If the young bridegroom, longing for his night, Was ever half so fond!

Dol. 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.

Ant. Thou hast what's left of me,

For I am now so sunk from what I was,
Thou findest me at my lowest watermark :
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 have still a heart, that swells, in scorn of fate,
And lifts me to my banks.

Dol. Still you are lord of all the world to me.
Ant. 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 oh, my Dolabella!
Thou hast beheld me other than I am-
Hast thou not seen my morning chambers filled
With sceptered 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 silenced in my presence, watched my eyes,
And, at my least command, all started out,
Like racers to the goal.

Dol. Slaves to your fortune.

Ant. Fortune is Cæsar's now; and what am I? Vent. What you have made yourself: I will not flatter.

Ant. Is this friendly done?

Dol. 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?

Ant. Take heed, young man,
How thou upbraidest my

eyes,

love! the queen

has

And thou too hast a soul! Canst thou remember When, swelled with hatred, thou beheldest her first,

As accessary to thy brother's death?

Ant. 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 Cu-
pids,

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 some-
what 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 of my brother's death!

Dol. 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

Vent. 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 they constrained the

Ant. Oh, ye gods!

day,

And still the blush hangs here.

Ant. To clear herself

For sending him no aid, she came from Egypt.
Her galley down the silver Sydnos 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.
Dol. No more! I would not hear it!

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. Fate mistook him,
For Nature meant him for an usurer:
He's fit indeed to buy, not conquer kingdoms,

That fain would fall!

Ant. 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 it not so?
Oct. It was, my lord.

Ant. 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.

Vent. I'm glad it pinches there.

Oct. 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.

Ant. Therefore, you love me not.
Oct. Therefore, my lord,

I should not love you.

Ant. Therefore you would leave me.

Oct. And therefore I should leave you-if I could.

Dol. 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.

Ant. Oh, 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 ?
Vent. 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 every thing their merits are unequal.
Ant. Oh, my distracted soul!
Oct. 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:

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, &c.
Vent. Was ever sight so moving! Emperor!
Dol. Friend!
Oct. Husband!
Both Child. Father!

Ant. I am vanquished: take me, Octavia, take me, children, share me all. [Embracing them.

I have been a thriftless debtor to your loves,
And run out much in riot from your stock;
But all shall be amended.

Oct. Oh, blest hour!
Dol. Oh, happy change!

Vent. My joy stops at my tongue!

But it has found two channels here for one,
And bubbles out above.

Ant. [To Oct.] This is thy triumph: lead me
where thou wilt,

Even to thy brother's camp.
Oct. All there are yours.

Enter ALEXAS hastily.

Be sure to be the first; haste forward; Haste, my dear eunuch, haste!

[Exit.

Aler. This downright fighting fool, this thickskulled hero,

This blunt unthinking instrument of death,
With plain dull virtue, has outgone my wit.

Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, IRAS, and train.
Oh, madam! I have seen what blasts my eyes;
Octavia is here!

Cleo. Peace with thy raven's note!

I know it too, and now am in

The pangs of death.

Alex. You are no more a queen, Egypt is lost.

Cleo. What tellest thou me of Egypt! My life, my soul is lost! Octavia has him! Oh, fatal name to Cleopatra's love! My kisses, my embraces, now are her's, 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 fi nished,

The gods threw by for rubbish.

Alex. She is indeed a very miracle.

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.

Cleo. 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 contemns 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.

Oct. Be it so then; take thy wish.

[Exit with Vent.

Cleo. And 'tis my wish, Now he is lost, for whom 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.

Alex. Mine have had leisure
To recollect their strength, and furnish counsel
To ruin her, who else must ruin you.
Cleo. 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 mourn themselves asleep.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I-A Saloon.

Enter ANTONY and DOLABELLA.

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,

He's rough by nature.

Ant. Oh, he'll speak too harshly,

He'll kill her with the news: thou, only thou, Dol. 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.

Ant. Therefore, therefore

Thou, only thou, art fit. Think thyself me,
And when thou speakest (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?

Dol. What you have said so sinks into my soul,
That, if I must speak, I shall speak just so.
Ant. I leave you then to your sad task. Fare-
well!

I sent her word to meet you.

I forgot:

[Goes to the door, and comes back.

Let her be told, I'll make her peace with mine:
Her crown and dignity shall be preserved,
If I have power with Cæsar-Oh! be sure
To think on that!

Dol. Fear not, I will remember. [Antony goes again to the door, and comes back. Ant. 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'll still cherish hersinsist on that.
Dol. Trust me, I'll not forget it.
Ant. 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.
Dol. Men are but children of a larger growth,

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.

Vent. Alone, and talking to himself! Concerned too!

Perhaps my guess is right: he loved her once, And may pursue it still.

Dol. Oh, friendship! friendship!

Ill canst thou answer this, reason worse:
Unfaithful in the attempt, hopeless to win,
And, if I win, undone. Mere madness all.
And yet the occasion fair. What injury
To him, to wear the robe, which he throws by?
Vent. None, none at all. This happens as I
wish,

To ruin her yet more with Antony.

[Aside.

Enter CLEOPATRA, talking with ALEXAS, CHARMION, and IRAS, on the other side.

Dol. 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.

Vent. If she should love him too! Her eunuch there!

That porc'pisce bodes ill weather. Draw, draw

nearer,

Sweet devil! that I may hear.
Alex. 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 lamp and show it.

Cleo. 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.

Alex. "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;