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Vent. My lord?

Ant. A word in private. When saw you Dolabella?

Vent. Now, my lord.

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 his,

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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.
Aler. 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!

Alex. 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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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!

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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 shail 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 weak

ness,

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

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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.

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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

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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

X

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A foe, but not a mistress and a friend: Treason is there in its most horrid shape, Where trust is greatest; and the soul resigned

Is stabbed by its own guards. I'll hear no more: Hence from my sight for ever!

Cleo. How? for ever!

I cannot go one moment from your sight,
And must I go for ever?

My joys, my only joys, are centred here :
What place have I to go to? my own kingdom?
That I have lost for you; or to the Romans?
They hate me for your sake: or must I wander
The wide world o'er, a helpless banished woman,
Banished for love of you, banished from you;
Ay, there's the banishment! Oh, hear me, hear

me,

With strictest justice, for I beg no favour,
And, if I have offended you, then kill me,
But do not banish me!

Ant. I must not hear you;

I have a fool within me takes your part,
But honour stops my ears.

Cleo. For pity hear me !

Would you cast off a slave, who followed you, Who crouched beneath your spurn? He has no pity!

See, if he gives one tear to my departure,

One look, one kind farewell; oh, iron heart! Let all the gods look down and judge betwixt us, If he did ever love!

Ant. No more. Alexas!

Dol. A perjured villain!

Ant. to Cleo. Your Alexas! yours!

Cleo. Oh, 'twas his plot; his ruinous design To engage you in my love by jealousy.

Hear him; confront him with me; let him speak. Ant. I have, I have.

Cleo. And if he clear me not

Ant. Your creature! one, who hangs upon

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The appearance is against me; and I go,
Unjustified, for ever from your sight.
How I have loved, you know; how yet I love,
My only comfort is, I know, myself:

I love you more, even now you are unkind,
Than when you loved me most; so well, so truly,
I'll never strive against, but die pleased
To think you once were mine.

Ant. Good Heaven! they weep at parting.
Must I weep too? that calls them innocent.
I must not weep; and yet I must, to think,
That I must not forgive-

Live, but live wretched; 'tis but just you should,
Who made me so: live from each other's sight;
Let me not hear you meet. Set all the earth
And all the seas betwixt your sundered loves;
View nothing common but the sun and skies.
Now all take several ways,

And each your own sad fate with mine deplore, That you were false, and I could trust no more. [Exeunt severally.

ACT V.

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Enter ALEXAS.

Iras. Help, oh, Alexas, help! The queen grows desperate, her soul struggles in her,

With all the agonies of love and rage,
And strives to force its passage.

Cleo. Let me go.

Art thou there, traitor!-Oh,

Oh for a little breath to vent my rage!
Give, give me way, and let me loose upon him.
Alex. Yes, I deserve it for my ill timed truth.
Was it for me to prop
The ruins of a falling majesty,

To place myself beneath the mighty flaw,
Thus to be crushed and pounded into atoms,
By its o'erwhelming weight? 'Tis too presuming
For subjects to preserve that wilful power,
Which courts its own destruction.

Cleo. I would reason

More calmly with you. Did you not o'errule
And force my plain, direct, and open love
Into these crooked paths of jealousy?
Now what's the event? Octavia is removed,
But Cleopatra banished. Thou, thou villain,
Hast pushed my boat to open sea, to prove,
At my sad cost, if thou canst steer it back.
It cannot be; I am lost too far; I am ruined:
Hence! thou impostor, traitor, monster, devil-
I can no more: thou and my griefs have sunk
Me down so low, that I want voice to curse thee.
Alex. Suppose some ship-wrecked seaman near
the shore,

Dropping and faint with climbing up the cliff,
If, from above, some charitable hand
Pull him to safety, hazarding himself

To draw the other's weight, would he look back
And curse him for his pains? The case is yours;
But one step more, and you have gained the
height.

Cleo. Sunk, never more to rise.

Aler. Octavia's gone, and Dolabella banished. Believe me, madam, Antony is yours: His heart was never lost, but started off To jealousy, love's last retreat, and covert, Where it lies hid in shades, watchful in silence, And listening for the sound, that calls it back. Some other, any man, 'tis so advanced, May perfect this unfinished work, which I (Unhappy only to myself) have left So easy to his hand.

Cleo. Look well thou dost, else

Alex. Else what your silence threatens-Antony

Is mounted up the Pharos, from whose turret
He stands surveying our Egyptian gallies
Engaged with Cæsar's fleet: now death or con-
quest!

If the first happen, fate acquits my promise;
If we o'ercome, the conqueror is yours.
[A distant shout within.
Char. Have comfort, madam: did you mark
that shout?
[Second shout nearer.

Iras. Hark! they redouble it.
Aler. 'Tis from the port;

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With Antony, your well-appointed fleet
Row out, and thrice he waved his hand on high,
And thrice, with cheerful cries, they shouted back:
"Twas then false Fortune, like a fawning strumpet,
About to leave the bankrupt prodigal,
With a dissembled smile would kiss at parting,
And flatter to the last: the well-timed oars
Now dipped from every bark, now smoothly run
To meet the foe; and soon indeed they met,
But not as foes. In few, we saw their caps
On either side thrown up: the Egyptian gallies,
Received like friends, past through, and fell be-
hind

The Roman rear; and now they all come forward,
And ride within the port.

Cleo. Enough, Serapion;

I have heard my doom. This needed not, you gods!

When I lost Antony, your work was done. 'Tis but superfluous malice. Where's my lord? How bears he this last blow?

Ser. His fury cannot be expressed by words: Thrice he attempted headlong to have fallen Full on his foes, and aimed at Cæsar's galley: Withheld, he raves on you, cries he's betrayed. Should he now find you

Alex. Shun him, seek your safety, Till you can clear your innocence. Cleo. I'll stay.

Aler. You must not; haste you to the monument,

While I make speed to Cæsar.
Cleo. Cæsar! no;

The loudness shows it near. Good news, kind I have no business with him,

Heavens!

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Alex. I can work him

To spare your life, and let this, madman perish. Cleo. Base fawning wretch! wouldst thou betray him too?

Hence from my sight! I will not hear a traitor :
'Twas thy design brought all this ruin on us.
Serapion, thou art honest; counsel me :
But haste, each moment's precious.

Ser. Retire; you must not see Antony.
He, who began this mischief,
'Tis just he tempt the danger: let him clear
And since he offered you his servile tongue
To gain a poor precarious life from Cæsar,
Let him expose that fawning cloquence,
And speak to Antony.

you;

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