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Cleo. Oh, tell me so again!

And take ten thousand kisses for that wordMy lord! my lord! speak, if you yet have being!

Sign to me if you cannot speak! or cast
One look! do any thing, that shows you live!
Iras. He is 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 know

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What should become his wife-his wife, my These ensigns of your pomp and royalty?

Charmion!

For 'tis to that high title I aspire;

And now I'll not die less. Let dull Octavia
Survive, to mourn him dead: my noble fate
Shall knit our spousals with a tie, too strong
For Roman laws to break.

Iras. Will you then die?

Cleo. Why shouldst thou make that question? Fly both, and bring the cure of all our ills. Iras. Cæsar is merciful.

Cleo. Let him be so

To those, that want his mercy: My poor lord
Made no such covenant with him to spare me,
When he was dead. Yield me to Cæsar'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 mutters
A secret curse on her, who ruined hiin!
I'll none of that.

Char. Whatever you resolve,

I'll follow, even to death.

Iras. I only feared

For you, but more should fear to live without

you.

Quick,

Cleo. Why, now 'tis as it should be. my friends, Dispatch! ere this the town's in Cæsar'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;

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 aspicks, madam?
Cleo. Must Ibid you twice?

[Er. Char. 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 are now alone, in secrecy and silence,
And is not this like lovers? Í may kiss

These pale cold lips-Octavia does not see me;

Cleo. Dull, that thou art! why, 'tis to meet my love,

As when I saw him first on Cydno's bank,
All sparkling like a goddess; so adorned,
I'll find him once again; my second spousals
Shall match my first in glory. Haste, haste, both,
And dress the bride of Antony!

Char. 'Tis done.

Cleo. Now set me by my lord; I claim this place,

For I must conquer Cæsar, too, like him, And win my share of the world. Hail, you dear relicks

Of my immortal love!

Oh, let no impious hand remove you hence,
But rest for ever here! let Egypt give
His death that peace, which it denied his life!
Reach me the casket.

Iras. Underneath the fruit the aspick 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 steals us from ourselves, discharging so
Death'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.

Ser. The queen, where is she? [Within. The town is yielded, Cæsar's at the gates. Cleo. He comes too late to invade the rights

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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,
And now 'tis at my head: my eyelids fall,
And my dear love is vanished in a mist!
Where shall I find him, where? oh! turn me to
him,

And lay me on his breast!-Cæsar, 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.

Enter SERAPION, two Priests, ALEXAS, bound, and Egyptians.

2 Priest. Behold, Serapion, what havoc death has made!

Ser. "Twas what I feared. Charmion, is this well done?

Char. Yes, 'tis well done, and like a queen,

the last

Of her great race. I follow her. [Sinks down. Dies.
Alex. Tis true,

She has done well: much better thus to die,
Than live to make a holiday in Rome.

Ser. See how the lovers lie 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.
Cæsar'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 omnes.

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CHAMONT, a young soldier of fortune, brother to MONIMIA, the Orphan, left under the guardian

Monimia.

ERNESTO.

PAULING.

ship of old Acasto.

SERINA, Acasto's daughter.

FLORELLA, Monimia's woman.

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Enter PAULINO and ERNESTO. Paul. Tis strange, Ernesto, this severity Should still reign powerful in Acasto's mind, To hate the court, where he was bred and lived, All honours heaped on him, that power could give.

Ern. 'Tis true, he hither came a private gentleman,

But young and brave, and of a family
Ancient and noble, as the empire holds.
The honours he has gained are justly his;
He purchased them in war: thrice has he led
An army 'gainst the rebels, and as often
Returned with victory. The world has not
A truer soldier, or a better subject.
FOL. I.

Paul. It was his virtue at first made me serve him;

He is the best of masters and of friends:
I know he has lately been invited thither,
Yet still he keeps his stubborn purpose; crics
He is old, and willingly would be at rest.
I doubt there's deep resentment in his mind,
For the late slight his honour suffered there.

Ern. Has he not reason? When, for what he

had borne,

Long, hard, and painful toil, he might have claimed
Places in honour, and employment high;
A huffing, shining, flattering, cringing coward,
A canker-worm of peace, was raised above him.

Paul. Yet still he holds just value for the king, Nor ever names him but with highest reverence. 'Tis noble that.

Y

Ern. Oh! I have heard him wanton in his praise,

Speak things of him might charm the ears of en

vy.

Paul. Oh, may he live, till Nature's self grows old,

And from her womb no more can bless the earth!
For, when he dies, farewell all honour, bounty,
All generous encouragement of arts;
For Charity herself becomes a widow.

Ern. No; he has two sons, that were ordained to be

As well his virtues' as his fortune's heirs.
Paul. They're both of nature mild, and full of

sweetness;

They came twins from the womb, and still they live,

As if they would go twins, too, to the grave:
Neither has any thing he calls his own,
But of each other's joys, as griefs, partaking;
So very honestly, so well they love,
As they were only for each other born.

Ern. Never was parent in an offspring happier;

He has a daughter too, whose blooming age
Promises goodness equal to her beauty.

Paul. And as there is a friendship 'twixt the brethren,

So has her infant nature chosen too

A faithful partner of her thoughts and wishes, And kind companion of her harmless pleasures. Ern. You mean the beauteous orphan, fair Monimia.

Paul. The same, the daughter of the brave Chamont;

He was our lord's companion in the wars; Where such a wondrous friendship grew between them,

As only death could end. Chamont's estate
Was ruined in our late and civil discords;
Therefore, unable to advance her fortune,
He left his daughter to our master's care;
To such a care, as she scarce lost her father.
Ern. Her brother to the emperor's wars went
early,

To seek a fortune, or a noble fate;
Whence he, with honour, is expected back,
And mighty marks of that great prince's favour.
Paul. Our master never would permit his sons
To launch for fortune in the uncertain world;
But warns them to avoid both courts and camps,
Where dilatory Fortune plays the jilt
With the brave, noble, honest, gallant man,
To throw herself away on fools and knaves.
Ern. They both have forward, generous, ac-
tive spirits.

"Tis daily their petition to their father,
To send them forth where glory's to be gotten:
They cry, they're weary of their lazy home,
Restless to do something, that fame may talk of.
To-day they chased the boar, and pear this time
Should be returned.

Paul. Oh, that's a royal sport!

We

e yet may see the old man in a morning, Lusty as health, come ruddy to the field, And there pursue the chase, as if he meant To o'ertake time, and bring back youth again. Exeunt.

SCENE II-A Garden. Enter CASTALIO, POLYDORE, and Page. Cast. Polydore, our sport

Has been to-day much better for the danger; When, on the brink, the foaming boar I met, And in his side thought to have lodged my spear, The desperate savage rushed within my force, And bore me headlong with him down the rock. Pol. But then

Cast. Ay, then, my brother, my friend, Poly

dore,

Like Perseus mounted on his winged steed, Came on, and down the dangerous precipice leap'd, To save Castalio. 'Twas a godlike act!

Pol. But, when I came, I found you conqueror. Oh, my heart danced to see your danger past! The heat and fury of the chase was cold, And I had nothing in my mind but joy.

Cast. So, Polydore, methinks, we might in war Rush on together; thou shouldst be my guard, And I be thine; what is it could hurt us then? Now half the youth of Europe are in arms, How fulsome must it be to stay behind, And die of rank diseases here at home?

Pol. No! let me purchase in my youth re

nown,

To make me loved and valued, when I am old;
I would be busy in the world, and learn,
Not like a coarse and useless dunghill weed,
Fixed to one spot, and rot just as I grow,
Cast. Our father

Has taken himself a surfeit of the world,
And cries, 'It is not safe that we should taste it:'
I own I have duty very powerful in me;
And though I'd hazard all to raise my name,
Yet he's so tender, and so good a father,
I could not do a thing to cross his will.

Pol. Castalio, I have doubts within my heart,
Which you, and only you, can satisfy.
Will you be free and candid to your friend?
Cust. Have I a thought my Polydore should
not know?
What can this mean?

Pol. Nay, I'll conjure you too,

By all the strictest bonds of faithful friendship,
To shew your heart as naked in this point,
As you would purge you of your sins to heaven.
Čast. I will.

Pol. And should I chance to touch it nearly, bear it

With all the sufferance of a tender friend.
Cast. As calmly as the wounded patient bears
The artist's hand, that ministers his cure.
Pol. That's kindly said. You know our fa
ther's ward,

The fair Monimia. Is your heart at peace?
Is it so guarded, that you could not love her?
Cast. Suppose I should?

Pol. Suppose you should not, brother?
Cast. You'd say, I must not.

Pol. That would sound too roughly

Twixt friends and brothers, as we two are.
Cast. Is love a fault?

Pol. In one of us it may be.

What if I love her?

Cast. Then I must inform you

I loved her first, and cannot quit the claim,

But will preserve the birth-right of my passion.

Pol. You will?

Cast. I will..

Pol. No more, I've done.

Cast. Why not?

Pol. I told you I had done:

But you, Castalio, would dispute it.
Cast. No;

Not with my Polydore; though I must own
My nature obstinate, and void of sufferance:
Love reigns a very tyrant in my heart,
Attended on his throne by all his guards
Of furious wishes, fears, and nice suspicions.
I could not bear a rival in my friendship,
I am so much in love, and fond of thee.

Pol. Yet you will break this friendship.
Cast. Not for crowns.

Pol. But for a toy you would, a woman's toy; Unjust Castalio!

Cast. Prithee, where's my fault?

Pol. You love Monimia.

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I may grow desperate,

And take a wife to mortify withal.

Pol. It is an elder brother's duty so

To propagate his family and name:

Pol. Who shall possess the estate you leave?
Cast. My friend,

If he survives me; if not, my king,

Who may bestow it again on some brave man,
Whose honesty and services deserve one.
Pol. 'Tis kindly offered.

Cast. By yon heaven, I love

My Polydore beyond all worldly joys;
And would not shock his quiet, to be blest
With greater happiness than man e'er tasted.
Pol. And by that heaven, eternally I swear,
To keep the kind Castalio in my heart.
Whose shall Monimia be?

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To weary pilgrims, or to misers gold,
To great men power, or wealthy cities pride,
Rather than wrong Castalio, I'd forget her.

For if ye, powers, have happiness in store, When ye would shower down joys on Polydore,

In one great blessing all your bounty send,
That I may never lose so dear a friend.
[Exeunt Castalio and Polydore.
Enter MONIMIA.

Mon. So soon returned from hunting? This fair day

Seems as if sent to invite the world abroad.
Passed not Castalio and Polydore this way?
Page. Madam, just now.

Mon. Sure some ill fate's upon me.
Distrust and heaviness sit round my heart,
And apprehension shocks my timorous soul.
Why was not I laid in my peaceful grave
With my poor parents, and at rest as they are?
Instead of that, I'm wandering into cares.
Castalio! Oh, Castalio! thou hast caught
My foolish heart; and, like a tender child,
That trusts his play-thing to another hand,

You would not have yours die and buried with I fear its harm, and fain would have it back. you?

Cast. Mere vanity, and silly dotage all.

No, let me live at large, and when I die~~~

Come near, Cordelio. I must chide you, sir. Page. Why, madam, have I done you any wrong?

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