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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/2062.txt b/2062.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3c43b1d --- /dev/null +++ b/2062.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5068 @@ +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 + + + + + + + + + +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. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of All for Love, by John Dryden + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALL FOR LOVE *** + +***** This file should be named 2062.txt or 2062.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/6/2062/ + +Produced by Gary R. 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Young, Mississauga, Ontario, +Canada, June 1999. + + + + + +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>. + + + + +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. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of All For Love, by John Dryden + diff --git a/old/al4lv10.zip b/old/al4lv10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d3a70d9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/al4lv10.zip |