But, when his danger makes him find his The blank of what he was. Quick to observe, and full of sharp remorse, [ALEXAS and the Priests come forward. Alex. You have your full instructions, now advance; Proclaim your orders loudly. Serap. Romans, Egyptians, queen's command. I tell thee, eunuch, she has quite unmanned Can any Roman see, and know him now, And crampt within a corner of the world? Thou bravest soldier, and thou best of hear the Bounteous as nature; next to nature's God! Couldst thou but make new worlds, so wouldst thou give 'em, Thus Cleopatra bids: "Let labor cease; Be this the general voice sent up to heaven, Set out before your doors The images of all your sleeping fathers, With laurels crowned; with laurels wreathe your posts, And strew with flowers the pavement; let the priests Do present sacrifice; pour out the wine, ness. Vent. 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. Alex. A love, which knows no bounds, to Antony, Would mark the day with honors, when all heaven Labored for him, when each propitious star Our queen neglected like a vulgar fate, Vent. Your emperor, Alex. Though grown unkind, would be more gentle, than To upbraid my queen for loving him too well. Vent. Does the mute sacrifice upbraid the priest? He knows him not his executioner. him 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! Alex. Would you could add, to those more shining virtues, His truth to her who loves him. 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, You dare not fight for Antony; go pray And keep your cowards' holiday in temples. [Exeunt ALEXAS, SERAPION. Gentleman of M. ANTONY. emperor approaches, and Enter a second 2 Gent. The commands, Enter ANTONY, walking with a disturbed motion before he speaks. Ant. 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, To be trod out by Cæsar? On my soul, Count thy gains. Now, Antony, wouldst thou be born for this? Glutton of fortune, thy devouring youth Vent. [aside]. How sorrow shakes him! So, now the tempest tears him up by the roots, And on the ground extends the noble ruin. When thou'rt contracted in thy narrow urn, Cæsar will weep, the crocodile will weep, Lie still and peaceful there. I'll think no more on't. 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 humor: 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, I have not wept this forty year; but now Ant. By heaven, he weeps! poor good old man, he weeps! The big round drops course one another down The furrows of his cheeks. Stop 'em, Ventidius, Or I shall blush to death; they set my shame, That caused 'em, full before me. I'll do my best. Ant. Sure there's contagion in the tears of friends: See, I have caught it too. Believe me, 'tis Vent. My emperor; the man I love next Thou long'st to curse me, and I give thee heaven; If I said more, I think 'twere scarce a sin; You're all that's good, and god-like. leave. I know thou cam'st prepared to rail. Vent. I did. Ant. I'll help thee.-I have been a man, Ventidius. Vent. Yes, and a brave one; but- And purple greatness met my ripened years. Hold out your throat to Cæsar, and die tamely. Ant. No, I can kill myself; and so resolve. Vent. I can die with you too, when time shall serve; But fortune calls upon us now to live, Sure thou dream'st, Ventidius. Vent. No; 'tis you dream; you sleep away your hours In desperate sloth, miscalled philosophy. Up, up, for honor's sake; twelve legions wait you, And long to call you chief; by painful journeys I led 'em, patient both of heat and hunger, Down from the Parthian marches to the Nile. 'Twill do you good to see their sunburnt faces, And turned her loose; yet still she came Their scarred cheeks, and chopt hands; again. Vent. Ant. You laugh. there's virtue in 'em. I will. They would perhaps desire I have never used I do, to see officious love My soldiers to demand a reason of No word of Cleopatra; she deserves More worlds than I can lose. Has mended our design." Their envy hindered, Else you had been immortal, and a pattern, When Heaven would work for ostentation sake Vent. Behold, you Powers, To whom you have intrusted humankind! See Europe, Afric, Asia, put in balance, And all weighed down by one light, worth-To copy out again. You may kill me; Without a stain to honor! Ant. Art thou not one? 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 for tunes, 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 I've been too passionate. Pray, kill me; yet you need not, your unkindness Has left your sword no work. 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? No prince but you 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 Ant. But CleopatraGo on; for I can bear it now. Vent. Ant. No more. Thou dar'st not trust my passion, but thou may'st; Thou only lov'st, the rest have flattered me. Vent. Heaven's blessing on your heart for that kind word! May I believe you love me? Speak again. Ant. Indeed I do. Speak this, and this, and this. [Hugging him. Thy praises were unjust; but, I'll deserve 'em, And yet mend all. Do with me what thou wilt; Lead me to victory! thou know'st the way. Pr'ythee, do not curse her, And I will leave her; though, Heaven knows, I love Beyond life, conquest, empire, all but honor; And, shall we fight? Ant. That's my royal master; 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!" Vent. Oh, now I hear my emperor! in that word Octavius fell. Gods, let me see that day, Ant. she went. O Cleopatra! I've done: In that last sigh Enter CLEOPATRA, IRAS, and ALEXAS. Cleo. What shall I do, or whither shall Ventidius has o'ercome, and he will go. Cleo. Then he would see me, ere he went Before her tongue could speak it; now she studies, To soften what he said; but give me death, Flatter me not; if once he goes, he's lost, Just as he sent it, Charmion, undisguised, And all my hopes destroyed. And in the words he spoke. Char. Alex. Does this weak passion I am no queen: Become a mighty queen? Cleo. Is this to be a queen, to be besieged I found him, then, Encompassed round, I think, with iron statues; So mute, so motionless his soldiers stood, Each hour the victor's chain? These ills And every leader's hopes or fears surveyed; are small: For Antony is lost, and I can mourn For nothing else but him. Now come, I have no more to lose! prepare thy bands; Has taught my mind the fortune of a slave. I have none, And none would have; my love's a noble madness, Methought he looked resolved, and yet not When he beheld me struggling in the crowd, Alex. Severely, as he meant to frown me back, Which shows the cause deserved it. Mod- And while I moved your pitiful request, erate sorrow Fits vulgar love, and for a vulgar man: passion, I soared, at first, quite out of reason's view, Sure he would sigh; for he is noble-natured, Iras. 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 He seemed not now that awful Antony, Cleo. Did he then weep? And was I If what thou hast to say be not as pleasing, He could deny you nothing, if he saw you; not see me? Thou wouldst say, he would |