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If I said more I think 'twere scarce a sin :.
Ant. All that's wretched.
Vent. 'Twas too presuming
Ant. Now thou hast seen me art thou satisfied?
weeps! “ The big round drops course one another down “ The furrows of his cheeks. Stop 'em, Ventidius, “ Or I shall blush to death; they set my shame “ That caus'd 'em full before me.
" Dent. I'll do best."
Ant. Sure there's contagion in the tears of friends; See, I have caught it too. Believe me 'tis not For
my own griefs but thine-Nay, father Vent. Emperor.
Ant. Emperor! why that's the style of victory: The conq’ring soldier, red with unfelt wounds,
Salutes his gen'ral so; but never more
Vent. I warrant you.
Ant. Here, here it lies, a lump of lead by day,
Vent. Out with it; give it vent.
Vent. So has Julius done.
Vent. Nay, stop not.
Ant. Antony (Well, thou wilt have it) like a coward Aled, Fled while his soldiers fought; fed first Ventidius. Thou long'st to curse me, and I give thee leave; “ I know thou cam'st prepar'd to rail.
" Dent. I did.”
Ant. I know thy meaning.
“ Fortune came smiling to my youth and woo'd it,
Vent. You are too sensible already
Ant. I know thou wouldst.
" Ant. I do, to see officious love " Give cordials to the dead.
"l'ent. You would be lost then?
« Ant. I am. “ Vent. I say you are not. Try your fortune. " Ant. I have to th' utmost. Dost thou think me
desperate « Without just cause? No, when I found all lost “ Beyonà repair, I hid me from the world, " And learn'd to scorn it here, which now I do “ So heartily, I think it is not worth " The cost of keeping.
« Vent. Cæsar thinks not so; « He'll thank you for the gift he could not take, “ You would be kill'd like Tully, would you? Do “ Hold out your throat to Cæsar and die tamely,
“ Ant. No, I can kill myself, and so resolve. “ Vent. I can die with you too when time shall
Ant. Sure thou dream'st, Ventidius.
hours In desp'rate sloth, miscall’d philosophy. Up, up, for honour's sakel twelve legions wait you, And long to call you chief: by painful journies I led 'em, patient both of heat and hunger, Down from the Parthian marches of the Nile: 'Twill do you good to see their sunburnt faces, Their scarrd cheeks, and chopt hands: there's vire tue in 'em :
They'll sell those mangled limbs at dearer rates
Ant. Where left you them?
Ant. Bring 'em hither;
Vent. They will not come.
Vent. Most firm and loyal.
“ Ant. Yet they will not march ( To succour me. Oh trifler!
“ Vent. They petition
“ Ant, I'm besieg'd.
“ Vent. They would perhaps desire " A better reason.
« Ant. I have never us'd
Vent. They said they would not fight for Cleopatra : Why should they fight indeed to make her conquer, And make you more a slave? to gain you kingdoms,