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 [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; Be this the gen'ral voice sent up to Heav'n, And ev'ry public place repeat this echo. 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 Alex. Your emperor, Tho' grown unkind, would be more gentle than "Oh! she has deck'd his ruin with her love, I tell thee, eunuch, she has quite unmann'd him : 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 Than all their praying virgins left at home! virtues His truth to her who loves him. Vent. Would I could not. shining But wherefore waste I precious hours with thee? Nor mix effeminate sounds with Roman trumpets. 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? Has starv'd thy wanting age., Vent. [Aside.] How sorrow shakes him! The place thou pressest on thy mother earth 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, "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; |