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Then, like a burning vessel set adrift,
You'll send him down amain before the wind,
To fire the heart of jealous Antony.

Cleo. Can I do this? ah, no! my love's so true,
That I can neither hide it, where it is,
Nor show it, where it is not. Nature meant me
A wife, a silly, harmless household dove,
Fond without art, and kind without deceit;
But fortune, that has made a mistress of me,
Has thrust me out to the wide world, unfurnished
Of falsehood to be happy.

Alex. Force yourself;

The event will be, your lover will return
Doubly desirous to possess the good,
Which once he feared to lose.

Cleo. I must attempt it;

But oh, with what regret!

[Exit Alex. She comes up to Dolabella. Vent. So now the scene draws near; they're in my reach.

Cleo. to Dol. Discoursing with my women!
Might not I

Share in your entertainment?

Char. You have been

The subject of it, madam.

Cleo. How! and how?

Iras. Such praises of your beauty!
Cleo. Mere poetry:

Your Roman wits, your Gallus and Tibullus,
Have taught you this from Cytheris and Delia.
Dol. Those Roman wits have never been in

Egypt.

Cytheris and Delia else had been unsung :
I, who have seen-had I been born a poet,
Should chuse a nobler name.

Cleo. You flatter me;

But it is your nation's vice: all of your country
Are flatterers, and all false. Your friend is like

you;

I am sure he sent you not to speak these words.
Dol. No, madam; yet he sent me-

Cleo. Well, he sent you

Dol. On a less pleasing errand.
Cleo. How! less pleasing?

Less to yourself or me?

Dol. Madam, to both;

For you must mourn, and I must grieve to cause

it.

Cleo. You, Charmion, and your fellow, stand at distance,

Hold up, my spirits! [Aside.]-Well, now your mournful matter,

For I am prepared, perhaps can guess it too.
Dol. I wish you would, for 'tis a thankless
office

To tell ill news; and I, of all your sex,
Most fear displeasing you.

Cleo. Of all your sex,

I soonest could forgive you, if you should.

Vent. Most delicate advances! Woman! man!

Dear, damned unconstant sex!

Cleo. In the first place,

I am to be forsaken; is it not so?
Dol. I wish I could not answer to that ques-
tion.

Cleo. Then pass it over, because it troubles you;
I should have been more grieved another time.
Next, I am to lose my kingdom-Farewell, Egypt!
Yet is there any more?

Dol. Madam, I fear

Your too deep sense of grief has turned your

reason.

Cleo. No, no, I am not run mad; I can bear
fortune;

And love may be expelied by other love,
As poisons are by poisons.

Dol. -You overjoy me, madam,
To find your griefs so moderately borne.
You have the worst: all are not false like him.
Cleo. No, heaven forbid they should!
Dol. Some men are constant.
Cleo. And constancy deserves reward, that is
certain.

Dol. Deserves it not, but give it leave to hope.
Vent. I'll swear thou hast my leave. I have

enough:

But how to manage this! Well, I'll consider.

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With fiery eyes, and with contracted brows,
He coined his face in the severest stamp,
And fury shook his fabric like an earthquake:
He heaved for vent, and burst, like bellowing
Etna,

In sounds scarce human, 'Hence, away for ever!
'Let her begone, the blot of my renown,
And bane of all my hopes!

[All the time of this speech Cleopatra seems
more and more concerned, till she sinks quite
down.

'Let her be driven, as far as men can think, wo-'From man's commerce: she'll poison to the cen

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Dol. Help, help! Oh wretch! oh cursed, cur- | Would you indeed! the pretty hand in earnest ? sed wretch!

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you seen

How often he came back, and every time
With something more obliging and more kind
To add to what he said; what dear farewells,
How almost vanquished by his love he parted,
And leaned to what unwillingly he left:
I, traitor as I was, for love of you,

(But what can you not do, who made me false !) I forged that lie, for whose forgiveness kneels This self-accused, self-punished, criminal.

Cleo. With how much ease believe we what we wish!

Rise, Dolabella; if you have been guilty,

I have contributed, and too much love

Has made me guilty too.

[Aside.

Dol. I will, for this reward: [Takes her hand.

-Draw it not back;

'Tis all I e'er will beg.

Vent. They turn upon us.

Oct. What quick eyes has guilt!

Vent. Seem not to have observed them, and go on.

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Vent. I pity Dolabella! but she is dangerous; Her eyes have power beyond Thessalian charms To draw the moon from heaven; for eloquence The sea-green Sirens taught her voice their flat

tery;

And, while she speaks, night steals upon the day, Unmarked of those, that hear: then she's so charming,

The advance of kindness, which I made, was Age buds at sight of her, and swells to youth:

feigned,

To call back fleeting love by jealousy;

But it would not last! Oh! rather let me lose,

Than so ignobly trifle with, his heart.

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,

Dol. I find your breast fenced round from hu- With a malignant joy behold such beauty,

man reach,

Transparent as a rock of solid crystal,
Seen through, but never pierced. My friend, my
friend!

What endless treasure hast thou thrown away,
And scattered, like an infant, in the ocean
Vain sums of wealth, which none can gather
thence!

Cleo. Could you not beg

An hour's admittance to his private ear?

Like one, who wanders through long barren wilds,
And yet foreknows no hospitable inn
Is near to succour hunger,

Eats his fill before his painful march,

So would I feed a while my famished eyes
Before we part, for I have far to go,
If death be far, and never must return.

VENTIDIUS, with OCTAVIA, behind. Vent. From whence you may discover-Oh, sweet, sweet!

And, while I curse, desire it. Antony
Must needs have some remains of passion still,
Which may ferment into a worse relapse,
If now not fully cured-But see, he comes-
I know this minute

With Cæsar he is endeavouring her peace.
Oct. You have prevailed-but for a farther
purpose
[Walks 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.

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He parted hence, and Cleopatra with him.

Vent. Your Cleopatra, Dolabella's Cleopatra,

Every man's Cleopatra.

Ant. 'Tis false.

Vent. I do not lie, my lord.

Ant. Speak softly; 'twas by my command he Is this so strange? should mistresses be left,

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Vent. [To Oct.] '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;
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 h's,

At which he whispered kisses back on hers;
And then she cryed aloud, that constancy
Should be rewarded!-This I saw and heard
Ant. What woman was it, whom you heard
and saw

So playful with my friend?
Not Cleopatra?

Vent. Even she, my lord.
Ant. My Cleopatra !

And not provide against a time of change? You know she's not much used to lonely nights.

Ant. I'll think no more of it.

I know 'tis false, and see the plot betwixt you. You need 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 farther, love.

Oct. Are you concerned, That she's found false?

Ant. I should be, were it so;

For, though 'tis past, I would not, that the world Should tax my former choice; that I loved one Of so light note; but I forgive you both.

Vent. What has my age deserved, that you should think

I would abuse your ears with perjury?
If heaven be true, she's false.

Ant. Though heaven and earth
Should witness it, I'll not believe her tainted.
Vent. I'll bring you, then, a witness

From hell, to prove her so. Nay, go not back,
[Seeing Alexas just entering, and starting back.
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 Chaldeans do the moon,
Can tell what signs she passes through what day.
Alex. My noble lord!

Vent. My most illustrious pandar!

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 love
To 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 offend Or please Ventidius, care not. Justify Thy injured queen from malice: dare his worst. Oct. [Aside.] See how he gives him courage,

how he fears

To find her false, and shuts his eyes to truth,
Willing to be misled !

Aler. As far as love may plead for woman's frailty,

Urged by desert and greatness of the lover,
So far, divine Octavia, may my queen
Stand even excused to you for loving him,
Who is your lord; so far from brave Ventidius
May her past actions hope a fair report.

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Alex. And yet, though love and your unmatched desert

Have drawn her from the due regard of honour,
At last heaven opened her unwilling eyes
To see the wrongs, she offered fair Octavia,
Whose holy bed she lawlessly usurped :
The sad effects of this unprosperous war
Confirmed 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 ears With what the last necessity has urged On my forsaken mistress; yet I must not Presume to say, her heart is wholly altered. Ant. No, dare not for thy life! I charge thee, dare not

Pronounce that fatal word!

Oct. Must I bear this? Good heaven! afford me patience! [Aside. Vent. Oh, sweet eunuch! my dear half man, proceed!

Alex. Yet Dolabella

Has loved her long; he, next my godlike lord, Deserves her best; and should she meet his

passion,

Rejected, as she is, by him she loved

Ant. Hence from my sight, for I can bear no more!

Let furies drag thee quick to hell! each torturing hand

Do thou employ till Cleopatra comes,
Then join thou too, and help to torture her!
[Exit Alexas, thrust out by Antony.
Oct. 'Tis not well!
Indeed, my lord, 'tis much unkind to me,
To shew this passion, this extreme concernment,
For an abandoned, faithless prostitute.

Ant. Octavia, leave me! I am much disordered! Leave me, I say!

Oct. My lord! Ant, I bid

you

leave me.

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Too much, Octavia! I am prest with sorrows,
Too heavy to be borne, and you add more!
I would retire, and recollect what's left
Of man within, to aid me.

Oct. You would mourn

In private for your love, who has betrayed you. You did but half return to me; your kindness Lingered behind with her. I hear, my lord, You make conditions for her,

And would include her treaty: wondrous proofs Of 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.

Oct. 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, 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 love
My tenderness and care shall be transferred,
And they shall cheer by turns my widowed
nights.

So take my last farewell! for I despair
To 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 win 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 staid.
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.

Vent. Obey him, madam; best withdraw Who has profaned the sacred name of friend,

awhile,

And see how this will work.

And worn it into vileness!

With how secure a brow and specious form

He gilds the secret villain! Sure that face
Was meant for honesty, but heaven mismatched it,
And furnished treason out with nature's pomp,

To make its work more easy.

Dol. O my friend!

Lay lulled betwixt your bosoms, and there slept Secure of injured faith?

Dol. If she has wronged you, Heaven, hell, and you, revenge it! Ant. If she has wronged me!

Ant. Well, Dolabella, you performed my Thou wouldst evade thy part of guilt: but swear

message?

Dol. I did, unwillingly.

Ant. Unwillingly!

Was it so hard for you to bear our parting?

You should have wished it.

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In punishing such crimes. The rolling stone
And gnawing vulture were slight pains, invented
When Jove was young, and no examples known
Of mighty ills; but you have ripened sin

To such a monstrous growth, 'twill pose the gods
To find an equal torture. Two, two such!
Oh, there's no farther 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 you
In dowry with my heart: I had no use,
No fruit, of all but you: a friend and mistress
Was what the world could give. Oh, Cleopatra!
Oh, Dolabella! how could you betray

This tender heart, which, with an infant fondness,
VOL. I

Thou lovest not her.

Dol. Not so as I love you.

Ant. Not so? Swear, swear, I say, thou dost not love her.

Dol. No more than friendship will allow.
Ant. No more!

Friendship allows thee nothing: thou art perju

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Ant. Alexas is not so; he, he confest it; He, who next hell best knew it, he avowed it. Why do I seek a proof beyond yourself? [To Dol. You, whom I sent to bear my last farewell, Returned to plead her stay.

Dol. What shall I answer?

If to have loved be guilt, then I have sinned;
But if to have repented of that love
Can wash away my crime, I have repented;
Yet, if I have offended past forgiveness,
Let her not 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 encou

raged,

'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 oc-
casion,

And thus one minute's feigning has destroyed
My whole life's truth.

Ant. Thin cobweb arts of falsehood,
Seen and broke through at first.
Dol. 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 think

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