Bear witness, gods, you heard him bid me go. You, whom he mock'd with imprecating vOWS Of promised faith-I'll die, I will not bear it. Enter ALEXAS. Art thou there, traitor !——Oh, Oh, for a little breath, to vent my rage. Alex. Yes, I deserve it, for my ill-timed truth. Cleo. I would reason More calmly with you. Did you not o'errule, And force my plain, direct, and open love, Alex. Believe me, Madam, Antony is yours. And listening for the sound that calls it back. Cleo. Look well thou do't; else-- Is mounted up the Pharos; from whose turret, He stands surveying our Egyptain galleys, Engaged with Cæsar'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. Char. Have comfort, Madam: Did you mark that shout? [Second shout nearer. Iras. Hark, they redouble it. Alex. "Tis from the port. The loudness shows it near. kind Heavens. Enter SERAPION. Ser. Where, where's the queen? O horror, horror, But not as foes. In few we saw their caps On either side thrown up, the Egyptian galleys, Received like friends, pass'd through, and fell behind [ward, The Roman rear, and now, they all come forAnd ride within the port. Cleo. Enough, Serapion: I've heard my doom. This needed not, you gods: When I lost Antony, your work was done. Where's my lord? How bears he this last blow? Ser. His fury cannot be expressed by words; Thrice he attempted headlong to have fallen Full on his foes, and aim'd at Cæsar's galley; Withheld, he raves on you, cries, he's betray'd. Should he now find you Alex. Shun him, seek your safety, Till you can clear your innocence. Cleo. I'll stay. Alex. You must not; haste you to the monument, While I make speed to Cæsar. I have no business with him. To spare your life, and let this madman perish. Cleo. 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. Ser. 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 offer'd you his servile tongue, Good news, To gain a poor precarious life from Cæsar, Let him expose that fawning eloquence, And speak to Antony. Egypt has been, the latest hour is come. Cleo. Be more plain; Say, whence thou cam'st, (though fate is in thy face, Which from thy haggard eyes look wildly out, And threatens ere thou speak'st.) Ser. I came from Pharos, From viewing (spare me and imagine it) Ser. No, They fought not. Cleo. Then they fled. Ser. Nor that. I saw, With Antony your well appointed fleet Row out; and thrice he waved his hand on high, [back. And thrice with cheerful cries they shouted The well-timed oars, Now dipp'd from every bark, now smoothly run To meet the foe, and soon, indeed, they met, Alex. O Heavens! I dare not: I meet my certain death. Cleo. Slave, thou deserv'st it. Not that I fear my lord will I avoid him; I know him noble: When he banish'd me, And thought me false, he scorn'd to take my life: But I'll be justify'd, and then die with him. save, Now for thy life, which basely thou wouldst While mine I prize at this. Come, good Sera[pion. [Exeunt CLEO. SER. CHAR. and IRAS. Alex. Oh! that I less could fear to lose this being, Which like a snow-ball in my coward hand, These two long lovers, soul and body, dread [Within. [Within. Alex. Ah me! I hear him: yet I'm unprepared, My gift of lying's gone; Ant. They're enough. We'll not divide our stars; but side by side Fight emulous, and with malicious eyes Survey each other's acts. Vent. Now you shall see I love you. By my few hours of life, I am so pleased with this brave Roman fate, Ant. Who knows but we may pierce through all their troops, And reach my veterans yet? 'Tis worth the tempting. By love or you. Ant. Fled to her Dolabella! Die, traitor, I revoke my promise, die. Alex. O hold, she is not fled. How easily might she have gone to Cæsar, Vent. She sent it first, Else would she have appear'd to clear herself. To be accused by you; but shut herself, Within her monument: look'd down and sigh'd: [tears While, from her unchanged face, the silent Dropp'd, as they had not leave, but stole their parting. Some undistinguish'd words she inly mur- Ant. My heart forbodes-- Alex. She snatch'd her poniard, And, ere we could prevent the fatal blow, Plunged it within her breast: then turn'd to Oh, those two words! their sound should be divided: Hadst thou been false, and died: or hadst thou lived, [death! And hadst been true-But innocence and 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! Vent. Is't come to this? The gods have been too gracious, And thus you thank them for't. Ant. [To ALEX.] Why stay'st thou here? Thou art not worthy to behold what now Becomes a Roman emperor to perform. [Exit ALE. Vent. Would she had died a little sooner though, Before Octavia went; you might have treated; Now 'twill look tame, and would not be received. [gether. Come, rouse yourself, and let's die warm toAnt. O Ventidius! What should 1 fight for now? My queen is dead. [pire, [Going to kill him. I was but great for her: my power, my emWere but my merchandise to buy her love; And conquer'd kings, my factors. Now she's Let Cæsar take the world. [dead, Are open to her falsehood. My whole life Has been a golden dream of love and friendship: But now I wake, I'm like a merchant, roused From soft repose, to see his vessel sinking, And all his wealth cast o'er. Ungrateful woman! [mer, Who follow'd me, but as the swallow sumBut, now my winter comes, she spreads her wings, And seeks the spring of Cæsar. Alex. Think not so: Her fortunes have, in all things, mix'd with yours. Had she betray'd her naval force to Rome, Vent. Would you be taken? But as a Roman ought, dead, my Ventidius. For I have seen him in such various shapes, We threw it from us with a better grace; We might at least thrust out our paws and wound The hunters that enclose us. Kill me, and take the merit of my death To make thee friends with Cæsar. Vent. Thank your kindness. You said I loved you; and, in recompense, You would have used me thus! that I should die With a hard thought of you! Ant. Forgive me, Roman. Since I have heard of Cleopatra's death, Let it not be t'outlive you. Ant. Kill me first, Ant. Enough! my life's not long enough for [thee; Thou say'st thou wilt come after; I believe For I can now believe whate'er thou say'st, That we may part more kindly. Cleo. I will come; Doubt not, my life, I'll come, and quickly too! And then die thou; for 'tis but just thou serve My last disastrous times; Thy friend before thyself. Vent. Give me your handWe soon shall meet again. Now, farewell, emperor. [Embrace. Methinks that word's too cold to be my last: Since death sweeps all distinctions, farewell, That's all [friend. I will not make a business of a trifle- Ant. I do: Strike home, be sure. Vent. Home, as my sword will reach. [Stabs himself. Ant. O thou mistakest! [back. That wound was none of thine; give it me Thou robb'st me of my death. Vent. I do indeed; But, think, 'tis the first time I e'er deceived you; [gods, If that may plead my pardon. And, you Forgive me, if you will, for I die perjured, Rather than kill my friend. [Dies. Ant. Farewell! ever my leader, even in death! My queen and thou have got the start of me: [Rises upon his kness. Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, and IRAS. Cleo. Where is my lord? where is he? My fears were prophets! I am come too late! O that accursed Alexas! [Runs to him. Ant. Art thou living? Or am I dead before I knew, and thou Ant. "Tis as with a man Cico. Too long, ye Heavens, you have been cruel to me! O now be kind, and give me back His fleeting life. Ant. It will not be, my love: I keep my soul by force. Say but thou art not false. Think we have had a clear and glorious day; Cleo. Your words are like tho notes of dying swans, Too sweet to last. Were there so many hours For your unkindness, and not one for love? Ant. No, not a minute-this one kiss-more worth Than all I leave to Cæsar [Dies. Ting! Cleo. O tell me so again! My lord! my lord! speak, if you yet have beSigh to me if you cannot speak! or cast One look; do any thing that shows you live. Iras. He's gone too far to hear you. Char. Remember, Madam, He charged you not to grieve. Cleo. And I'll obey him. I have not loved a Roman, not to know What should become his wife-his wife, my For 'tis to that high title I aspire; Iras. Will you then die? Cleo. Why shouldst thou make that ques tion? Fly both, and bring the cure of all our ills. [Exeunt CHAR. and IRAS. 'Tis sweet to die, when they would force lite on me, To rush into the dark abode of death, O welcome, welcome. Enter CHAR. and IRAs, with the aspicks, &c. Cleo. Welcome thou kind deceiver! [Puts aside the leaves, Thou best of thieves; who with an easy key, Dost open life, and unperceived by us, Even steals us from ourselves. Ser. [Within.] The queen, where is she? The town is yielded, Cæsar's at the gates. Cleo. He comes too late t' invade the rights of death. Haste, haste, my friend, and rouse the serpent's fury. [Holds out her arm, and draws it back. Coward flesh{me, Wouldst thou conspire with Cæsar, to betray 1272 As thou wert none of mine? I'll force thee to't, | Enter SERAPION, two PRIESTS, ALEXAS bound, And not be sent by him, and Egyptians. But bring myself, my soul to Antony. [They apply the aspicks. A heavy numbness creeps through every limb, And now 'tis at my head: my eyelids fall, And my dear love is vanish'd in a mist! 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. 2d. Priest. Behold, Serapion, what havock death has made! Ser. 'Twas what I fear'd. See how the lovers lie in state together, And went to charm him in another world. THE CITY WIVES' CONFEDERACY: A COMEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. BY SIR JOHN VANBRUGH. REMARKS. THOUGH it is not easy to find scenes better written, or characters more happily drawn than some in this comedy, yet, it is impossible to bestow unqualified praise upon it as a whole. It seems to be a production that did not put the author to the pains of much reflection; for though it displays great spirit, humour, and vivacity, it does not bear the marks of care: neither does the muse of Vanbrugh wear a very cleanly sock in this occasion, for he has not scrupled to pay court to the bad taste of the time in which he wrote. He has shown vice without punishing it, and profligacy without reforming it. There is not an honest man, or modest woman in his whole Dramatis Persona; it is not easy to name that description of criminality which has not a representative in these scenes. Rascals that deserve the gallows, and impures that should be sent to Bridewell, are the company which the spectator must condescend to keep, and whose sentiments the reader must be content to put up with. He dips into the lowest ranks, and shows the worst side of human nature. Few dramas can be found so generally satirical; for whilst he professedly lashes the citizens without mercy, he takes every opportunity of hooking in his allusions to the higher orders of society with unsparing asperity. The city wives and the city husbands are exact duplicates, each of the other. The author, with all his art and contrivance, squeezes little more than two hundred pounds out of the pockets of their husbands; and, in despair to make them better, leaves them so much the worse by how much they are the more confirmed in their iniquity; and when Araminta observes to Clarissa, that" she supposes they are to go on with their dears as they used to do," Clarissa an swers, "Just in the same track," and then concludes the play with a comforting remark for all intriguing wives"that every thing gets well out of a broil but a husband." With this remark the curtain drops; and the audience, delivered from the company of rogues and whores, may go home to their families, and meditate upon the conversation they have been admitted to. |