Vent. Or old age and a bed. Ant. Ay, there's his choice.

Vent. And she that bribe.

He would live, like a lamp, to the last wink,
And crawl upon 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 Is braver than himself?

[one Vent. Sir, we lose time; the troops are mounted all.

Ant. 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.
liverer.

Enter ALEXAS.

Alex. Great emperor,

Ant. But I have no remembrance. Alex. Yes a dear one; Your slave, the queen— Ant. My mistress.

Alex. Then your mistress.

[soul,

Your mistress would, she says, have sent her
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.

In mighty arms renown'd above mankind, But in soft pity to th' oppress'd, a god; This message sends the mournful Cleopatra To her departing lord.

Vent. Smooth sycophant!

Alex. 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 parting kisses to your lips;

But those she fears have wearied you already. Vent. [Aside.] False crocodile!

Alex. And yet she begs not now, you would not leave her,

That were a wish too mighty for her hopes, And too presuming (for her low fortune, and your ebbing love)

That were a wish for her most prosperous days, [kindness. Her blooming beauty, and your growing Ant. [Aside.] Well, I must man it out What would the queen?

Alex. 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.
Vent. Yes, witness Actium.

Ant. Let him speak, Ventidius.

Alex. 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 wish'd return, she will redeem
[Gives jewels.

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.

Vent. Tell her, I'll none on't;

I'm not asham'd 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.
Ant. And who must wear them then?
Vent. The wrong'd Octavia.

Ant. You might have spared that word.

A lady's favour 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?
Alex. None, none, my lord,

But what's to her, that now 'tis past for ever. Ant. [Going to tie it.] We soldiers are so awkward-Help me to tie it.

Alex. In faith, my lord, we courtiers too are awkward

In these affairs: so are all men indeed;
But shall I speak ?

Ant. Yes, freely.

Alex. Then, my lord, fair hands alone Are fit to tie it; she who sent it can. Vent. Hell! death! this eunuch pander ruins you. You will not see her?

[ALEXAS whispers an Attendunt. Ant. But to take my leave.

Vent. Then I have wash'd an Ethiop. Y'are undone !

Y'are in the toils! y'are taken! y'are destroy'd! Her eyes do Cæsar's work.

Ant. You fear too soon.

I am constant to myself? I know my strength; And yet she shall not think me barbarous

neither,

Born in the depths of Afric; I'm a Roman,
Bred to the rules of soft humanity,

A guest, and kindly used, should bid fare

well.

Ant. 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.

Cleo. You command me,

And I am dumb.

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 Cæsar's sister; in her pride of youth, And flower of beauty did I wed that lady, Whom, blushing, I must praise, although I left her: [mons;

You call'd; my love obey'd the fatal sum-
This raised the Roman arms; the cause was
yours.
[stronger;

I would have fought by land, where I was
You hinder'd 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.

Vent. What haste she made to hoist her pur-
ple sails;

And to appear magnificent in flight,

Ant. That I derive my ruin

From you alone

Cleo. O Heavens! I ruin you!

Ant. All this you caused,

And, would you multiply more ruins on me? This honest man, my best, my only friend,

break it,

Ere I have scarce begun.

Cleo. Well, I obey you.
Ant. When I beheld you first, it was in
Egypt,

Ere Cæsar saw your eyes; you gave me love,
And were too young to know it; that I settled
Your father on his throne, was for your sake;
I left th' acknowledgment for time to ripen.
Cæsar stepp'd in, and with a greedy hand
Pluck'd 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 enjoy'd

you.

When, after, I beheld you in Cilicia,
An enemy to Rome, I pardon'd you.
Cleo. I clear'd myself-

Ant. Again you break your promise.

I loved you still, and took your weak excuses, Took you into my bosom, stain'd by Cæsar, And not half mine: I went to Egypt with

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 pass'd 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.
Vent. 'Tis all too true.

Ant. Fulvia, my wife, grew jealous,
As she, indeed, had reason, raised a war
In Italy to call me back.

Vent. But yet

You went not.

Ant. While within your arms I lay, The world fell mouldering from my hands each hour, [for't. And left me scarce a grasp, I thank your love Vent. Well push'd! that last was home. Cleo. Yet may I speak?

Ant. If I have urged a falsehood, yes; else,

not.

tunes;

Twelve legions I have left, my last recruits, And you have watch'd the news, and bring your eyes

To seize them too. If you have ought to

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, [eyes That you would pry, with narrow, searching 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 deserve this usage, Was it like you to give it?

Ant. O, you wrong me,

To think I sought this parting, or desired T' accuse you more than what will clear myself,

And justify this breach.

Cleo. Thus low I thank you :

And since my innocence will not offend,
I shall not blush to own it.
Vent. After this

I think she'll blush at nothing.
Cleo. You seem grieved,

(And therein you are kind) that Cæsar first Enjoy'd my love, though you deserved it bet

ter.

first

[ed

For had I first been yours, it would have save-
My second choice; I never had been his,
And ne'er had been but yours. But Cæsar
You say possess'd my love. Not so, my lord:
He first possess'd my person, you my love;
Cæsar loved me; but I loved Antony.

Vent. O, syren! syren! [true, Yet grant that all the love she boasts were

Has she not ruin'd you? I still urge that,
The fatal consequence.

Cleo. The consequence indeed,
For I dare challenge him, my greatest foe,
To say it was design'd; '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 1 wish'd some other Cæsar,
Great as the first, and as the second young,
Would court my love, to be refused for you!
Vent. Words, words! but Actium, Sir, re-
member Actium.

Cleo. Even there, I dare his malice. True,
I counsell'd

To fight at sea; but I betray'd you not.
I fled, but not to the enemy. 'Twas fear:
Would I had been a man, not to have fear'd,
For none would then have envied me your
friendship,

Who envy me your love.

Ant. We're both unhappy;

If nothing else, yet our ill fortune parts us. Speak! Would you have me perish by my stay?

Cleo. If as a friend you ask my judgment,

A life or death, a happiness or wo,
From yours divided, this had given me means.
Ant. By Hercules! the writing of Octavius!
See, see, Ventidius! Here he offers Egypt,
And joins all Syria to it, as a present,
So, in requital, she forsakes my fortune,
And joins her arms with his.

Cleo. And yet you leave me!

You leave me, Antony; and yet I love you.
Indeed I do: I have refused a kingdom,
That's a trifle;

For I would part with life, with any thing,
But only you. O let me die but with you!
Is that a hard request?

Ant. Next living with you, "Tis all that Heaven can give.

Cleo. No; you shall go; your interest calls you hence; [these Yes; your dear interest pulls too strong for 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 soldier's shout; you then perhaps may sigh,

And muster all your Roman gravity; Ventidius chides, and straight your brow clears

As I had never been.

[up,

Ant. Gods, 'tis too much! too much for man to bear.

Cleo. What is't for me then,

A weak, forsaken woman, and a lover?
Here let me breathe my last; envy me not

That I shall do some wild extravagance
Of love in public; and the foolish world,
Which knows not tenderness, will think me
mad.

Vent. O women, women, women! all the gods

Have not such power of doing good to man; As you of doing harm.

[Exit.

Ant. Our men are arm'd. Unbar the gate that looks to Cæsar'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 Cæsar ere we die.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

[Exeunt.

Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, IRAS, ALEXAS, and Train; ANTONY and Romans.

CLEOPATRA crowns ANTONY.

Ant. My brighter Venus! Cleo. O my greater Mars! Ant. Thou join'st us well my love. There's no satiety of love in thee; Enjoy'd, thou still art new; perpetual spring Is in thy arms; the ripen'd fruit but falls, And blossoms rise to fill its empty place, And I grow rich by giving.

Enter VENTIDIUS, and stands apart.

Alex. O 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.

Ant. Now, on my soul he loves me, truly loves me;

He never flatter'd me in any vice.

But awes me with his virtue; even this mi ute Methinks he has a right of chiding me.

Ant. O ye gods!

Have I then lived to be excused to Cæsar !
Dol. As to your equal.

Ant. Well, he's but my equal:

While I wear this, he never shall be more.
Dol. I bring conditions from him.
Ant. Are they noble?

Methinks thou shouldst not bring them else; yet he

Is full of deep dissembling; knows no honour Divided from his interest.

He's fit, indeed, to buy, not conquer kingdoms.

Vent. Then, granting this, What power was theirs who wrought so hard a temper

To honourable terms?

Ant. It was my Dolabella, or some god. Dol. Not 1; nor yet Meceanas, nor Agrippa; They were your enemies; and I a friend Too weak alone; yet 'twas a Roman deed.

Ant. 'Twas like a Roman done; show me that man

Who has preserved my life, my love, my honLet me but see his face.

Vent. That task is mine.

[our;

Ant. When I forget it,

Be thou unkind, and that's my greatest curse. My queen shall thank him too.

Dol. I fear she will not.

Ant. But she shall do't. The queen, my Dolabella!

Hast thou not still some grudgings of thy fever?

Dol. I would not see her lost.

Ant. When I forsake her, Leave me, my better stars; for she has truth Beyond her beauty. Cæsar tempted her, At no less price than kingdoms, to betray me; But she resisted all; and yet thou chid'st me For loving her too well. Could I do so?

Dol. Yes; there's my reason.

Had I been nothing more than Cæsar's sister, Know, I had still remain'd in Cæsar's camp; But your Octavia, your much injured wife, The banish'd from your bed, driven from your house;

In spite of Cæsar's sister, still is yours.
"Tis true, I have a heart disdains your cold-
ness,
[offer;

And prompts me not to seek what you should
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.

Vent. Do take it; thou deserv'st it.
Dol. On my soul, and so she does.
Ant. I fear Octavia, you have begg'd my
life.

Oct. Begg'd it, my lord?

Ant. Yes, begg'd it, my ambassadress; Poorly and basely begg'd it of your brother. Oct. Poorly and basely, I could never beg; Nor could my brother grant.

Ant. Shall I, who, to my kneeling slave, could say,.

Rise up and be a king; shall I fall down
And cry, forgive me, Cæsar?
No; that word,

Forgive, would choke me up,
And die upon my tongue.

Dol. You shall not need it.

Ant. I will not need it. Come, you've all

our,

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
[Athens;

To rule the east: I may be dropp'd at
No matter where, I never will complain,
But only keep the barren name of wife,
And rid you of the trouble.