Give, you gods,
+  Give to your boy, your Caesar,
+  This rattle of a globe to play withal,
+  This gewgaw world, and put him cheaply off:
+  I'll not be pleased with less than Cleopatra.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  She's wholly yours.  My heart's so full of joy,
+  That I shall do some wild extravagance
+  Of love, in public; and the foolish world,
+  Which knows not tenderness, will think me mad.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  O women! women! women! all the gods
+  Have not such power of doing good to man,
+  As you of doing harm.
+       [Exit.]
+
+  ANTONY.  Our men are armed:--
+  Unbar the gate that looks to Caesar's camp:
+  I would revenge the treachery he meant me;
+  And long security makes conquest easy.
+  I'm eager to return before I go;
+  For, all the pleasures I have known beat thick
+  On my remembrance.--How I long for night!
+  That both the sweets of mutual love may try,
+  And triumph once o'er Caesar ere we die.
+       [Exeunt.]
+
+
+
+       Act III
+
+       Scene I
+
+       At one door enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, IRAS, and ALEXAS,
+       a Train of EGYPTIANS:  at the other ANTONY and ROMANS.
+       The entrance on both sides is prepared by music; the
+       trumpets first sounding on Antony's part:  then answered
+       by timbrels, etc., on CLEOPATRA'S.  CHARMION and IRAS
+       hold a laurel wreath betwixt them.  A Dance of EGYPTIANS.
+       After the ceremony, CLEOPATRA crowns ANTONY.
+
+  ANTONY.  I thought how those white arms would fold me in,
+  And strain me close, and melt me into love;
+  So pleased with that sweet image, I sprung forwards,
+  And added all my strength to every blow.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Come to me, come, my soldier, to my arms!
+  You've been too long away from my embraces;
+  But, when I have you fast, and all my own,
+  With broken murmurs, and with amorous sighs,
+  I'll say, you were unkind, and punish you,
+  And mark you red with many an eager kiss.
+
+  ANTONY.  My brighter Venus!
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  O my greater Mars!
+
+  ANTONY.  Thou join'st us well, my love!
+  Suppose me come from the Phlegraean plains,
+  Where gasping giants lay, cleft by my sword,
+  And mountain-tops paired off each other blow,
+  To bury those I slew.  Receive me, goddess!
+  Let Caesar spread his subtle nets; like Vulcan,
+  In thy embraces I would be beheld
+  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,
+  With awful state, regardless of their frowns,
+  As their superior gods.
+  There's no satiety of love in thee:
+  Enjoyed, thou still art new; perpetual spring
+  Is in thy arms; the ripened fruit but falls,
+  And blossoms rise to fill its empty place;
+  And I grow rich by giving.
+
+       Enter VENTIDIUS, and stands apart
+
+  ALEXAS.  Oh, now the danger's past, your general comes!
+  He joins not in your joys, nor minds your triumphs;
+  But, with contracted brows, looks frowning on,
+  As envying your success.
+
+  ANTONY.  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.]
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Emperor!
+
+  ANTONY.  'Tis the old argument; I pr'ythee, spare me.
+       [Looking back.]
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  But this one hearing, emperor.
+
+  ANTONY.  Let go
+  My robe; or, by my father Hercules--
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  By Hercules' father, that's yet greater,
+  I bring you somewhat you would wish to know.
+
+  ANTONY.  Thou see'st we are observed; attend me here,
+  And I'll return.
+       [Exit.]
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I am waning in his favour, yet I love him;
+  I love this man, who runs to meet his ruin;
+  And sure the gods, like me, are fond of him:
+  His virtues lie so mingled with his crimes,
+  As would confound their choice to punish one,
+  And not reward the other.
+
+       Enter ANTONY
+
+  ANTONY.  We can conquer,
+  You see, without your aid.
+  We have dislodged their troops;
+  They look on us at distance, and, like curs
+  Scaped from the lion's paws, they bay far off,
+  And lick their wounds, and faintly threaten war.
+  Five thousand Romans, with their faces upward,
+  Lie breathless on the plain.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  'Tis well; and he,
+  Who lost them, could have spared ten thousand more.
+  Yet if, by this advantage, you could gain
+  An easier peace, while Caesar doubts the chance
+  Of arms--
+
+  ANTONY.  Oh, think not on't, Ventidius!
+  The boy pursues my ruin, he'll no peace;
+  His malice is considerable in advantage.
+  Oh, he's the coolest murderer! so staunch,
+  He kills, and keeps his temper.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Have you no friend
+  In all his army, who has power to move him?
+  Maecenas, or Agrippa, might do much.
+
+  ANTONY.  They're both too deep in Caesar's interests.
+  We'll work it out by dint of sword, or perish.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Fain I would find some other.
+
+  ANTONY.  Thank thy love.
+  Some four or five such victories as this
+  Will save thy further pains.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Expect no more; Caesar is on his guard:
+  I know, sir, you have conquered against odds;
+  But still you draw supplies from one poor town,
+  And of Egyptians:  he has all the world,
+  And, at his beck, nations come pouring in,
+  To fill the gaps you make.  Pray, think again.
+
+  ANTONY.  Why dost thou drive me from myself, to search
+  For foreign aids?--to hunt my memory,
+  And range all o'er a waste and barren place,
+  To find a friend?  The wretched have no friends.
+  Yet I had one, the bravest youth of Rome,
+  Whom Caesar loves beyond the love of women:
+  He could resolve his mind, as fire does wax,
+  From that hard rugged image melt him down,
+  And mould him in what softer form he pleased.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Him would I see; that man, of all the world;
+  Just such a one we want.
+
+  ANTONY.  He loved me too;
+  I was his soul; he lived not but in me:
+  We were so closed within each other's breasts,
+  The rivets were not found, that joined us first.
+  That does not reach us yet:  we were so mixt,
+  As meeting streams, both to ourselves were lost;
+  We were one mass; we could not give or take,
+  But from the same; for he was I, I he.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  He moves as I would wish him.
+       [Aside.]
+
+  ANTONY.  After this,
+  I need not tell his name;--'twas Dolabella.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  He's now in Caesar's camp.
+
+  ANTONY.  No matter where,
+  Since he's no longer mine.  He took unkindly,
+  That I forbade him Cleopatra's sight,
+  Because I feared he loved her:  he confessed,
+  He had a warmth, which, for my sake, he stifled;
+  For 'twere impossible that two, so one,
+  Should not have loved the same.  When he departed,
+  He took no leave; and that confirmed my thoughts.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  It argues, that he loved you more than her,
+  Else he had stayed; but he perceived you jealous,
+  And would not grieve his friend:  I know he loves you.
+
+  ANTONY.  I should have seen him, then, ere now.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Perhaps
+  He has thus long been labouring for your peace.
+
+  ANTONY.  Would he were here!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Would you believe he loved you?
+  I read your answer in your eyes, you would.
+  Not to conceal it longer, he has sent
+  A messenger from Caesar's camp, with letters.
+
+  ANTONY.  Let him appear.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I'll bring him instantly.
+       [Exit VENTIDIUS, and re-enters immediately with DOLABELLA.]
+
+  ANTONY.  'Tis he himself! himself, by holy friendship!
+       [Runs to embrace him.]
+  Art thou returned at last, my better half?
+  Come, give me all myself!
+  Let me not live,
+  If the young bridegroom, longing for his night,
+  Was ever half so fond.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  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.
+
+  ANTONY.  Thou hast what's left of me;
+  For I am now so sunk from what I was,
+  Thou find'st me at my lowest water-mark.
+  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've still a heart that swells, in scorn of fate,
+  And lifts me to my banks.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Still you are lord of all the world to me.
+
+  ANTONY.  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, O my Dolabella!
+  Thou has beheld me other than I am.
+  Hast thou not seen my morning chambers filled
+  With sceptred 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 silent in my presence, watched my eyes,
+  And, at my least command, all started out,
+  Like racers to the goal.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Slaves to your fortune.
+
+  ANTONY.  Fortune is Caesar's now; and what am I?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  What you have made yourself; I will not flatter.
+
+  ANTONY.  Is this friendly done?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Yes; when his end is so, I must join with him;
+  Indeed I must, and yet you must not chide;
+  Why am I else your friend?
+
+  ANTONY.  Take heed, young man,
+  How thou upbraid'st my love:  The queen has eyes,
+  And thou too hast a soul.  Canst thou remember,
+  When, swelled with hatred, thou beheld'st her first,
+  As accessary to thy brother's death?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Spare my remembrance; 'twas a guilty day,
+  And still the blush hangs here.
+
+  ANTONY.  To clear herself,
+  For sending him no aid, she came from Egypt.
+  Her galley down the silver Cydnus rowed,
+  The tackling silk, the streamers waved with gold;
+  The gentle winds were lodged in purple sails:
+  Her nymphs, like Nereids, round her couch were placed;
+  Where she, another sea-born Venus, lay.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  No more; I would not hear it.
+
+  ANTONY.  Oh, you must!
+  She lay, and leant her cheek upon her hand,
+  And cast a look so languishingly sweet,
+  As if, secure of all beholders' hearts,
+  Neglecting, she could take them:  boys, like Cupids,
+  Stood fanning, with their painted wings, the winds.
+  That played about her face.  But if she smiled
+  A darting glory seemed to blaze abroad,
+  That men's desiring eyes were never wearied,
+  But hung upon the object:  To soft flutes
+  The silver oars kept time; and while they played,
+  The hearing gave new pleasure to the sight;
+  And both to thought.  'Twas heaven, or somewhat more;
+  For she so charmed all hearts, that gazing crowds
+  Stood panting on the shore, and wanted breath
+  To give their welcome voice.
+  Then, Dolabella, where was then thy soul?
+  Was not thy fury quite disarmed with wonder?
+  Didst thou not shrink behind me from those eyes
+  And whisper in my ear--Oh, tell her not
+  That I accused her with my brother's death?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  And should my weakness be a plea for yours?
+  Mine was an age when love might be excused,
+  When kindly warmth, and when my springing youth
+  Made it a debt to nature.  Yours--
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  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 you constrained the course,
+  And robbed from nature, to supply desire;
+  In you (I would not use so harsh a word)
+  'Tis but plain dotage.
+
+  ANTONY.  Ha!
+
+  DOLABELLA.  'Twas urged too home.--
+  But yet the loss was private, that I made;
+  'Twas but myself I lost:  I lost no legions;
+  I had no world to lose, no people's love.
+
+  ANTONY.  This from a friend?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Yes, Antony, a true one;
+  A friend so tender, that each word I speak
+  Stabs my own heart, before it reach your ear.
+  Oh, judge me not less kind, because I chide!
+  To Caesar I excuse you.
+
+  ANTONY.  O ye gods!
+  Have I then lived to be excused to Caesar?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  As to your equal.
+
+  ANTONY.  Well, he's but my equal:
+  While I wear this he never shall be more.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  I bring conditions from him.
+
+  ANTONY.  Are they noble?
+  Methinks thou shouldst not bring them else; yet he
+  Is full of deep dissembling; knows no honour
+  Divided from his interest.  Fate mistook him;
+  For nature meant him for an usurer:
+  He's fit indeed to buy, not conquer kingdoms.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Then, granting this,
+  What power was theirs, who wrought so hard a temper
+  To honourable terms?
+
+  ANTONY.  I was my Dolabella, or some god.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Nor I, nor yet Maecenas, nor Agrippa:
+  They were your enemies; and I, a friend,
+  Too weak alone; yet 'twas a Roman's deed.
+
+  ANTONY.  'Twas like a Roman done:  show me that man,
+  Who has preserved my life, my love, my honour;
+  Let me but see his face.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  That task is mine,
+  And, Heaven, thou know'st how pleasing.
+       [Exit VENTIDIUS.]
+
+  DOLABELLA.  You'll remember
+  To whom you stand obliged?
+
+  ANTONY.  When I forget it
+  Be thou unkind, and that's my greatest curse.
+  My queen shall thank him too,
+
+  DOLABELLA.  I fear she will not.
+
+  ANTONY.  But she shall do it:  The queen, my Dolabella!
+  Hast thou not still some grudgings of thy fever?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  I would not see her lost.
+
+  ANTONY.  When I forsake her,
+  Leave me my better stars! for she has truth
+  Beyond her beauty.  Caesar tempted her,
+  At no less price than kingdoms, to betray me;
+  But she resisted all:  and yet thou chidest me
+  For loving her too well.  Could I do so?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Yes; there's my reason.
+
+       Re-enter VENTIDIUS, with OCTAVIA,
+       leading ANTONY'S two little DAUGHTERS
+
+  ANTONY.  Where?--Octavia there!
+       [Starting back.]
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  What, is she poison to you?--a disease?
+  Look on her, view her well, and those she brings:
+  Are they all strangers to your eyes? has nature
+  No secret call, no whisper they are yours?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  For shame, my lord, if not for love, receive them
+  With kinder eyes.  If you confess a man,
+  Meet them, embrace them, bid them welcome to you.
+  Your arms should open, even without your knowledge,
+  To clasp them in; your feet should turn to wings,
+  To bear you to them; and your eyes dart out
+  And aim a kiss, ere you could reach the lips.
+
+  ANTONY.  I stood amazed, to think how they came hither.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I sent for them; I brought them in unknown
+  To Cleopatra's guards.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Yet, are you cold?
+
+  OCTAVIA.  Thus long I have attended for my welcome;
+  Which, as a stranger, sure I might expect.
+  Who am I?
+
+  ANTONY.  Caesar's sister.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  That's unkind.
+  Had I been nothing more than Caesar's sister,
+  Know, I had still remained in Caesar's camp:
+  But your Octavia, your much injured wife,
+  Though banished from your bed, driven from your house,
+  In spite of Caesar's sister, still is yours.
+  'Tis true, I have a heart disdains your coldness,
+  And prompts me not to seek what you should offer;
+  But a wife's virtue still surmounts that pride.
+  I come to claim you as my own; to show
+  My duty first; to ask, nay beg, your kindness:
+  Your hand, my lord; 'tis mine, and I will have it.
+       [Taking his hand.]
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Do, take it; thou deserv'st it.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  On my soul,
+  And so she does:  she's neither too submissive,
+  Nor yet too haughty; but so just a mean
+  Shows, as it ought, a wife and Roman too.
+
+  ANTONY.  I fear, Octavia, you have begged my life.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  Begged it, my lord?
+
+  ANTONY.  Yes, begged it, my ambassadress;
+  Poorly and basely begged it of your brother.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  Poorly and basely I could never beg:
+  Nor could my brother grant.
+
+  ANTONY.  Shall I, who, to my kneeling slave, could say,
+  Rise up, and be a king; shall I fall down
+  And cry,--Forgive me, Caesar!  Shall I set
+  A man, my equal, in the place of Jove,
+  As he could give me being?  No; that word,
+  Forgive, would choke me up,
+  And die upon my tongue.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  You shall not need it.
+
+  ANTONY.  I will not need it.  Come, you've all betrayed me,--
+  My friend too!--to receive some vile conditions.
+  My wife has bought me, with her prayers and tears;
+  And now I must become her branded slave.
+  In every peevish mood, she will upbraid
+  The life she gave:  if I but look awry,
+  She cries--I'll tell my brother.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  My hard fortune
+  Subjects me still to your unkind mistakes.
+  But the conditions I have brought are such,
+  Your need not blush to take:  I love your honour,
+  Because 'tis mine; it never shall be said,
+  Octavia's husband was her brother's slave.
+  Sir, you are free; free, even from her you loathe;
+  For, though my brother bargains for your love,
+  Makes me the price and cement of your peace,
+  I have a soul like yours; I cannot take
+  Your love as alms, nor beg what I deserve.
+  I'll tell my brother we are reconciled;
+  He shall draw back his troops, and you shall march
+  To rule the East:  I may be dropt at Athens;
+  No matter where.  I never will complain,
+  But only keep the barren name of wife,
+  And rid you of the trouble.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Was ever such a strife of sullen honour!      [Apart]
+  Both scorn to be obliged.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Oh, she has touched him in the tenderest part;[Apart]
+  See how he reddens with despite and shame,
+  To be outdone in generosity!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  See how he winks! how he dries up a tear,    [Apart]
+  That fain would fall!
+
+  ANTONY.  Octavia, I have heard you, and must praise
+  The greatness of your soul;
+  But cannot yield to what you have proposed:
+  For I can ne'er be conquered but by love;
+  And you do all for duty.  You would free me,
+  And would be dropt at Athens; was't not so?
+
+  OCTAVIA.  It was, my lord.
+
+  ANTONY.  Then I must be obliged
+  To one who loves me not; who, to herself,
+  May call me thankless and ungrateful man:--
+  I'll not endure it; no.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I am glad it pinches there.
+       [Aside.]
+
+  OCTAVIA.  Would you triumph o'er poor Octavia's virtue?
+  That pride was all I had to bear me up;
+  That you might think you owed me for your life,
+  And owed it to my duty, not my love.
+  I have been injured, and my haughty soul
+  Could brook but ill the man who slights my bed.
+
+  ANTONY.  Therefore you love me not.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  Therefore, my lord,
+  I should not love you.
+
+  ANTONY.  Therefore you would leave me?
+
+  OCTAVIA.  And therefore I should leave you--if I could.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Her soul's too great, after such injuries,
+  To say she loves; and yet she lets you see it.
+  Her modesty and silence plead her cause.
+
+  ANTONY.  O Dolabella, which way shall I turn?
+  I find a secret yielding in my soul;
+  But Cleopatra, who would die with me,
+  Must she be left?  Pity pleads for Octavia;
+  But does it not plead more for Cleopatra?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Justice and pity both plead for Octavia;
+  For Cleopatra, neither.
+  One would be ruined with you; but she first
+  Had ruined you:  The other, you have ruined,
+  And yet she would preserve you.
+  In everything their merits are unequal.
+
+  ANTONY.  O my distracted soul!
+
+  OCTAVIA.  Sweet Heaven compose it!--
+  Come, come, my lord, if I can pardon you,
+  Methinks you should accept it.  Look on these;
+  Are they not yours? or stand they thus neglected,
+  As they are mine?  Go to him, children, go;
+  Kneel to him, take him by the hand, speak to him;
+  For you may speak, and he may own you too,
+  Without a blush; and so he cannot all
+  His children:  go, I say, and pull him to me,
+  And pull him to yourselves, from that bad woman.
+  You, Agrippina, hang upon his arms;
+  And you, Antonia, clasp about his waist:
+  If he will shake you off, if he will dash you
+  Against the pavement, you must bear it, children;
+  For you are mine, and I was born to suffer.
+       [Here the CHILDREN go to him, etc.]
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Was ever sight so moving?--Emperor!
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Friend!
+
+  OCTAVIA.  Husband!
+
+  BOTH CHILDREN.  Father!
+
+  ANTONY.  I am vanquished:  take me,
+  Octavia; take me, children; share me all.
+       [Embracing them.]
+
+  I've been a thriftless debtor to your loves,
+  And run out much, in riot, from your stock;
+  But all shall be amended.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  O blest hour!
+
+  DOLABELLA.  O happy change!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  My joy stops at my tongue;
+  But it has found two channels here for one,
+  And bubbles out above.
+
+  ANTONY.  [to OCTAVIA]
+  This is thy triumph; lead me where thou wilt;
+  Even to thy brother's camp.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  All there are yours.
+
+       Enter ALEXAS hastily
+
+  ALEXAS.  The queen, my mistress, sir, and yours--
+
+  ANTONY.  'Tis past.--
+  Octavia, you shall stay this night:  To-morrow,
+  Caesar and we are one.
+       [Exit leading OCTAVIA; DOLABELLA and the CHILDREN follow.]
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  There's news for you; run, my officious eunuch,
+  Be sure to be the first; haste forward:
+  Haste, my dear eunuch, haste.
+       [Exit.]
+
+  ALEXAS.  This downright fighting fool, this thick-skulled hero,
+  This blunt, unthinking instrument of death,
+  With plain dull virtue has outgone my wit.
+  Pleasure forsook my earliest infancy;
+  The luxury of others robbed my cradle,
+  And ravished thence the promise of a man.
+  Cast out from nature, disinherited
+  Of what her meanest children claim by kind,
+  Yet greatness kept me from contempt:  that's gone.
+  Had Cleopatra followed my advice,
+  Then he had been betrayed who now forsakes.
+  She dies for love; but she has known its joys:
+  Gods, is this just, that I, who know no joys,
+  Must die, because she loves?
+
+       Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, IRAS, and Train
+
+  O madam, I have seen what blasts my eyes!
+  Octavia's here.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Peace with that raven's note.
+  I know it too; and now am in
+  The pangs of death.
+
+  ALEXAS.  You are no more a queen;
+  Egypt is lost.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  What tell'st thou me of Egypt?
+  My life, my soul is lost!  Octavia has him!--
+  O fatal name to Cleopatra's love!
+  My kisses, my embraces now are hers;
+  While I--But thou hast seen my rival; speak,
+  Does she deserve this blessing?  Is she fair?
+  Bright as a goddess? and is all perfection
+  Confined to her?  It is.  Poor I was made
+  Of that coarse matter, which, when she was finished,
+  The gods threw by for rubbish.
+
+  ALEXAS.  She is indeed a very miracle.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Death to my hopes, a miracle!
+
+  ALEXAS.  A miracle;
+       [Bowing.]
+  I mean of goodness; for in beauty, madam,
+  You make all wonders cease.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  I was too rash:
+  Take this in part of recompense.  But, oh!
+       [Giving a ring.]
+  I fear thou flatterest me.
+
+  CHARMION.  She comes! she's here!
+
+  IRAS.  Fly, madam, Caesar's sister!
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Were she the sister of the thunderer Jove,
+  And bore her brother's lightning in her eyes,
+  Thus would I face my rival.
+       [Meets OCTAVIA with VENTIDIUS.  OCTAVIA bears up
+        to her.  Their Trains come up on either side.]
+
+  OCTAVIA.  I need not ask if you are Cleopatra;
+  Your haughty carriage--
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Shows I am a queen:
+  Nor need I ask you, who you are.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  A Roman:
+  A name, that makes and can unmake a queen.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Your lord, the man who serves me, is a Roman.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  He was a Roman, till he lost that name,
+  To be a slave in Egypt; but I come
+  To free him thence.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Peace, peace, my lover's Juno.
+  When he grew weary of that household clog,
+  He chose my easier bonds.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  I wonder not
+  Your bonds are easy:  you have long been practised
+  In that lascivious art:  He's not the first
+  For whom you spread your snares:  Let Caesar witness.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  I loved not Caesar; 'twas but gratitude
+  I paid his love:  The worst your malice can,
+  Is but to say the greatest of mankind
+  Has been my slave.  The next, but far above him
+  In my esteem, is he whom law calls yours,
+  But whom his love made mine.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  I would view nearer.
+       [Coming up close to her.]
+  That face, which has so long usurped my right,
+  To find the inevitable charms, that catch
+  Mankind so sure, that ruined my dear lord.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Oh, you do well to search; for had you known
+  But half these charms, you had not lost his heart.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  Far be their knowledge from a Roman lady,
+  Far from a modest wife!  Shame of our sex,
+  Dost thou not blush to own those black endearments,
+  That make sin pleasing?
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  You may blush, who want them.
+  If bounteous nature, if indulgent Heaven
+  Have given me charms to please the bravest man,
+  Should I not thank them?  Should I be ashamed,
+  And not be proud?  I am, that he has loved me;
+  And, when I love not him, Heaven change this face
+  For one like that.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  Thou lov'st him not so well.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  I love him better, and deserve him more.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  You do not; cannot:  You have been his ruin.
+  Who made him cheap at Rome, but Cleopatra?
+  Who made him scorned abroad, but Cleopatra?
+  At Actium, who betrayed him?  Cleopatra.
+  Who made his children orphans, and poor me
+  A wretched widow? only Cleopatra.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Yet she, who loves him best, is Cleopatra.
+  If you have suffered, I have suffered more.
+  You bear the specious title of a wife,
+  To gild your cause, and draw the pitying world
+  To favour it:  the world condemns poor me.
+  For I have lost my honour, lost my fame,
+  And stained the glory of my royal house,
+  And all to bear the branded name of mistress.
+  There wants but life, and that too I would lose
+  For him I love.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  Be't so, then; take thy wish.
+       [Exit with her Train.]
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  And 'tis my wish,
+  Now he is lost for whom alone I lived.
+  My sight grows dim, and every object dances,
+  And swims before me, in the maze of death.
+  My spirits, while they were opposed, kept up;
+  They could not sink beneath a rival's scorn!
+  But now she's gone, they faint.
+
+  ALEXAS.  Mine have had leisure
+  To recollect their strength, and furnish counsel,
+  To ruin her, who else must ruin you.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Vain promiser!
+  Lead me, my Charmion; nay, your hand too, Iras.
+  My grief has weight enough to sink you both.
+  Conduct me to some solitary chamber,
+  And draw the curtains round;
+  Then leave me to myself, to take alone
+  My fill of grief:
+     There I till death will his unkindness weep;
+     As harmless infants moan themselves asleep.
+       [Exeunt.]
+
+
+
+       Act IV
+
+       Scene I
+
+       Enter ANTONY and DOLABELLA
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Why would you shift it from yourself on me?
+  Can you not tell her, you must part?
+
+  ANTONY.  I cannot.
+  I could pull out an eye, and bid it go,
+  And t'other should not weep.  O Dolabella,
+  How many deaths are in this word, DEPART!
+  I dare not trust my tongue to tell her so:
+  One look of hers would thaw me into tears,
+  And I should melt, till I were lost again.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Then let Ventidius;
+  He's rough by nature.
+
+  ANTONY.  Oh, he'll speak too harshly;
+  He'll kill her with the news:  Thou, only thou.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Nature has cast me in so soft a mould,
+  That but to hear a story, feigned for pleasure,
+  Of some sad lover's death, moistens my eyes,
+  And robs me of my manhood.  I should speak
+  So faintly, with such fear to grieve her heart,
+  She'd not believe it earnest.
+
+  ANTONY.  Therefore,--therefore
+  Thou only, thou art fit:  Think thyself me;
+  And when thou speak'st (but let it first be long),
+  Take off the edge from every sharper sound,
+  And let our parting be as gently made,
+  As other loves begin:  Wilt thou do this?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  What you have said so sinks into my soul,
+  That, if I must speak, I shall speak just so.
+
+  ANTONY.  I leave you then to your sad task:  Farewell.
+  I sent her word to meet you.
+       [Goes to the door, and comes back.]
+  I forgot;
+  Let her be told, I'll make her peace with mine,
+  Her crown and dignity shall be preserved,
+  If I have power with Caesar.--Oh, be sure
+  To think on that.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Fear not, I will remember.
+       [ANTONY goes again to the door, and comes back.]
+
+  ANTONY.  And tell her, too, how much I was constrained;
+  I did not this, but with extremest force.
+  Desire her not to hate my memory,
+  For I still cherish hers:--insist on that.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Trust me.  I'll not forget it.
+
+  ANTONY.  Then that's all.
+       [Goes out, and returns again.]
+  Wilt thou forgive my fondness this once more?
+  Tell her, though we shall never meet again,
+  If I should hear she took another love,
+  The news would break my heart.--Now I must go;
+  For every time I have returned, I feel
+  My soul more tender; and my next command
+  Would be, to bid her stay, and ruin both.
+       [Exit.]
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Men are but children of a larger growth;
+  Our appetites as apt to change as theirs,
+  And full as craving too, and full as vain;
+  And yet the soul, shut up in her dark room,
+  Viewing so clear abroad, at home sees nothing:
+  But, like a mole in earth, busy and blind,
+  Works all her folly up, and casts it outward
+  To the world's open view:  Thus I discovered,
+  And blamed the love of ruined Antony:
+  Yet wish that I were he, to be so ruined.
+
+       Enter VENTIDIUS above
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Alone, and talking to himself? concerned too?
+  Perhaps my guess is right; he loved her once,
+  And may pursue it still.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  O friendship! friendship!
+  Ill canst thou answer this; and reason, worse:
+  Unfaithful in the attempt; hopeless to win;
+  And if I win, undone:  mere madness all.
+  And yet the occasion's fair.  What injury
+  To him, to wear the robe which he throws by!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  None, none at all.  This happens as I wish,
+  To ruin her yet more with Antony.
+
+       Enter CLEOPATRA talking with ALEXAS;
+       CHARMION, IRAS on the other side.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  She comes!  What charms have sorrow on that face!
+  Sorrow seems pleased to dwell with so much sweetness;
+  Yet, now and then, a melancholy smile
+  Breaks loose, like lightning in a winter's night,
+  And shows a moment's day.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  If she should love him too! her eunuch there?
+  That porc'pisce bodes ill weather.  Draw, draw nearer,
+  Sweet devil, that I may hear.
+
+  ALEXAS.  Believe me; try
+       [DOLABELLA goes over to CHARMION and IRAS;
+        seems to talk with them.]
+  To make him jealous; jealousy is like
+  A polished glass held to the lips when life's in doubt;
+  If there be breath, 'twill catch the damp, and show it.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  I grant you, jealousy's a proof of love,
+  But 'tis a weak and unavailing medicine;
+  It puts out the disease, and makes it show,
+  But has no power to cure.
+
+  ALEXAS.  'Tis your last remedy, and strongest too:
+  And then this Dolabella, who so fit
+  To practise on?  He's handsome, valiant, young,
+  And looks as he were laid for nature's bait,
+  To catch weak women's eyes.
+  He stands already more than half suspected
+  Of loving you:  the least kind word or glance,
+  You give this youth, will kindle him with love:
+  Then, like a burning vessel set adrift,
+  You'll send him down amain before the wind,
+  To fire the heart of jealous Antony.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Can I do this?  Ah, no, my love's so true,
+  That I can neither hide it where it is,
+  Nor show it where it is not.  Nature meant me
+  A wife; a silly, harmless, household dove,
+  Fond without art, and kind without deceit;
+  But Fortune, that has made a mistress of me,
+  Has thrust me out to the wide world, unfurnished
+  Of falsehood to be happy.
+
+  ALEXAS.  Force yourself.
+  The event will be, your lover will return,
+  Doubly desirous to possess the good
+  Which once he feared to lose.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  I must attempt it;
+  But oh, with what regret!
+       [Exit ALEXAS.  She comes up to DOLABELLA.]
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  So, now the scene draws near; they're in my reach.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  [to DOLABELLA.]
+  Discoursing with my women! might not I
+  Share in your entertainment?
+
+  CHARMION.  You have been
+  The subject of it, madam.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  How! and how!
+
+  IRAS.  Such praises of your beauty!
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Mere poetry.
+  Your Roman wits, your Gallus and Tibullus,
+  Have taught you this from Cytheris and Delia.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Those Roman wits have never been in Egypt;
+  Cytheris and Delia else had been unsung:
+  I, who have seen--had I been born a poet,
+  Should choose a nobler name.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  You flatter me.
+  But, 'tis your nation's vice:  All of your country
+  Are flatterers, and all false.  Your friend's like you.
+  I'm sure, he sent you not to speak these words.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  No, madam; yet he sent me--
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Well, he sent you--
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Of a less pleasing errand.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  How less pleasing?
+  Less to yourself, or me?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Madam, to both;
+  For you must mourn, and I must grieve to cause it.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  You, Charmion, and your fellow, stand at distance.--
+  Hold up, my spirits.  [Aside.]--Well, now your mournful matter;
+  For I'm prepared, perhaps can guess it too.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  I wish you would; for 'tis a thankless office,
+  To tell ill news:  And I, of all your sex,
+  Most fear displeasing you.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Of all your sex,
+  I soonest could forgive you, if you should.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Most delicate advances!  Women! women!
+  Dear, damned, inconstant sex!
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  In the first place,
+  I am to be forsaken; is't not so?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  I wish I could not answer to that question.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Then pass it o'er, because it troubles you:
+  I should have been more grieved another time.
+  Next I'm to lose my kingdom--Farewell, Egypt!
+  Yet, is there ary more?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Madam, I fear
+  Your too deep sense of grief has turned your reason.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  No, no, I'm not run mad; I can bear fortune:
+  And love may be expelled by other love,
+  As poisons are by poisons.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  You o'erjoy me, madam,
+  To find your griefs so moderately borne.
+  You've heard the worst; all are not false like him.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  No; Heaven forbid they should.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Some men are constant.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  And constancy deserves reward, that's certain.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Deserves it not; but give it leave to hope.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I'll swear, thou hast my leave.  I have enough:
+  But how to manage this!  Well, I'll consider.
+       [Exit.]
+
+  DOLABELLA.  I came prepared
+  To tell you heavy news; news, which I thought
+  Would fright the blood from your pale cheeks to hear:
+  But you have met it with a cheerfulness,
+  That makes my task more easy; and my tongue,
+  Which on another's message was employed,
+  Would gladly speak its own.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Hold, Dolabella.
+  First tell me, were you chosen by my lord?
+  Or sought you this employment?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  He picked me out; and, as his bosom friend,
+  He charged me with his words.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  The message then
+  I know was tender, and each accent smooth,
+  To mollify that rugged word, DEPART.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Oh, you mistake:  He chose the harshest words;
+  With fiery eyes, and contracted brows,
+  He coined his face in the severest stamp;
+  And fury shook his fabric, like an earthquake;
+  He heaved for vent, and burst like bellowing Aetna,
+  In sounds scarce human--"Hence away for ever,
+  Let her begone, the blot of my renown,
+  And bane of all my hopes!"
+       [All the time of this speech, CLEOPATRA seems more
+        and more concerned, till she sinks quite down.]
+  "Let her be driven, as far as men can think,
+  From man's commerce! she'll poison to the centre."
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Oh, I can bear no more!
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Help, help!--O wretch!  O cursed, cursed wretch!
+  What have I done!
+
+  CHARMION.  Help, chafe her temples, Iras.
+
+  IRAS.  Bend, bend her forward quickly.
+
+  CHARMION.  Heaven be praised,
+  She comes again.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Oh, let him not approach me.
+  Why have you brought me back to this loathed being;
+  The abode of falsehood, violated vows,
+  And injured love?  For pity, let me go;
+  For, if there be a place of long repose,
+  I'm sure I want it.  My disdainful lord
+  Can never break that quiet; nor awake
+  The sleeping soul, with hollowing in my tomb
+  Such words as fright her hence.--Unkind, unkind!
+
+  DOLABELLA. Believe me, 'tis against myself I speak;
+       [Kneeling.]
+  That sure desires belief; I injured him:
+  My friend ne'er spoke those words.  Oh, had you seen
+  How often he came back, and every time
+  With something more obliging and more kind,
+  To add to what he said; what dear farewells;
+  How almost vanquished by his love he parted,
+  And leaned to what unwillingly he left!
+  I, traitor as I was, for love of you
+  (But what can you not do, who made me false?)
+  I forged that lie; for whose forgiveness kneels
+  This self-accused, self-punished criminal.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  With how much ease believe we what we wish!
+  Rise, Dolabella; if you have been guilty,
+  I have contributed, and too much love
+  Has made me guilty too.
+  The advance of kindness, which I made, was feigned,
+  To call back fleeting love by jealousy;
+  But 'twould not last.  Oh, rather let me lose,
+  Than so ignobly trifle with his heart.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  I find your breast fenced round from human reach,
+  Transparent as a rock of solid crystal;
+  Seen through, but never pierced.  My friend, my friend,
+  What endless treasure hast thou thrown away;
+  And scattered, like an infant, in the ocean,
+  Vain sums of wealth, which none can gather thence!
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Could you not beg
+  An hour's admittance to his private ear?
+  Like one, who wanders through long barren wilds
+  And yet foreknows no hospitable inn
+  Is near to succour hunger, eats his fill,
+  Before his painful march;
+  So would I feed a while my famished eyes
+  Before we part; for I have far to go,
+  If death be far, and never must return.
+
+       VENTIDIUS with OCTAVIA, behind
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  From hence you may discover--oh, sweet, sweet!
+  Would you indeed?  The pretty hand in earnest?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  I will, for this reward.
+       [Takes her hand.]
+  Draw it not back.
+  'Tis all I e'er will beg.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  They turn upon us.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  What quick eyes has guilt!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Seem not to have observed them, and go on.
+       [They enter.]
+
+  DOLABELLA. Saw you the emperor, Ventidius?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  No.
+  I sought him; but I heard that he was private,
+  None with him but Hipparchus, his freedman.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Know you his business?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Giving him instructions,
+  And letters to his brother Caesar.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Well,
+  He must be found.
+       [Exeunt DOLABELLA and CLEOPATRA.]
+
+  OCTAVIA.  Most glorious impudence!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  She looked, methought,
+  As she would say--Take your old man, Octavia;
+  Thank you, I'm better here.--
+  Well, but what use
+  Make we of this discovery?
+
+  OCTAVIA.  Let it die.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I pity Dolabella; but she's dangerous:
+  Her eyes have power beyond Thessalian charms,
+  To draw the moon from heaven; for eloquence,
+  The sea-green Syrens taught her voice their flattery;
+  And, while she speaks, night steals upon the day,
+  Unmarked of those that hear.  Then she's so charming,
+  Age buds at sight of her, and swells to youth:
+  The holy priests gaze on her when she smiles;
+  And with heaved hands, forgetting gravity,
+  They bless her wanton eyes:  Even I, who hate her,
+  With a malignant joy behold such beauty;
+  And, while I curse, desire it.  Antony
+  Must needs have some remains of passion still,
+  Which may ferment into a worse relapse,
+  If now not fully cured.  I know, this minute,
+  With Caesar he's endeavouring her peace.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  You have prevailed:--But for a further purpose
+       [Walks off.]
+  I'll prove how he will relish this discovery.
+  What, make a strumpet's peace! it swells my heart:
+  It must not, shall not be.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  His guards appear.
+  Let me begin, and you shall second me.
+
+       Enter ANTONY
+
+  ANTONY.  Octavia, I was looking you, my love:
+  What, are your letters ready?  I have given
+  My last instructions.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  Mine, my lord, are written.
+
+  ANTONY.  Ventidius.
+       [Drawing him aside.]
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  My lord?
+
+  ANTONY.  A word in private.--
+  When saw you Dolabella?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Now, my lord,
+  He parted hence; and Cleopatra with him.
+
+  ANTONY.  Speak softly.--'Twas by my command he went,
+  To bear my last farewell.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  It looked indeed
+       [Aloud.]
+  Like your farewell.
+
+  ANTONY.  More softly.--My farewell?
+  What secret meaning have you in those words
+  Of--My farewell?  He did it by my order.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Then he obeyed your order.  I suppose
+       [Aloud.]
+  You bid him do it with all gentleness,
+  All kindness, and all--love.
+
+  ANTONY.  How she mourned,
+  The poor forsaken creature!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  She took it as she ought; she bore your parting
+  As she did Caesar's, as she would another's,
+  Were a new love to come.
+
+  ANTONY.  Thou dost belie her;
+       [Aloud.]
+  Most basely, and maliciously belie her.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I thought not to displease you; I have done.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  You seemed disturbed, my Lord.
+       [Coming up.]
+
+  ANTONY.  A very trifle.
+  Retire, my love.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  It was indeed a trifle.
+  He sent--
+
+  ANTONY.  No more.  Look how thou disobey'st me;
+       [Angrily.]
+  Thy life shall answer it.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  Then 'tis no trifle.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  [to OCTAVIA.]
+  'Tis less; a very nothing:  You too saw it,
+  As well as I, and therefore 'tis no secret.
+
+  ANTONY.  She saw it!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Yes:  She saw young Dolabella--
+
+  ANTONY.  Young Dolabella!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Young, I think him young,
+  And handsome too; and so do others think him.
+  But what of that?  He went by your command,
+  Indeed 'tis probable, with some kind message;
+  For she received it graciously; she smiled;
+  And then he grew familiar with her hand,
+  Squeezed it, and worried it with ravenous kisses;
+  She blushed, and sighed, and smiled, and blushed again;
+  At last she took occasion to talk softly,
+  And brought her cheek up close, and leaned on his;
+  At which, he whispered kisses back on hers;
+  And then she cried aloud--That constancy
+  Should be rewarded.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  This I saw and heard.
+
+  ANTONY.  What woman was it, whom you heard and saw
+  So playful with my friend?
+  Not Cleopatra?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Even she, my lord.
+
+  ANTONY.  My Cleopatra?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Your Cleopatra;
+  Dolabella's Cleopatra; every man's Cleopatra.
+
+  ANTONY.  Thou liest.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I do not lie, my lord.
+  Is this so strange?  Should mistresses be left,
+  And not provide against a time of change?
+  You know she's not much used to lonely nights.
+
+  ANTONY.  I'll think no more on't.
+  I know 'tis false, and see the plot betwixt you.--
+  You needed not have gone this way, Octavia.
+  What harms it you that Cleopatra's just?
+  She's mine no more.  I see, and I forgive:
+  Urge it no further, love.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  Are you concerned,
+  That she's found false?
+
+  ANTONY.  I should be, were it so;
+  For, though 'tis past, I would not that the world
+  Should tax my former choice, that I loved one
+  Of so light note; but I forgive you both.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  What has my age deserved, that you should think
+  I would abuse your ears with perjury?
+  If Heaven be true, she's false.
+
+  ANTONY.  Though heaven and earth
+  Should witness it, I'll not believe her tainted.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I'll bring you, then, a witness
+  From hell, to prove her so.--Nay, go not back;
+       [Seeing ALEXAS just entering, and starting back.]
+  For stay you must and shall.
+
+  ALEXAS.  What means my lord?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  To make you do what most you hate,--speak truth.
+  You are of Cleopatra's private counsel,
+  Of her bed-counsel, her lascivious hours;
+  Are conscious of each nightly change she makes,
+  And watch her, as Chaldaeans do the moon,
+  Can tell what signs she passes through, what day.
+
+  ALEXAS.  My noble lord!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  My most illustrious pander,
+  No fine set speech, no cadence, no turned periods,
+  But a plain homespun truth, is what I ask.
+  I did, myself, o'erhear your queen make love
+  To Dolabella.  Speak; for I will know,
+  By your confession, what more passed betwixt them;
+  How near the business draws to your employment;
+  And when the happy hour.
+
+  ANTONY.  Speak truth, Alexas; whether it offend
+  Or please Ventidius, care not:  Justify
+  Thy injured queen from malice:  Dare his worst.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  [aside.]  See how he gives him courage! how he fears
+  To find her false! and shuts his eyes to truth,
+  Willing to be misled!
+
+  ALEXAS.  As far as love may plead for woman's frailty,
+  Urged by desert and greatness of the lover,
+  So far, divine Octavia, may my queen
+  Stand even excused to you for loving him
+  Who is your lord:  so far, from brave Ventidius,
+  May her past actions hope a fair report.
+
+  ANTONY.  'Tis well, and truly spoken:  mark, Ventidius.
+
+  ALEXAS.  To you, most noble emperor, her strong passion
+  Stands not excused, but wholly justified.
+  Her beauty's charms alone, without her crown,
+  From Ind and Meroe drew the distant vows
+  Of sighing kings; and at her feet were laid
+  The sceptres of the earth, exposed on heaps,
+  To choose where she would reign:
+  She thought a Roman only could deserve her,
+  And, of all Romans, only Antony;
+  And, to be less than wife to you, disdained
+  Their lawful passion.
+
+  ANTONY.  'Tis but truth.
+
+  ALEXAS.  And yet, though love, and your unmatched desert,
+  Have drawn her from the due regard of honour,
+  At last Heaven opened her unwilling eyes
+  To see the wrongs she offered fair Octavia,
+  Whose holy bed she lawlessly usurped.
+  The sad effects of this improsperous war
+  Confirmed those pious thoughts.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  [aside.]  Oh, wheel you there?
+  Observe him now; the man begins to mend,
+  And talk substantial reason.--Fear not, eunuch;
+  The emperor has given thee leave to speak.
+
+  ALEXAS.  Else had I never dared to offend his ears
+  With what the last necessity has urged
+  On my forsaken mistress; yet I must not
+  Presume to say, her heart is wholly altered.
+
+  ANTONY.  No, dare not for thy life, I charge thee dare not
+  Pronounce that fatal word!
+
+  OCTAVIA.  Must I bear this?  Good Heaven, afford me patience.
+       [Aside.]
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  On, sweet eunuch; my dear half-man, proceed.
+
+  ALEXAS.  Yet Dolabella
+  Has loved her long; he, next my god-like lord,
+  Deserves her best; and should she meet his passion,
+  Rejected, as she is, by him she loved----
+
+  ANTONY.  Hence from my sight! for I can bear no more:
+  Let furies drag thee quick to hell; let all
+  The longer damned have rest; each torturing hand
+  Do thou employ, till Cleopatra comes;
+  Then join thou too, and help to torture her!
+       [Exit ALEXAS, thrust out by ANTONY.]
+
+  OCTAVIA.  'Tis not well.
+  Indeed, my lord, 'tis much unkind to me,
+  To show this passion, this extreme concernment,
+  For an abandoned, faithless prostitute.
+
+  ANTONY.  Octavia, leave me; I am much disordered:
+  Leave me, I say.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  My lord!
+
+  ANTONY.  I bid you leave me.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Obey him, madam:  best withdraw a while,
+  And see how this will work.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  Wherein have I offended you, my lord,
+  That I am bid to leave you?  Am I false,
+  Or infamous?  Am I a Cleopatra?
+  Were I she,
+  Base as she is, you would not bid me leave you;
+  But hang upon my neck, take slight excuses,
+  And fawn upon my falsehood.
+
+  ANTONY.  'Tis too much.
+  Too much, Octavia; I am pressed with sorrows
+  Too heavy to be borne; and you add more:
+  I would retire, and recollect what's left
+  Of man within, to aid me.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  You would mourn,
+  In private, for your love, who has betrayed you.
+  You did but half return to me:  your kindness
+  Lingered behind with her, I hear, my lord,
+  You make conditions for her,
+  And would include her treaty.  Wondrous proofs
+  Of love to me!
+
+  ANTONY.  Are you my friend, Ventidius?
+  Or are you turned a Dolabella too,
+  And let this fury loose?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Oh, be advised,
+  Sweet madam, and retire.
+
+  OCTAVIA.  Yes, I will go; but never to return.
+  You shall no more be haunted with this Fury.
+  My lord, my lord, love will not always last,
+  When urged with long unkindness and disdain:
+  Take her again, whom you prefer to me;
+  She stays but to be called.  Poor cozened man!
+  Let a feigned parting give her back your heart,
+  Which a feigned love first got; for injured me,
+  Though my just sense of wrongs forbid my stay,
+  My duty shall be yours.
+  To the dear pledges of our former love
+  My tenderness and care shall be transferred,
+  And they shall cheer, by turns, my widowed nights:
+  So, take my last farewell; for I despair
+  To have you whole, and scorn to take you half.
+       [Exit.]
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I combat Heaven, which blasts my best designs;
+  My last attempt must be to win her back;
+  But oh!  I fear in vain.
+       [Exit.]
+
+  ANTONY.  Why was I framed with this plain, honest heart,
+  Which knows not to disguise its griefs and weakness,
+  But bears its workings outward to the world?
+  I should have kept the mighty anguish in,
+  And forced a smile at Cleopatra's falsehood:
+  Octavia had believed it, and had stayed.
+  But I am made a shallow-forded stream,
+  Seen to the bottom:  all my clearness scorned,
+  And all my faults exposed.--See where he comes,
+
+       Enter DOLLABELLA
+
+  Who has profaned the sacred name of friend,
+  And worn it into vileness!
+  With how secure a brow, and specious form,
+  He gilds the secret villain!  Sure that face
+  Was meant for honesty; but Heaven mismatched it,
+  And furnished treason out with nature's pomp,
+  To make its work more easy.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  O my friend!
+
+  ANTONY.  Well, Dolabella, you performed my message?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  I did, unwillingly.
+
+  ANTONY.  Unwillingly?
+  Was it so hard for you to bear our parting?
+  You should have wished it.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Why?
+
+  ANTONY.  Because you love me.
+  And she received my message with as true,
+  With as unfeigned a sorrow as you brought it?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  She loves you, even to madness.
+
+  ANTONY.  Oh, I know it.
+  You, Dolabella, do not better know
+  How much she loves me.  And should I
+  Forsake this beauty?  This all-perfect creature?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  I could not, were she mine.
+
+  ANTONY.  And yet you first
+  Persuaded me:  How come you altered since?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  I said at first I was not fit to go:
+  I could not hear her sighs, and see her tears,
+  But pity must prevail:  And so, perhaps,
+  It may again with you; for I have promised,
+  That she should take her last farewell:  And, see,
+  She comes to claim my word.
+
+       Enter CLEOPATRA
+
+  ANTONY.  False Dolabella!
+
+  DOLABELLA.  What's false, my lord?
+
+  ANTONY.  Why, Dolabella's false,
+  And Cleopatra's false; both false and faithless.
+  Draw near, you well-joined wickedness, you serpents,
+  Whom I have in my kindly bosom warmed,
+  Till I am stung to death.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  My lord, have I
+  Deserved to be thus used?
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Can Heaven prepare
+  A newer torment?  Can it find a curse
+  Beyond our separation?
+
+  ANTONY.  Yes, if fate
+  Be just, much greater:  Heaven should be ingenious
+  In punishing such crimes.  The rolling stone,
+  And gnawing vulture, were slight pains, invented
+  When Jove was young, and no examples known
+  Of mighty ills; but you have ripened sin,
+  To such a monstrous growth, 'twill pose the gods
+  To find an equal torture.  Two, two such!--
+  Oh, there's no further name,--two such! to me,
+  To me, who locked my soul within your breasts,
+  Had no desires, no joys, no life, but you;
+  When half the globe was mine, I gave it you
+  In dowry with my heart; I had no use,
+  No fruit of all, but you:  A friend and mistress
+  Was what the world could give.  O Cleopatra!
+  O Dolabella! how could you betray
+  This tender heart, which with an infant fondness
+  Lay lulled betwixt your bosoms, and there slept,
+  Secure of injured faith?
+
+  DOLABELLA.  If she has wronged you,
+  Heaven, hell, and you revenge it.
+
+  ANTONY.  If she has wronged me!
+  Thou wouldst evade thy part of guilt; but swear
+  Thou lov'st not her.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Not so as I love you.
+
+  ANTONY.  Not so?  Swear, swear, I say, thou dost not love her.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  No more than friendship will allow.
+
+  ANTONY.  No more?
+  Friendship allows thee nothing:  Thou art perjured--
+  And yet thou didst not swear thou lov'st her not;
+  But not so much, no more.  O trifling hypocrite,
+  Who dar'st not own to her, thou dost not love,
+  Nor own to me, thou dost!  Ventidius heard it;
+  Octavia saw it.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  They are enemies.
+
+  ANTONY.  Alexas is not so:  He, he confessed it;
+  He, who, next hell, best knew it, he avowed it.
+  Why do I seek a proof beyond yourself?
+       [To DOLABELLA.]
+  You, whom I sent to bear my last farewell,
+  Returned, to plead her stay.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  What shall I answer?
+  If to have loved be guilt, then I have sinned;
+  But if to have repented of that love
+  Can wash away my crime, I have repented.
+  Yet, if I have offended past forgiveness,
+  Let not her suffer:  She is innocent.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Ah, what will not a woman do, who loves?
+  What means will she refuse, to keep that heart,
+  Where all her joys are placed?  'Twas I encouraged,
+  'Twas I blew up the fire that scorched his soul,
+  To make you jealous, and by that regain you.
+  But all in vain; I could not counterfeit:
+  In spite of all the dams my love broke o'er,
+  And drowned by heart again:  fate took the occasion;
+  And thus one minute's feigning has destroyed
+  My whole life's truth.
+
+  ANTONY.  Thin cobweb arts of falsehood;
+  Seen, and broke through at first.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Forgive your mistress.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Forgive your friend.
+
+  ANTONY.  You have convinced yourselves.
+  You plead each other's cause:  What witness have you,
+  That you but meant to raise my jealousy?
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Ourselves, and Heaven.
+
+  ANTONY.  Guilt witnesses for guilt.  Hence, love and friendship!
+  You have no longer place in human breasts,
+  These two have driven you out:  Avoid my sight!
+  I would not kill the man whom I have loved,
+  And cannot hurt the woman; but avoid me:
+  I do not know how long I can be tame;
+  For, if I stay one minute more, to think
+  How I am wronged, my justice and revenge
+  Will cry so loud within me, that my pity
+  Will not be heard for either.
+
+  DOLABELLA.  Heaven has but
+  Our sorrow for our sins; and then delights
+  To pardon erring man:  Sweet mercy seems
+  Its darling attribute, which limits justice;
+  As if there were degrees in infinite,
+  And infinite would rather want perfection
+  Than punish to extent.
+
+  ANTONY.  I can forgive
+  A foe; but not a mistress and a friend.
+  Treason is there in its most horrid shape,
+  Where trust is greatest; and the soul resigned,
+  Is stabbed by its own guards:  I'll hear no more;
+  Hence from my sight for ever!
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  How? for ever!
+  I cannot go one moment from your sight,
+  And must I go for ever?
+  My joys, my only joys, are centred here:
+  What place have I to go to?  My own kingdom?
+  That I have lost for you:  Or to the Romans?
+  They hate me for your sake:  Or must I wander
+  The wide world o'er, a helpless, banished woman,
+  Banished for love of you; banished from you?
+  Ay, there's the banishment!  Oh, hear me; hear me,
+  With strictest justice:  For I beg no favour;
+  And if I have offended you, then kill me,
+  But do not banish me.
+
+  ANTONY.  I must not hear you.
+  I have a fool within me takes your part;
+  But honour stops my ears.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  For pity hear me!
+  Would you cast off a slave who followed you?
+  Who crouched beneath your spurn?--He has no pity!
+  See, if he gives one tear to my departure;
+  One look, one kind farewell:  O iron heart!
+  Let all the gods look down, and judge betwixt us,
+  If he did ever love!
+
+  ANTONY.  No more:  Alexas!
+
+  DOLABELLA.  A perjured villain!
+
+  ANTONY.  [to CLEOPATRA.]  Your Alexas; yours.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Oh, 'twas his plot; his ruinous design,
+  To engage you in my love by jealousy.
+  Hear him; confront him with me; let him speak.
+
+  ANTONY.  I have; I have.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  And if he clear me not--
+
+  ANTONY.  Your creature! one, who hangs upon your smiles!
+  Watches your eye, to say or to unsay,
+  Whate'er you please!  I am not to be moved.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Then must we part?  Farewell, my cruel lord!
+  The appearance is against me; and I go,
+  Unjustified, for ever from your sight.
+  How I have loved, you know; how yet I love,
+  My only comfort is, I know myself:
+  I love you more, even now you are unkind,
+  Then when you loved me most; so well, so truly
+  I'll never strive against it; but die pleased,
+  To think you once were mine.
+
+  ANTONY.  Good heaven, they weep at parting!
+  Must I weep too? that calls them innocent.
+  I must not weep; and yet I must, to think
+  That I must not forgive.--
+  Live, but live wretched; 'tis but just you should,
+  Who made me so:  Live from each other's sight:
+  Let me not hear you meet.  Set all the earth,
+  And all the seas, betwixt your sundered loves:
+  View nothing common but the sun and skies.
+  Now, all take several ways;
+    And each your own sad fate, with mine, deplore;
+    That you were false, and I could trust no more.
+       [Exeunt severally.]
+
+
+
+       Act V
+
+       Scene I
+
+       Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, and IRAS
+
+  CHARMION.  Be juster, Heaven; such virtue punished thus,
+  Will make us think that chance rules all above,
+  And shuffles, with a random hand, the lots,
+  Which man is forced to draw.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  I could tear out these eyes, that gained his heart,
+  And had not power to keep it.  O the curse
+  Of doting on, even when I find it dotage!
+  Bear witness, gods, you heard him bid me go;
+  You, whom he mocked with imprecating vows
+  Of promised faith!--I'll die; I will not bear it.
+  You may hold me--
+       [She pulls out her dagger, and they hold her.]
+  But I can keep my breath; I can die inward,
+  And choke this love.
+
+       Enter ALEXAS
+
+  IRAS.  Help, O Alexas, help!
+  The queen grows desperate; her soul struggles in her
+  With all the agonies of love and rage,
+  And strives to force its passage.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Let me go.
+  Art thou there, traitor!--O,
+  O for a little breath, to vent my rage,
+  Give, give me way, and let me loose upon him.
+
+  ALEXAS.  Yes, I deserve it, for my ill-timed truth.
+  Was it for me to prop
+  The ruins of a falling majesty?
+  To place myself beneath the mighty flaw,
+  Thus to be crushed, and pounded into atoms,
+  By its o'erwhelming weight?  'Tis too presuming
+  For subjects to preserve that wilful power,
+  Which courts its own destruction.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  I would reason
+  More calmly with you.  Did not you o'errule,
+  And force my plain, direct, and open love,
+  Into these crooked paths of jealousy?
+  Now, what's the event?  Octavia is removed;
+  But Cleopatra's banished.  Thou, thou villain,
+  Hast pushed my boat to open sea; to prove,
+  At my sad cost, if thou canst steer it back.
+  It cannot be; I'm lost too far; I'm ruined:
+  Hence, thou impostor, traitor, monster, devil!--
+  I can no more:  Thou, and my griefs, have sunk
+  Me down so low, that I want voice to curse thee.
+
+  ALEXAS.  Suppose some shipwrecked seaman near the shore,
+  Dropping and faint, with climbing up the cliff,
+  If, from above, some charitable hand
+  Pull him to safety, hazarding himself,
+  To draw the other's weight; would he look back,
+  And curse him for his pains?  The case is yours;
+  But one step more, and you have gained the height.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Sunk, never more to rise.
+
+  ALEXAS.  Octavia's gone, and Dolabella banished.
+  Believe me, madam, Antony is yours.
+  His heart was never lost, but started off
+  To jealousy, love's last retreat and covert;
+  Where it lies hid in shades, watchful in silence,
+  And listening for the sound that calls it back.
+  Some other, any man ('tis so advanced),
+  May perfect this unfinished work, which I
+  (Unhappy only to myself) have left
+  So easy to his hand.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Look well thou do't; else--
+
+  ALEXAS.  Else, what your silence threatens.--Antony
+  Is mounted up the Pharos; from whose turret,
+  He stands surveying our Egyptian galleys,
+  Engaged with Caesar's fleet.  Now death or conquest!
+  If the first happen, fate acquits my promise;
+  If we o'ercome, the conqueror is yours.
+       [A distant shout within.]
+
+  CHARMION.  Have comfort, madam:  Did you mark that shout?
+       [Second shout nearer.]
+
+  IRAS.  Hark! they redouble it.
+
+  ALEXAS.  'Tis from the port.
+  The loudness shows it near:  Good news, kind heavens!
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Osiris make it so!
+
+       Enter SERAPION
+
+  SERAPION.  Where, where's the queen?
+
+  ALEXAS.  How frightfully the holy coward stares
+  As if not yet recovered of the assault,
+  When all his gods, and, what's more dear to him,
+  His offerings, were at stake.
+
+  SERAPION.  O horror, horror!
+  Egypt has been; our latest hour has come:
+  The queen of nations, from her ancient seat,
+  Is sunk for ever in the dark abyss:
+  Time has unrolled her glories to the last,
+  And now closed up the volume.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Be more plain:
+  Say, whence thou comest; though fate is in thy face,
+  Which from the haggard eyes looks wildly out,
+  And threatens ere thou speakest.
+
+  SERAPION.  I came from Pharos;
+  From viewing (spare me, and imagine it)
+  Our land's last hope, your navy--
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Vanquished?
+
+  SERAPION.  No:
+  They fought not.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Then they fled.
+
+  SERAPION.  Nor that.  I saw,
+  With Antony, your well-appointed fleet
+  Row out; and thrice he waved his hand on high,
+  And thrice with cheerful cries they shouted back:
+  'Twas then false Fortune, like a fawning strumpet,
+  About to leave the bankrupt prodigal,
+  With a dissembled smile would kiss at parting,
+  And flatter to the last; the well-timed oars,
+  Now dipt from every bank, now smoothly run
+  To meet the foe; and soon indeed they met,
+  But not as foes.  In few, we saw their caps
+  On either side thrown up; the Egyptian galleys,
+  Received like friends, passed through, and fell behind
+  The Roman rear:  And now, they all come forward,
+  And ride within the port.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Enough, Serapion:
+  I've heard my doom.--This needed not, you gods:
+  When I lost Antony, your work was done;
+  'Tis but superfluous malice.--Where's my lord?
+  How bears he this last blow?
+
+  SERAPION.  His fury cannot be expressed by words:
+  Thrice he attempted headlong to have fallen
+  Full on his foes, and aimed at Caesar's galley:
+  Withheld, he raves on you; cries,--He's betrayed.
+  Should he now find you--
+
+  ALEXAS.  Shun him; seek your safety,
+  Till you can clear your innocence.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  I'll stay.
+
+  ALEXAS.  You must not; haste you to your monument,
+  While I make speed to Caesar.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Caesar!  No,
+  I have no business with him.
+
+  ALEXAS.  I can work him
+  To spare your life, and let this madman perish.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Base fawning wretch! wouldst thou betray him too?
+  Hence from my sight!  I will not hear a traitor;
+  'Twas thy design brought all this ruin on us.--
+  Serapion, thou art honest; counsel me:
+  But haste, each moment's precious.
+
+  SERAPION.  Retire; you must not yet see Antony.
+  He who began this mischief,
+  'Tis just he tempt the danger; let him clear you:
+  And, since he offered you his servile tongue,
+  To gain a poor precarious life from Caesar,
+  Let him expose that fawning eloquence,
+  And speak to Antony.
+
+  ALEXAS.  O heavens!  I dare not;
+  I meet my certain death.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  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.
+
+  ALEXAS.  O pity me, and let me follow you.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  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 CLEOPATRA, SERAPION, CHARMION, and IRAS.]
+
+  ALEXAS.  O that I less could fear to lose this being,
+  Which, like a snowball 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.
+
+  ANTONY.  Which way? where?
+       [Within.]
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  This leads to the monument.
+       [Within.]
+
+  ALEXAS.  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 far go hence.
+       [Exit.]
+
+       Enter ANTONY and VENTIDIUS
+
+  ANTONY.  O happy Caesar! thou hast men to lead:
+  Think not 'tis thou hast conquered Antony;
+  But Rome has conquered Egypt.  I'm betrayed.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Curse on this treacherous train!
+  Their soil and heaven infect them all with baseness:
+  And their young souls come tainted to the world
+  With the first breath they draw.
+
+  ANTONY.  The original villain sure no god created;
+  He was a bastard of the sun, by Nile,
+  Aped into man; with all his mother's mud
+  Crusted about his soul.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  The nation is
+  One universal traitor; and their queen
+  The very spirit and extract of them all.
+
+  ANTONY.  Is there yet left
+  A possibility of aid from valour?
+  Is there one god unsworn to my destruction?
+  The least unmortgaged hope? for, if there be,
+  Methinks I cannot fall beneath the fate
+  Of such a boy as Caesar.
+  The world's one half is yet in Antony;
+  And from each limb of it, that's hewed away,
+  The soul comes back to me.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  There yet remain
+  Three legions in the town.  The last assault
+  Lopt off the rest; if death be your design,--
+  As I must wish it now,--these are sufficient
+  To make a heap about us of dead foes,
+  An honest pile for burial.
+
+  ANTONY.  They are 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 giv'st, I'll take on me, as a just debt,
+  And pay thee back a soul.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  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 Caesar, to outlive you.
+  When we put off this flesh, and mount together,
+  I shall be shown to all the ethereal crowd,--
+  Lo, this is he who died with Antony!
+
+  ANTONY.  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
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  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 sets his countenance for deceit,
+  And promises a lie, before he speaks!
+  Let me despatch him first.
+       [Drawing.]
+
+  ALEXAS.  O spare me, spare me!
+
+  ANTONY.  Hold; he's not worth your killing.--On thy life,
+  Which thou may'st keep, because I scorn to take it,
+  No syllable to justify thy queen;
+  Save thy base tongue its office.
+
+  ALEXAS.  Sir, she is gone.
+  Where she shall never be molested more
+  By love, or you.
+
+  ANTONY.  Fled to her Dolabella!
+  Die, traitor!  I revoke my promise! die!
+       [Going to kill him.]
+
+  ALEXAS.  O hold! she is not fled.
+
+  ANTONY.  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 over.  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 Caesar.
+
+  ALEXAS.  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 Caesar,
+  Secure by such a bribe!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  She sent it first,
+  To be more welcome after.
+
+  ANTONY.  'Tis too plain;
+  Else would she have appeared, to clear herself.
+
+  ALEXAS.  Too fatally she has:  she could not bear
+  To be accused by you; but shut herself
+  Within her monument; looked down and sighed;
+  While, from her unchanged face, the silent tears
+  Dropt, as they had not leave, but stole their parting.
+  Some indistinguished words she only murmured;
+  At last, she raised her eyes; and, with such looks
+  As dying Lucrece cast--
+
+  ANTONY.  My heart forebodes--
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  All for the best:--Go on.
+
+  ALEXAS.  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.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Heaven be praised!
+
+  ANTONY.  Then art thou innocent, my poor dear love,
+  And art thou dead?
+  O those two words! their sound should be divided:
+  Hadst thou been false, and died; or hadst thou lived,
+  And hadst been true--But innocence and death!
+  This shows not well above.  Then what am I,
+  The murderer of this truth, this innocence!
+  Thoughts cannot form themselves in words so horrid
+  As can express my guilt!
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Is't come to this?  The gods have been too gracious;
+  And thus you thank them for it!
+
+  ANTONY.  [to ALEXAS.]  Why stayest thou here?
+  Is it for thee to spy upon my soul,
+  And see its inward mourning?  Get thee hence;
+  Thou art not worthy to behold, what now
+  Becomes a Roman emperor to perform.
+
+  ALEXAS.  He loves her still:
+  His grief betrays it.  Good! the joy to find
+  She's yet alive, completes the reconcilement.
+  I've saved myself, and her.  But, oh! the Romans!
+  Fate comes too fast upon my wit,
+  Hunts me too hard, and meets me at each double.
+       [Aside.]
+       [Exit.]
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Would she had died a little sooner, though!
+  Before Octavia went, you might have treated:
+  Now 'twill look tame, and would not be received.
+  Come, rouse yourself, and let's die warm together.
+
+  ANTONY.  I will not fight:  there's no more work for war.
+  The business of my angry hours is done.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Caesar is at your gates.
+
+  ANTONY.  Why, let him enter;
+  He's welcome now.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  What lethargy has crept into your soul?
+
+  ANTONY.  'Tis but a scorn of life, and just desire
+  To free myself from bondage.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Do it bravely.
+
+  ANTONY.  I will; but not by fighting.  O Ventidius!
+  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 Caesar take the world,--
+  An empty circle, since the jewel's gone
+  Which made it worth my strife:  my being's nauseous;
+  For all the bribes of life are gone away.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Would you be taken?
+
+  ANTONY.  Yes, I would be taken;
+  But, as a Roman ought,--dead, my Ventidius:
+  For I'll convey my soul from Caesar's reach,
+  And lay down life myself.  'Tis time the world
+  Should have a lord, and know whom to obey.
+  We two have kept its homage in suspense,
+  And bent the globe, on whose each side we trod,
+  Till it was dented inwards.  Let him walk
+  Alone upon't:  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.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I could be grieved,
+  But that I'll not outlive you:  choose your death;
+  For, I have seen him in such various shapes,
+  I care not which I take:  I'm only troubled,
+  The life I bear is worn to such a rag,
+  '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 last thrust out our paws, and wound
+  The hunters that inclose us.
+
+  ANTONY.  I have thought on it.
+  Ventidius, you must live.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  I must not, sir.
+
+  ANTONY.  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?
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Who shall guard mine,
+  For living after you?
+
+  ANTONY.  Say, I command it.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  If we die well, our deaths will speak themselves
+  And need no living witness.
+
+  ANTONY.  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 Caesar.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Thank your kindness.
+  You said I loved you; and in recompense,
+  You bid me turn a traitor:  Did I think
+  You would have used me thus?--that I should die
+  With a hard thought of you?
+
+  ANTONY.  Forgive me, Roman.
+  Since I have heard of Cleopatra's death,
+  My reason bears no rule upon my tongue,
+  But lets my thoughts break all at random out.
+  I've thought better; do not deny me twice.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  By Heaven I will not.
+  Let it not be to outlive you.
+
+  ANTONY.  Kill me first,
+  And then die thou; for 'tis but just thou serve
+  Thy friend, before thyself.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Give me your hand.
+  We soon shall meet again.  Now, farewell, emperor!--
+       [Embrace.]
+  Methinks that word's too cold to be my last:
+  Since death sweeps all distinctions, farewell, friend!
+  That's all--
+  I will not make a business of a trifle;
+  And yet I cannot look on you, and kill you;
+  Pray turn your face.
+
+  ANTONY.  I do:  strike home, be sure.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  Home as my sword will reach.
+       [Kills himself.]
+
+  ANTONY.  Oh, thou mistak'st;
+  That wound was not of thine; give it me back:
+  Thou robb'st me of my death.
+
+  VENTIDIUS.  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.]
+
+  ANTONY.  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 spoiled 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've missed my heart.  O 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 Caesar:
+  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
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Where is my lord? where is he?
+
+  CHARMION.  There he lies,
+  And dead Ventidius by him.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  My tears were prophets; I am come too late.
+  O that accursed Alexas!
+       [Runs to him.]
+
+  ANTONY.  Art thou living?
+  Or am I dead before I knew, and thou
+  The first kind ghost that meets me?
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Help me seat him.
+  Send quickly, send for help!
+       [They place him in a chair.]
+
+  ANTONY.  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.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  How is it with you?
+
+  ANTONY.  '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.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Too long, ye heavens, you have been cruel to me:
+  Now show your mended faith, and give me back
+  His fleeting life!
+
+  ANTONY.  It will not be, my love;
+  I keep my soul by force.
+  Say but, thou art not false.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  'Tis now too late
+  To say I'm true:  I'll prove it, and die with you.
+  Unknown to me, Alexas feigned my death:
+  Which, when I knew, I hasted to prevent
+  This fatal consequence.  My fleet betrayed
+  Both you and me.
+
+  ANTONY.  And Dolabella--
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Scarce
+  Esteemed before he loved; but hated now.
+
+  ANTONY.  Enough:  my life's not long enough for more.
+  Thou say'st, thou wilt come after:  I believe thee;
+  For I can now believe whate'er thou sayest,
+  That we may part more kindly.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  I will come:
+  Doubt not, my life, I'll come, and quickly too:
+  Caesar shall triumph o'er no part of thee.
+
+  ANTONY.  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.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Your words are like the notes of dying swans,
+  Too sweet to last.  Were there so many hours
+  For your unkindness, and not one for love?
+
+  ANTONY.  No, not a minute.--This one kiss--more worth
+  Than all I leave to Caesar.
+       [Dies.]
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  O tell me so again,
+  And take ten thousand kisses for that word.
+  My lord, my lord! speak, if you yet have being;
+  Sign to me, if you cannot speak; or cast
+  One look!  Do anything that shows you live.
+
+  IRAS.  He's gone too far to hear you;
+  And this you see, a lump of senseless clay,
+  The leavings of a soul.
+
+  CHARMION.  Remember, madam,
+  He charged you not to grieve.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  And I'll obey him.
+  I have not loved a Roman, not to know
+  What should become his wife; his wife, my Charmion!
+  For 'tis to that high title I aspire;
+  And now I'll not die less.  Let dull Octavia
+  Survive, to mourn him dead:  My nobler fate
+  Shall knit our spousals with a tie, too strong
+  For Roman laws to break.
+
+  IRAS.  Will you then die?
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Why shouldst thou make that question?
+
+  IRAS.  Caesar is merciful.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  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 Caesar'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.
+
+  CHARMION.  Whatever you resolve,
+  I'll follow, even to death.
+
+  IRAS.  I only feared
+  For you; but more should fear to live without you.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Why, now, 'tis as it should be.  Quick, my friends,
+  Despatch; ere this, the town's in Caesar'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 aspics, madam?
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Must I bid you twice?
+       [Exit CHARMION 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're now alone, in secrecy and silence;
+  And is not this like lovers?  I may kiss
+  These pale, cold lips; Octavia does not see me:
+  And, oh! 'tis better far to have him thus,
+  Than see him in her arms.--Oh, welcome, welcome!
+
+       Enter CHARMION and IRAS
+
+  CHARMION.  What must be done?
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Short ceremony, friends;
+  But yet it must be decent.  First, this laurel
+  Shall crown my hero's head:  he fell not basely,
+  Nor left his shield behind him.--Only thou
+  Couldst triumph o'er thyself; and thou alone
+  Wert worthy so to triumph.
+
+  CHARMION.  To what end
+  These ensigns of your pomp and royalty?
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Dull, that thou art! why 'tis to meet my love;
+  As when I saw him first, on Cydnus' 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.
+
+  CHARMION.  'Tis done.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  Now seat me by my lord.  I claim this place,
+  For I must conquer Caesar too, like him,
+  And win my share of the world.--Hail, you dear relics
+  Of my immortal love!
+  O 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 aspic lies.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  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 steal 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.
+
+  SERAPION.  The queen, where is she?
+       [Within.]
+  The town is yielded, Caesar's at the gates.
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  He comes too late to invade the rights of death!
+  Haste, bare my arm, and rouse the serpent's fury.
+       [Holds out her arm, and draws it back.]
+  Coward flesh,
+  Wouldst thou conspire with Caesar to betray me,
+  As thou wert none of mine?  I'll force thee to it,
+  And not be sent by him,
+  But bring, myself, my soul to Antony.
+       [Turns aside, and then shows her arm bloody.]
+  Take hence; the work is done.
+
+  SERAPION.  Break ope the door,
+       [Within.]
+  And guard the traitor well.
+
+  CHARMION.  The next is ours.
+
+  IRAS.  Now, Charmion, to be worthy
+  Of our great queen and mistress.
+       [They apply the aspics.]
+
+  CLEOPATRA.  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 vanquished in a mist.
+  Where shall I find him, where?  O turn me to him,
+  And lay me on his breast!--Caesar, 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, EGYPTIANS
+
+  PRIEST.  Behold, Serapion,
+  What havoc death has made!
+
+  SERAPION.  'Twas what I feared.--
+  Charmion, is this well done?
+
+  CHARMION.  Yes, 'tis well done, and like a queen, the last
+  Of her great race:  I follow her.
+       [Sinks down:  dies.]
+
+  ALEXAS.  'Tis true,
+  She has done well:  Much better thus to die,
+  Than live to make a holiday in Rome.
+
+  SERAPION.  See how the lovers sit 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.
+  Caesar'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,
+  While all the storms of fate fly o'er your tomb;
+    And fame to late posterity shall tell,
+    No lovers lived so great, or died so well.
+       [Exeunt.]
+
+
+
+  EPILOGUE
+
+  Poets, like disputants, when reasons fail,
+  Have one sure refuge left--and that's to rail.
+  Fop, coxcomb, fool, are thundered through the pit;
+  And this is all their equipage of wit.
+  We wonder how the devil this difference grows
+  Betwixt our fools in verse, and yours in prose:
+  For, 'faith, the quarrel rightly understood,
+  'Tis civil war with their own flesh and blood.
+  The threadbare author hates the gaudy coat;
+  And swears at the gilt coach, but swears afoot:
+  For 'tis observed of every scribbling man,
+  He grows a fop as fast as e'er he can;
+  Prunes up, and asks his oracle, the glass,
+  If pink or purple best become his face.
+  For our poor wretch, he neither rails nor prays;
+  Nor likes your wit just as you like his plays;
+  He has not yet so much of Mr. Bayes.
+  He does his best; and if he cannot please,
+  Would quietly sue out his WRIT OF EASE.
+  Yet, if he might his own grand jury call,
+  By the fair sex he begs to stand or fall.
+  Let Caesar's power the men's ambition move,
+  But grace you him who lost the world for love!
+    Yet if some antiquated lady say,
+  The last age is not copied in his play;
+  Heaven help the man who for that face must drudge,
+  Which only has the wrinkles of a judge.
+  Let not the young and beauteous join with those;
+  For should you raise such numerous hosts of foes,
+  Young wits and sparks he to his aid must call;
+  'Tis more than one man's work to please you all.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
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