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On pain of death, none should approach his presence. Vent. I bring him news will raise his drooping spirits, Give him new life.

Gent. He sees not Cleopatra.

Vent. Would he had never seen her.

Gent. He eats not, drinks not, sleeps not, has no use Of any thing but thought; or if he talks, Tis to himself, and then 'tis perfect raving; Then he defies the world, and bids it pass. Sometimes he gnaws his lips, and curses lond The boy Octavius; then he draws his mouth Into a scornful smile, and cries, Take all, The world's not worth my care.

Vent. Just, just his nature.

Virtue's his path, but sometimes 'tis too narrow
For his vast soul, and then he starts out wide,
And bounds into a vice that bears him far
From his first course, and plunges him in ills:
"But when his danger makes him find his fault,
"Quick to observe, and full of sharp remorse,
"He censures eagerly his own misdeeds,
"Judging himself with malice to himself,
"And not forgiving what as man he did,
"Because his other parts are more than man."
He must not thus be lost.

[Alexas and the priests come forward. Alex. You have your full instructions; now advance;

Proclaim your orders loudly.

Ser. Romans Egyptians! hear the queen's com

mand.

Thus Cleopatra bids: let labour cease;
To pomp and triumphs give this happy day
That gave the world a lord; 'tis Antony's.
Live Antony, and Cleopatra live!

Be this the gen'ral voice sent up to Heav'n,

And ev'ry public place repeat this echo.
Vent. Fine pageantry!

Ser. Set out before your doors

The images of all your sleeping fathers

[Aside.

With laurels crown'd, with laurels wreath your posts, And strew with flow'rs the pavement; let the priest Do present sacrifice, pour out the wine,

And call the gods to join with you in gladness.

Vent. Curse on the tongue that bids this genʼral joy ! Can they be friends of Antony, who revel When Antony's in danger? Hide, for shame, You Romans, your great grandsires' images, For fear their souls should animate their marbles To blush at their degenerate progeny.

Alex. A love, which knows no bounds to Antony, Would mark the day with honours; when all Heav'n Labour'd for him, when each propitious star Stood wakeful in his orb to watch that hour, And shed his bitter influence, her own birth-day Our queen neglected, like a vulgar fate

That pass'd obscurely by.

Vent. Would it had slept

Divided far from his, till some remote

And future age had call'd it out to ruin
Some other prince, not him.

Alex. Your emperor,

Tho' grown unkind, would be more gentle than
T' upbraid my queen for loving him too well.
Vent. "Does the mute sacrifice upbraid the priest ?
"He knows him not his executioner.

"Oh! she has deck'd his ruin with her love,
"Led him in golden bands to gaudy slaughter,
"And made perdition pleasing: she has left him
"The blank of what he was."

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I tell thee, eunuch, she has quite unmann'd him :
Can
any Roman see and know him now,
Thus alter'd from the lord of half mankind,
Unbent, unsinew'd, made a woman's toy,
Shrunk from the vast extent of all his honours,
And crampt within a corner of the world?
Oh, Antony!

Thou bravest soldier, and thou best of friends!

Bounteous as nature, next to nature's God!

Couldst thou but make new worlds, so wouldst thou

give 'em,

(As bounty were thy being. Rough in battle
As the first Romans when they went to war,
Yet after victory more pitiful

Than all their praying virgins left at home!
Alex. Would you could add to those more

virtues

His truth to her who loves him.

Vent. Would I could not.

shining

But wherefore waste I precious hours with thee?
Thou art her darling mischief, her chief engine,
Antony's other fate. Go tell thy queen
Ventidius is arriv'd to end her charms.
Let your Egyptian timbrels play alone,

Nor mix effeminate sounds with Roman trumpets.
You dare not fight for Antony; go pray,

And keep your coward's holyday in temples.

[Exeunt Alex. Serap.

Re-enter the Gentleman of MARC ANTONY.

Second Gent. The emperor approaches, and com

mands

On pain of death that none presume to stay.

First Gent. I dare not disobey him.

Vent. Well, I dare;

[Going out with the other.

But I'll observe him first unseen, and find

Which way his humour drives: the rest I'll venture.

[Withdraws.

Enter ANTONY, walking with a disturbed motion before

he speaks.

Ant. They tell me 'tis my birth-day, and I'll keep it

With double pomp of sadness:

'Tis what the day deserves which gave me breath. Why was I rais'd the meteor of the world,

Hung in the skies, and blazing as I travell❜d,

'Till all my fires were spent, and then cast downward

t

To be trod out by Cæsar ?

Vent. [Aside.] On my soul

'Tis mournful, wondrous mournful!

Ant Count thy gains

Now Antony; wouldst thou be born for this?
Glutton of fortune, thy devouring youth

Has starv'd thy wanting age.,

Vent. [Aside.] How sorrow shakes him!
So now the tempest tears him up by the roots,
And on the ground extends the noble ruin.
Ant. [Having thrown himself down.] Lie there, thou
shadow of an emperor;

The place thou pressest on thy mother earth
Is all thy empire now : now it contains thee;
Some few days hence, and then 'twill be too large,

When thou'rt contracted in thy narrow urn.

Shrunk to a few cold ashes; then Octavia,

(For Cleopatra will not live to see it)

Octavia then will have thee all her own,
And bear thee in her widow'd hand to Cæsar;
"Cæsar will weep, the crocodile will weep,

"To see his rival of the universe

"Lie still and peaceful there." I'll think no more

on't.

Give me some music; look that it be sad.

I'll sooth my melancholy till I swell,

And burst myself with sighing

[Soft music.

'Tis somewhat to my humour. Stay, I fancy

I'm now turn'd wild, a commoner of nature;

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