¶Vent. From hence you may discover—oh, sweet, sweet!Would you indeed? The pretty hand in earnest?Dola. I will, for this reward. [Takes her hand.Draw it not back.'Tis all I e'er will beg.Vent. They turn upon us.Octav. What quick eyes has guilt!Vent. Seem not to have observed them, and go on.[They enter.Dola. Saw you the emperor, Ventidius?Vent. No .I sought him; but I heard that he was private,None with him but Hipparchus, his freedman.Dola. Know you his business ?Vent. Giving him instructions,And letters to his brother Caesar.Dola. Well,He must be found. [Exeunt DOLABELLA and CLEOPATRA.Octav. Most glorious impudence!Vent. She looked, methought,As she would say—Take your old man, Octavia;Thank you, I'm better here.—Well, but what useMake we of this discovery?[77]Octav. Let it die.Vent. 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. AntonyMust needs have some remains of passion still,Which may ferment into a worse relapse,If now not fully cured. I know, this minute,With Carsar he's endeavouring her peace.Octav. You have prevailed:—But for a further purpose[Walfrs 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.Vent. His guards appear.Let me begin, and you shall second me.
¶Enter ANTONY
¶Ant. Octavia, I was looking you, my love:What, are your letters ready ? I have givenMy last instructions.Octav. Mine, my lord, are written.Ant. Ventidius. [Drawing him aside.Vent. My lord?Ant. A word in private.—When saw you Dolabella?Vent. Now , my lord,He parted hence; and Cleopatra with him.Ant. Speak softly.—'Twas by my command he went,[78]To bear my last farewell.Vent. It looked indeed [Aloud.Like your farewell.Ant. More softly.—My farewell?What secret meaning have you in those wordsOf—My farewell? He did it by my order.Vent. Then he obeyed your order. I suppose [Aloud.You bid him do it with all gentleness,All kindness, and all—love.Ant. How she mourned,The poor forsaken creature!Vent. She took it as she ought; she bore your partingAs she did Caesar's, as she would another's,Were a new love to come.Ant. Thou dost belie her; [Aloud.Most basely, and maliciously belie her.Vent. I thought not to displease you; I have done.Octav. You seemed disturbed, my lord. [Coming up.Ant. A very trifle.Retire, my love.Vent. It was indeed a trifle.He sent—Ant. No more. Look how thou disobey'st me; [Angrily.Thy life shall answer it.Octav. Then 'tis no trifle.Vent, [to OCTAV.] 'Tis less; a very nothing: You too saw it,As well as I, and therefore 'tis no secret.Ant. She saw it!Vent. Yes: She saw young Dolabella—Ant. Young Dolabella!Vent. 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;[79]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 constancyShould be rewarded.Octav. This I saw and heard.Ant. What woman was it, whom you heard and sawSo playful with my friend?Not Cleopatra?Vent. Even she, my lord.Ant. My Cleopatra?Vent. Your Cleopatra;Dolabella's Cleopatra; every man's Cleopatra.Ant. Thou liest.Vent. 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.Ant. 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.Octav. Are you concerned,That she's found false?Ant. I should be, were it so;For, though 'tis past, I would not that the worldShould tax my former choice, that I loved oneOf so light note; but I forgive you both.Vent. What has my age deserved, that you should thinkI would abuse your ears with perjury?If Heaven be true, she's false.Ant. Though heaven and earthShould witness it, I'll not believe her tainted.Vent. I'll bring you, then, a witness[80]From hell, to prove her so.—Nay, go not back;[Seeing ALEXAS just entering, and starting bac\.For stay you must and shall.Alex. What means my lord?Vent, 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.Alex. My noble lord!Vent. 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 loveTo 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.Ant. Speak truth, Alexas; whether it offendOr please Ventidius, care not: JustifyThy injured queen from malice: Dare his worst.Octav. [aside]. See how he gives him courage! how he fearsTo find her false! and shuts his eyes to truth,Willing to be misled!Alex. As far as love may plead for woman's frailty,Urged by desert and greatness of the lover,So far, divine Octavia, may my queenStand even excused to you for loving himWho is your lord: so far, from brave Ventidius,May her past actions hope a fair report.Ant. 'Tis well, and truly spoken: mark, Ventidius.Alex. To you, most noble emperor, her strong passionStands not excused, but wholly justified.Her beauty's charms alone, without her crown,From Ind and Meroe drew the distant vowsOf sighing kings; and at her feet were laid[81]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, disdainedTheir lawful passion.Ant. Tis but truth.Alex. And yet, though love, and your unmatched desert,Have drawn her from the due regard of honour,At last Heaven opened her unwilling eyesTo see the wrongs she offered fair Octavia,Whose holy bed she lawlessly usurped.The sad effects of this improsperous warConfirmed those pious thoughts.Vent, [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.Alex. Else had I never dared to offend his earsWith what the last necessity has urgedOn my forsaken mistress; yet I must notPresume to say, her heart is wholly altered.Ant. No , dare not for thy life, I charge thee dare notPronounce that fatal word!Octav. Must I bear this? Good Heaven, afford me patience.[Aside.Vent. On, sweet eunuch; my dear half-man, proceed.Alex. Yet DolabellaHas 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 lovedAnt. Hence from my sight! for I can bear no more:Let furies drag thee quick to hell; let allThe longer damned have rest; each torturing handDo thou employ, till Cleopatra comes;Then join thou too, and help to torture her!
¶[Exit ALEXAS, thrust out by ANTONY .[82]Octav. 'Tis not well.Indeed, my lord, 'tis much unkind to me,To show this passion, this extreme concernment,For an abandoned, faithless prostitute.Ant. Octavia, leave me; I am much disordered:Leave me, I say.Octav. My lord!Ant. I bid you leave me.Vent. Obey him, madam: best withdraw a while,And see how this will work.Octav. 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.Ant. 'Tis too much.Too much, Octavia; I am pressed with sorrowsToo heavy to be borne; and you add more:I would retire, and recollect what's leftOf man within, to aid me.Octav. You would mourn,In private, for your love, who has betrayed you.You did but half return to me : your kindnessLingered behind with her. I hear, my lord,You make conditions for her,And would include her treaty. Wondrous proofsOf love to me!Ant. Are you my friend, Ventidius?Or are you turned a Dolabella too,And let this fury loose?Vent. Oh, be advised,Sweet madam, and retire.Octav. 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,[83]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 loveMy tenderness and care shall be transferred,And they shall cheer, by turns, my widowed nights:So, take my last farewell; for I despairTo have you whole, and scorn to take you half. [Exit'Vent. I combat Heaven, which blasts my best designs;My last attempt must be to w in her back;But oh! I fear in vain. [Exit.Ant. 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 DOLABELLA
¶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 faceWas meant for honesty; but Heaven mismatched it,And furnished treason out with nature's pomp,To make its work more easy.Dola. O my friend!Ant. Well, Dolabella, you performed my message?Dola. I did, unwillingly.Ant. Unwillingly?[84]Was it so hard for you to bear our parting?You should have wished it.Dola. Why ?Ant. Because you love me.And she received my message with as true,With as unfeigned a sorrow as you brought it?Dola. She loves you, even to madness.Ant. Oh, I know it.You, Dolabella, do not better knowHow much she loves me. And should IForsake this beauty? This all-perfect creature?Dola. I could not, were she mine.Ant. And yet you firstPersuaded me : How come you altered since?Dola. 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
¶Ant. False Dolabella!Dola. What's false, my lord?Ant. 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.Dola. My lord, have IDeserved to be thus used?Cleo. Can Heaven prepareA newer torment? Can it find a curseBeyond our separation ?Ant. Yes, if fateBe just, much greater: Heaven should be ingeniousIn punishing such crimes. The rolling stone,[85]And gnawing vulture, were slight pains, inventedWhen Jove was young, and no examples knownOf mighty ills; but you have ripened sin,To such a monstrous growth, 'twill pose the godsTo 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 youIn dowry with my heart; I had no use,No fruit of all, but you: A friend and mistressWas what the world could give. O Cleopatra!O Dolabella! how could you betrayThis tender heart, which with an infant fondnessLay lulled betwixt your bosoms, and there slept,Secure of injured faith?Dola. If she has wronged you,Heaven, hell, and you revenge it.Ant. If she has wronged me!Thou wouldst evade thy part of guilt; but swearThou lov'st not her.Dola. Not so as I love you.Ant. Not so ? Swear, swear, I say, thou dost not love her.Dola. No more than friendship will allow.Ant. 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.Cleo. They are enemies.Ant. 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.[86]Dola. What shall I answer ?If to have loved be guilt, then I have sinned;But if to have repented of that loveCan wash away my crime, I have repented.Yet, if I have offended past forgiveness,Let not her suffer: She is innocent.Cleo. 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 my heart again: fate took the occasion;And thus one minute's feigning has destroyedMy whole life's truth.Ant. Thin cobweb arts of falsehood;Seen, and broke through at first.Dola. Forgive your mistress.Cleo. Forgive your friend.Ant. You have convinced yourselves.You plead each other's cause: What witness have you,That you but meant to raise my jealousy?Cleo. Ourselves, and Heaven.Ant. 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 thinkHow I am wronged, my justice and revengeWill cry so loud within me, that my pityWill not be heard for either.Dola. Heaven has butOur sorrow for our sins; and then delightsTo pardon erring man: Sweet mercy seems[87]Its darling attribute, which limits justice;As if there were degrees in infinite,And infinite would rather want perfectionThan punish to extent.Ant. I can forgiveA 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!Cleo. 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 wanderThe 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.Ant. I must not hear you.I have a fool within me takes your part;But honour stops my ears.Cleo. For pity hear me!Would you cast off a slave who followed you?Who crouched beneath your spurn?—He has no pitySee, 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!Ant. No more: Alexas!Dola. A perjured villain!Ant. [to CLEO.]. Your Alexas; yours.Cleo. Oh, 'twas his plot; his ruinous design,[88]To engage you in my love by jealousy.Hear him; confront him with me; let him speak.Ant. I have; I have.Cleo. And if he clear me not—Ant. 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.Cleo. 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 trulyI'll never strive against it; but die pleased,To think you once were mine.Ant. Good heaven, they weep at parting!Must I weep too? that calls them innocent.I must not weep; and yet I must, to thinkThat 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 VEnter CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, and IRAS
¶Char. 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.[89]Cleo. I could tear out these eyes, that gained his heart,And had not power to keep it. O the curseOf doting on, even when I find it dotage!Bear witness, gods, you heard him bid me go ;You, whom he mocked with imprecating vowsOf 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 ALEXASIras. Help, O Alexas, help!The queen grows desperate; her soul struggles in herWith all the agonies of love and rage,And strives to force its passage.Cleo. 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.Alex. Yes, I deserve it, for my ill-timed truth.Was it for me to propThe 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 presumingFor subjects to preserve that wilful power,Which courts its own destruction.Cleo. I would reasonMore 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!—[90]I can no more: Thou, and my griefs, have sunkMe down so low, that I want voice to curse thee.Alex. Suppose some shipwrecked seaman near the shore,Dropping and faint, with climbing up the cliff,If, from above, some charitable handPull 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.Cleo. Sunk, never more to rise.Alex. Octavia's gone, and Dolabella banished.Believe me, madam, Antony is yours.His heart was never lost, but started offTo 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 leftSo easy to his hand.Cleo. Look well thou do't; else—Alex. Else, what your silence threatens.—AntonyIs 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.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: Good news, kind heavens!Cleo. Osiris make it so!
¶Enter SERAPIONScrap. Where, where's the queen?Alex. How frightfully the holy coward stares[91]As if not yet recovered of the assault,When all his gods, and, what's more dear to him,His offerings, were at stake.Scrap. 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.Cleo. Be more plain:Say, whence thou comest; though fate is in thy face,Which from thy haggard eyes looks wildly out,And threatens ere thou speakest.Scrap. I came from Pharos;From viewing (spare me, and imagine it)Our land's last hope, your navy—Cleo. Vanquished?Scrap. No :They fought not.Cleo. Then they fled.Scrap. Nor that. I saw,With Antony, your well-appointed fleetRow 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 runTo meet the foe; and soon indeed they met,But not as foes. In few, we saw their capsOn either side thrown up; the Egyptian galleys,Received like friends, passed through, and fell behindThe Roman rear: And now, they all come forward,And ride within the port.Cleo. Enough, Serapion:I've heard my doom.—This needed not, you gods:[92]When I lost Antony, your work was done;'Tis but superfluous malice.—Where's my lord?How bears he this last blow?Scrap. His fury cannot be expressed by words:Thrice he attempted headlong to have fallenFull on his foes, and aimed at Caesar's galley:Withheld, he raves on you; cries,—He's betrayed.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 your monument,While I make speed to Caesar.Cleo. Caesar! No ,I have no business with him.Alex. I can work himTo spare your life, and 'et 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.Scrap. 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.Alex. O heavens! I dare not;I meet my certain death.Cleo. 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.Alex. O pity me, and let me follow you.[93]Cleo. 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.
¶Alex. 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, dreadTheir final separation. Let me think:What can I say, to save myself from death?No matter what becomes of Cleopatra.Ant. Which way? where? [Within.Vent. This leads to the monument. [Within.Alex. 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 meat my need. I dare not stay;Yet cannot far go hence. [Exit.
¶Enter ANTONY and VENTIDIUS
¶Ant. O happy Carsar! thou hast men to lead:Think not 'tis thou hast conquered Antony;But Rome has conquered Egypt. I'm betrayed.Vent. Curse on this treacherous train!Their soil and heaven infect them all with baseness:And their young souls come tainted to the worldWith the first breath they draw.Ant. The original villain sure no god created;He was a bastard of the sun, by Nile,Aped into man; with all his mother's mudCrusted about his soul.Vent. The nation isOne universal traitor; and their queenThe very spirit and extract of them all.Ant. Is there yet left[94]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 fateOf 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.Vent. There yet remainThree legions in the town. The last assaultLopt off the rest; if death be your design,—As I must wish it now,—these are sufficientTo make a heap about us of dead foes,An honest pile for burial.Ant. They are enough.We'll not divide our stars; but, side by side,Fight emulous, and with malicious eyesSurvey each other's acts: So every deathThou giv'st, I'll take on me, as a just debt,And pay thee back a soul.Vent. Now you shall see I love you. Not a wordOf 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!Ant. 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, tremblingVent. 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![95]How he sets his countenance for deceit,And promises a lie, before he speaks!Let me despatch him first. [Drawing.Alex. O spare me, spare me!Ant. 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.Alex. Sir, she is gone.Where she shall never be molested moreBy love, or you.Ant. Fled to her Dolabella!Die, traitor! I revoke my promise! die![Going to kjU him.Alex. O hold! she is not fled.Ant. She is: my eyesAre open to her falsehood; my whole lifeHas been a golden dream of love and friendship;But, now I wake, I'm like a merchant, rousedFrom 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.Alex. 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!Vent. She sent it first,To be more welcome after.Ant. 'Tis too plain;Else would she have appeared, to clear herself.Alex. Too fatally she has: she could not bearTo be accused by you; but shut herself[96]Within her monument; looked down and sighed;While, from her unchanged face, the silent tearsDropt, as they had not leave, but stole their parting.Some indistinguished words she only murmured;At last, she raised her eyes; and, with such looksAs dying Lucrece cast—Ant. My heart forebodes—Vent. All for the best:—Go on.Alex. 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.Vent. Heaven be praised!Ant. 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 horridAs can express my guilt!Vent. Is't come to this? The gods have been too gracious;And thus you thank them for it!Ant. [to ALEX ] . 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 nowBecomes a Roman emperor to perform.Alex. He loves her still:His grief betrays it. Good! the joy to findShe's yet alive, completes the reconcilement.I've saved myself, and her. But, oh! the Romans![97]Fate comes too fast upon my wit,Hunts me too hard, and meets me at each double.[Aside. Exit.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.Come, rouse yourself, and let's die warm together.Ant. I will not fight: there's no more work for war.The business of my angry hours is done.Vent. Caesar is at your gates.Ant. Why, let him enter;He's welcome now.Vent. What lethargy has crept into your soul?Ant. 'Tis but a scorn of life, and just desireTo free myself from bondage.Vent. Do it bravely.Ant. 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 goneWhich made it worth my strife: my being's nauseous;For all the bribes of life are gone away.Vent. Would you be taken?Ant. 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 worldShould 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 walkAlone 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:[98]I'll lay me down, and stray no farther on.Vent. 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 woundThe hunters that inclose us.Ant. I have thought on it.Ventidius, you must live.Vent. I must not, sir.Ant. Wilt thou not live, to speak some good of me?To stand by my fair fame, and guard the approachesFrom the ill tongues of men ?Vent. Who shall guard mine,For living after you?Ant. Say, I command it.Vent. If we die well, our deaths will speak themselvesAnd need no living witness.Ant. 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.Vent. Thank your kindness.You said I loved you; and in recompense,You bid me turn a traitor: Did I thinkYou would have used me thus?—that I should dieWith a hard thought of you?Ant. 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.Vent. By Heaven I will not.[99]Let it not be to outlive you.Ant. Kill me first,And then die thou; for 'tis but just thou serveThy friend, before thyself.Vent. 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.Ant. I do: strike home, be sure.Vent. Home as my sword will reach.[Kills himself.Ant. Oh, thou mistak'st;That wound was not of thine; give it me back:Thou robb'st me of my death.Vent. 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.Ant. Farewell! Ever my leader, even in deathlMy 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 worthMy further thought; for death, for aught I know,Is but to think no more. Here's to be satisfied.[Falls on his sword.[100]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 waitFor my admittance.— [Trampling within.Some, perhaps, from Caesar:If he should find me living, and suspectThat I played booty with my life! I'll mendMy work, ere they can reach me.[Rises upon his \nees.
Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, and IRAS
¶Cleo. Where is my lord? where is he?Char. There he lies,And dead Ventidius by him.Cleo. My tears were prophets; I am come too late.0 that accursed Alexas! [Runs to him.Ant. Art thou living?Or am I dead before I knew, and thouThe first kind ghost that meets me?Cleo. Help me seat him.Send quickly, send for help![They place him in a chair.Ant. I am answered.We live both. Sit thee down, my Cleopatra:I'll make the most I can of life, to stayA moment more with thee.Cleo. How is it with you ?Ant. 'Tis as with a manRemoving 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.Cleo. Too long, ye heavens, you have been cruel to me :Now show your mended faith, and give me backHis fleeting life!Ant. It will not be, my love;I keep my soul by force.[101]Say but, thou art not false.Cleo. 'Tis now too lateTo 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 preventThis fatal consequence. My fleet betrayedBoth you and me.Ant. And Dolabella—Cleo. ScarceEsteemed before he loved; but hated now.Ant. 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.Cleo. I will come:Doubt not, my life, I'll come, and quickly too:Caesar shall triumph o'er no part of thee.Ant. But grieve not, while thou stayest,My last disastrous times:Think we have had a clear and glorious dayAnd Heaven did kindly to delay the storm,Just till our close of evening. Ten years' love,And not a moment lost, but all improvedTo 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.Cleo. Your words are like the notes of dying swans,Too sweet to last. Were there so many hoursFor your unkindness, and not one for love ?Ant. No , not a minute.—This one kiss—more worthThan all I leave to Caesar. [Dies.Cleo. 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[102]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.Char. Remember, madam,He charged you not to grieve.Cleo. And I'll obey him.I have not loved a Roman, not to knowWhat 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 OctaviaSurvive, to mourn him dead: My nobler fateShall knit our spousals with a tie, too strongFor Roman laws to break.Iras. Will you then die?Cleo. Why shouldst thou make that question ?Iras. Caesar is merciful.Cleo. Let him be soTo those that want his mercy: My poor lordMade no such covenant with him, to spare meWhen 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 muttersA secret curse on her who ruined him!I'll none of that.Char. Whatever you resolve,I'll follow, even to death.Iras. I only fearedFor you; but more should fear to live without you.Cleo. 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;[103]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?Cleo. 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 kissThese pale, cold lips; Octavia does not see me :And, oh! 'tis better far to have him thusThan see him in her arms.—Oh, welcome, welcome!
¶Enter CHARMION and IRAS
¶Char. What must be done ?Cleo. Short ceremony, friends;But yet it must be decent. First, this laurelShall crown my hero's head: he fell not basely,Nor left his shield behind him.—Only thouCouldst triumph o'er thyself; and thou aloneWert worthy so to triumph.Char. To what endThese ensigns of your pomp and royalty?Cleo. 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 spousalsShall match my first in glory. Haste, haste, both,And dress the bride of Antony.Char. 'Tis done.Cleo. 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 relicsOf my immortal love![104]0 let no impious hand remove you hence:But rest for ever here! Let Egypt giveHis death that peace, which it denied his life.—Reach me the casket.Iras. Underneath the fruitThe aspic lies.Cleo. 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 soDeath'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.Scrap. The queen, where is she? [Within.The town is yielded, Caesar's at the gates.Cleo. 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 Cxsar 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.Scrap. Break ope the door, [Within.And guard the traitor well.Char. The next is ours.Iras. Now , Charmion, to be worthyOf our great queen and mistress.[They apply the aspics.Cleo. 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,[105]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 sin/^s down at her feet, and dies; CHARMIONstands behind her chair, as dressing her head.
¶Enter SERAPION, two Priests, ALEXAS bound, Egyptians
¶Priest. Behold, Serapion,What havoc death has made!Scrap. 'Twas what I feared.—Charmion, is this well done?Char. Yes, 'tis well done, and like a queen, the lastOf her great race: I follow her. [Sinkj down: dies.Alex. 'Tis true,She has done well: Much better thus to die,Than live to make a holiday in Rome.Scrap. 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 growsBetwixt 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.