Part 24

_Ant._ Plain love! plain arrogance, plain insolence! Thy men are cowards; thou, an envious traitor; Who, under seeming honesty, hast vented The burden of thy rank o'erflowing gall. O that thou wert my equal; great in arms As the first Cæsar was, that I might kill thee Without a stain to honour!

_Vent._ You may kill me; You have done more already,--called me traitor.

_Ant._ Art thou not one?

_Vent._ For showing you yourself, Which none else durst have done? but had I been That name, which I disdain to speak again, I needed not have sought your abject fortunes, Come to partake your fate, to die with you. What hindered me to have led my conquering eagles To fill Octavius' bands? I could have been A traitor then, a glorious, happy traitor, And not have been so called.

_Ant._ Forgive me, soldier; I've been too passionate.

_Vent._ You thought me false; Thought my old age betrayed you: Kill me, sir, Pray, kill me; yet you need not, your unkindness Has left your sword no work.

_Ant._ I did not think so; I said it in my rage: Pr'ythee, forgive me: Why didst thou tempt my anger, by discovery Of what I would not hear?

_Vent._ No prince but you Could merit that sincerity I used, Nor durst another man have ventured it; But you, ere love misled your wandering eyes, Were sure the chief and best of human race, Framed in the very pride and boast of nature; So perfect, that the gods, who formed you, wondered At their own skill, and cried,--A lucky hit Has mended our design. Their envy hindered, Else you had been immortal, and a pattern, When heaven would work for ostentation sake, To copy out again.

_Ant._ But Cleopatra-- Go on; for I can bear it now.

_Vent._ No more.

_Ant._ Thou dar'st not trust my passion, but thou may'st; Thou only lov'st, the rest have flattered me.

_Vent._ Heaven's blessing on your heart for that kind word! May I believe you love me? Speak again.

_Ant._ Indeed I do. Speak this, and this, and this. [_Hugging him._ Thy praises were unjust; but, I'll deserve them, And yet mend all. Do with me what thou wilt; Lead me to victory! thou know'st the way.

_Vent._ And, will you leave this--

_Ant._ Pr'ythee, do not curse her, And I will leave her; though, heaven knows, I love Beyond life, conquest, empire; all, but honour: But I will leave her.

_Vent._ That's my royal master; And, shall we fight?

_Ant._ I warrant thee, old soldier. Thou shalt behold me once again in iron; And at the head of our old troops, that beat The Parthians, cry aloud--Come, follow me!

_Vent._ O now I hear my emperor! in that word Octavius fell. Gods, let me see that day, And, if I have ten years behind, take all: I'll thank you for the exchange.

_Ant._ Oh, Cleopatra!

_Vent._ Again?

_Ant._ I've done: In that last sigh, she went. Cæsar shall know what 'tis to force a lover From all he holds most dear.

_Vent._ Methinks, you breathe Another soul: Your looks are more divine; You speak a hero, and you move a god.

_Ant._ O, thou hast fired me; my soul's up in arms, And mans each part about me: Once again, That noble eagerness of fight has seized me; That eagerness, with which I darted upward To Cassius' camp: In vain the steepy hill Opposed my way; in vain a war of spears Sung round my head, and planted all my shield; I won the trenches, while my foremost men Lagged on the plain below.

_Vent._ Ye gods, ye gods, For such another honour!

_Ant._ Come on, my soldier! Our hearts and arms are still the same: I long Once more to meet our foes; that thou and I, Like time and death, marching before our troops, May taste fate to them; mow them out a passage, And, entering where the foremost squadrons yield, Begin the noble harvest of the field. [_Exeunt._

## ACT II. SCENE I.

_Enter_ CLEOPATRA, IRAS, _and_ ALEXAS.

_Cleo._ What shall I do, or whither shall I turn? Ventidius has o'ercome, and he will go.

_Alex._ He goes to fight for you.

_Cleo._ Then he would see me, ere he went to fight: Flatter me not: If once he goes, he's lost, And all my hopes destroyed.

_Alex._ Does this weak passion Become a mighty queen?

_Cleo._ I am no queen: Is this to be a queen, to be besieged By yon insulting Roman, and to wait Each hour the victor's chain? These ills are small; For Antony is lost, and I can mourn For nothing else but him. Now come, Octavius, I have no more to lose; prepare thy bands; I'm fit to be a captive: Antony Has taught my mind the fortune of a slave.

_Iras._ Call reason to assist you.

_Cleo._ I have none, And none would have: My love's a noble madness, Which shows the cause deserved it. Moderate sorrow Fits vulgar love, and for a vulgar man: But I have loved with such transcendent passion, I soared, at first, quite out of reason's view, And now am lost above it. No, I'm proud 'Tis thus: Would Antony could see me now! Think you he would not sigh, though he must leave me? Sure he would sigh; for he is noble-natured, And bears a tender heart: I know him well. Ah, no, I know him not; I knew him once, But now 'tis past.

_Iras._ Let it be past with you: Forget him, madam.

_Cleo._ Never, never, Iras. He once was mine; and once, though now 'tis gone, Leaves a faint image of possession still.

_Alex._ Think him inconstant, cruel, and ungrateful.

_Cleo._ I cannot: If I could, those thoughts were vain. Faithless, ungrateful, cruel, though he be, I still must love him.

_Enter_ CHARMION.

Now, what news, my Charmion? Will he be kind? and will he not forsake me? Am I to live, or die? nay, do I live? Or am I dead? for when he gave his answer, Fate took the word, and then I lived or died.

_Char._ I found him, madam--

_Cleo._ A long speech preparing? If thou bring'st comfort, haste, and give it me, For never was more need.

_Iras._ I know he loves you.

_Cleo._ Had he been kind, her eyes had told me so, Before her tongue could speak it: Now she studies, To soften what he said; but give me death, Just as he sent it, Charmion, undisguised, And in the words he spoke.

_Char._ I found him, then, Encompassed round, I think, with iron statues; So mute, so motionless his soldiers stood, While awfully he cast his eyes about, And every leader's hopes or fears surveyed: Methought he looked resolved, and yet not pleased. When he beheld me struggling in the crowd, He blushed, and bade make way.

_Alex._ There's comfort yet.

_Char._ Ventidius fixed his eyes upon my passage, Severely, as he meant to frown me back, And sullenly gave place: I told my message, Just as you gave it, broken and disordered; I numbered in it all your sighs and tears, And while I moved your pitiful request, That you but only begged a last farewell, He fetched an inward groan; and every time I named you, sighed, as if his heart were breaking. But, shunned my eyes, and guiltily looked down: He seemed not now that awful Antony, Who shook an armed assembly with his nod; But, making show as he would rub his eyes, Disguised and blotted out a falling tear.

_Cleo._ Did he then weep? And was I worth a tear? If what thou hast to say be not as pleasing, Tell me no more, but let me die contented.

_Char._ He bid me say,--He knew himself so well, He could deny you nothing, if he saw you; And therefore--

_Cleo._ Thou wouldst say, he would not see me?

_Char._ And therefore begged you not to use a power, Which he could ill resist; yet he should ever Respect you, as he ought.

_Cleo._ Is that a word For Antony to use to Cleopatra? Oh that faint word, _respect_! how I disdain it! Disdain myself, for loving after it! He should have kept that word for cold Octavia. Respect is for a wife: Am I that thing, That dull insipid lump, without desires, And without power to give them?

_Alex._ You misjudge; You see through love, and that deludes your sight; As, what is straight, seems crooked through the water: But I, who bear my reason undisturbed, Can see this Antony, this dreaded man, A fearful slave, who fain would run away, And shuns his master's eyes: If you pursue him, My life on't, he still drags a chain along, That needs must clog his flight.

_Cleo._ Could I believe thee!--

_Alex._ By every circumstance I know he loves. True, he's hard prest, by interest and by honour; Yet he but doubts, and parleys, and casts out Many a long look for succour.

_Cleo._ He sends word, He fears to see my face.

_Alex._ And would you more? He shows his weakness, who declines the combat, And you must urge your fortune. Could he speak More plainly? To my ears, the message sounds-- Come to my rescue, Cleopatra, come; Come, free me from Ventidius; from my tyrant: See me, and give me a pretence to leave him!-- I hear his trumpets. This way he must pass. Please you, retire a while; I'll work him first, That he may bend more easy.

_Cleo._ You shall rule me; But all, I fear, in vain. [_Exit with_ CHAR. _and_ IRAS.

_Alex._ I fear so too; Though I concealed my thoughts, to make her bold; But 'tis our utmost means, and fate befriend it! [_Withdraws._

_Enter Lictors with Fasces; one bearing the Eagle; then enter_ ANTONY _with_ VENTIDIUS, _followed by other Commanders._

_Ant._ Octavius is the minion of blind chance, But holds from virtue nothing.

_Vent._ Has he courage?

_Ant._ But just enough to season him from coward. O, 'tis the coldest youth upon a charge, The most deliberate fighter! if he ventures, (As in Illyria once, they say, he did, To storm a town) 'tis when he cannot chuse; When all the world have fixt their eyes upon him; And then he lives on that for seven years after; But, at a close revenge he never fails.

_Vent._ I heard you challenged him.

_Ant._ I did, Ventidius. What think'st thou was his answer? 'Twas so tame!-- He said, he had more ways than one to die; I had not.

_Vent._ Poor!

_Ant._ He has more ways than one; But he would chuse them all before that one.

_Vent._ He first would chuse an ague, or a fever.

_Ant._ No; it must be an ague, not a fever; He has not warmth enough to die by that.

_Vent._ Or old age and a bed.

_Ant._ Ay, there's his choice. He would live, like a lamp, to the last wink, And crawl upon the utmost verge of life. O, Hercules! Why should a man like this, Who dares not trust his fate for one great action, Be all the care of heaven? Why should he lord it O'er fourscore thousand men, of whom each one Is braver than himself?

_Vent._ You conquered for him: Philippi knows it; there you shared with him That empire, which your sword made all your own.

_Ant._ Fool that I was, upon my eagle's wings I bore this wren, 'till I was tired with soaring, And now he mounts above me[1]. Good heavens, is this,--is this the man who braves me? Who bids my age make way? Drives me before him, To the world's ridge, and sweeps me off like rubbish?

_Vent._ Sir, we lose time; the troops are mounted all.

_Ant._ Then give the word to march: I long to leave this prison of a town, To join thy legions; and, in open field, Once more to show my face. Lead, my deliverer.

_Enter_ ALEXAS.

_Alex._ Great emperor, In mighty arms renowned above mankind, But, in soft pity to the opprest, a god; This message sends the mournful Cleopatra To her departing lord.

_Vent._ Smooth sycophant!

_Alex._ A thousand wishes, and ten thousand prayers, Millions of blessings wait you to the wars; Millions of sighs and tears she sends you too, And would have sent As many dear embraces to your arms, As many parting kisses to your lips; But those, she fears, have wearied you already.

_Vent._ [_Aside._] False crocodile!

_Alex._ And yet she begs not now, you would not leave her; That were a wish too mighty for her hopes, Too presuming for her low fortune, and your ebbing love; That were a wish for her more prosperous days, Her blooming beauty, and your growing kindness.

_Ant._ [_Aside._] Well, I must man it out:--What would the queen?

_Alex._ First, to these noble warriors, who attend Your daring courage in the chase of fame,-- Too daring, and too dangerous for her quiet,-- She humbly recommends all she holds dear, All her own cares and fears,--the care of you.

_Vent._ Yes, witness Actium.

_Ant._ Let him speak, Ventidius.

_Alex._ You, when his matchless valour bears him forward, With ardour too heroic, on his foes, Fall down, as she would do, before his feet; Lie in his way, and stop the paths of death; Tell him, this god is not invulnerable; That absent Cleopatra bleeds in him; And, that you may remember her petition, She begs you wear these trifles, as a pawn, Which, at your wisht return, she will redeem [_Gives jewels to the Commanders._ With all the wealth of Egypt: This to the great Ventidius she presents, Whom she can never count her enemy, Because he loves her lord.

_Vent._ Tell her, I'll none on't; I'm not ashamed of honest poverty; Not all the diamonds of the east can bribe Ventidius from his faith. I hope to see These, and the rest of all her sparkling store, Where they shall more deservingly be placed.

_Ant._ And who must wear them then?

_Vent._ The wronged Octavia.

_Ant._ You might have spared that word.

_Vent._ And he that bribe.

_Ant._ But have I no remembrance?

_Alex._ Yes, a dear one; Your slave, the queen--

_Ant._ My mistress.

_Alex._ Then your mistress; Your mistress would, she says, have sent her soul, But that you had long since; she humbly begs This ruby bracelet, set with bleeding hearts, The emblems of her own, may bind your arm. [_Presenting a bracelet._

_Vent._ Now, my best lord,--in honour's name, I ask you, For manhood's sake, and for your own dear safety,-- Touch not these poisoned gifts, Infected by the sender; touch them not; Myriads of bluest plagues lie underneath them, And more than aconite has dipt the silk.

_Ant._ Nay, now you grow too cynical, Ventidius: A lady's favours may be worn with honour. What, to refuse her bracelet! on my soul, When I lie pensive in my tent alone, 'Twill pass the wakeful hours of winter nights, To tell these pretty beads upon my arm, To count for every one a soft embrace, A melting kiss at such and such a time; And now and then the fury of her love, When--And what harm's in this?

_Alex._ None, none, my lord, But what's to her, that now 'tis past for ever.

_Ant._ [_Going to tie it._] We soldiers are so awkward--help me tie it.

_Alex._ In faith, my lord, we courtiers too are awkward In these affairs: so are all men indeed: Even I, who am not one. But shall I speak?

_Ant._ Yes, freely.

_Alex._ Then, my lord, fair hands alone Are fit to tie it; she, who sent it, can.

_Vent._ Hell, death! this eunuch pandar ruins you. You will not see her? [ALEXAS _whispers an Attendant, who goes out._

_Ant._ But to take my leave.

_Vent._ Then I have washed an Æthiop. You're undone; You're in the toils; you're taken; you're destroyed: Her eyes do Cæsar's work.

_Ant._ You fear too soon. I'm constant to myself: I know my strength; And yet she shall not think me barbarous neither, Born in the depths of Afric: I'm a Roman, Bred to the rules of soft humanity. A guest, and kindly used, should bid farewell.

_Vent._ You do not know How weak you are to her, how much an infant; You are not proof against a smile, or glance; A sigh will quite disarm you.

_Ant._ See, she comes! Now you shall find your error.--Gods, I thank you: I formed the danger greater than it was, And now 'tis near, 'tis lessened.

_Vent._ Mark the end yet.

_Enter_ CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, _and_ IRAS.

_Ant._ Well, madam, we are met.

_Cleo._ Is this a meeting? Then, we must part?

_Ant._ We must.

_Cleo._ Who says we must?

_Ant._ Our own hard fates.

_Cleo._ We make those fates ourselves.

_Ant._ Yes, we have made them; we have loved each other In our mutual ruin.

_Cleo._ The gods have seen my joys with envious eyes; I have no friends in heaven; and all the world, As 'twere the business of mankind to part us, Is armed against my love: even you yourself Join with the rest; you, you are armed against me.

_Ant._ I will be justified in all I do To late posterity, and therefore hear me. If I mix a lie With any truth, reproach me freely with it; Else, favour me with silence.

_Cleo._ You command me, And I am dumb.

_Vent._ I like this well: he shews authority.

_Ant._ That I derive my ruin From you alone--

_Cleo._ O heavens! I ruin you!

_Ant._ You promised me your silence, and you break it Ere I have scarce begun.

_Cleo._ Well, I obey you.

_Ant._ When I beheld you first, it was in Egypt. Ere Cæsar saw your eyes, you gave me love, And were too young to know it; that I settled Your father in his throne, was for your sake; I left the acknowledgment for time to ripen. Cæsar stept in, and, with a greedy hand, Plucked the green fruit, ere the first blush of red, Yet cleaving to the bough. He was my lord, And was, beside, too great for me to rival; But, I deserved you first, though he enjoyed you. When, after, I beheld you in Cilicia, An enemy to Rome, I pardoned you.

_Cleo._ I cleared myself--

_Ant._ Again you break your promise. I loved you still, and took your weak excuses, Took you into my bosom, stained by Cæsar, And not half mine: I went to Egypt with you, And hid me from the business of the world, Shut out enquiring nations from my sight, To give whole years to you.

_Vent._ Yes, to your shame be't spoken. [_Aside._

_Ant._ How I loved, Witness, ye days and nights, and all ye hours, That danced away with down upon your feet, As all your business were to count my passion! One day past by, and nothing saw but love; Another came, and still 'twas only love: The suns were wearied out with looking on, And I untired with loving. I saw you every day, and all the day; And every day was still but as the first, So eager was I still to see you more.

_Vent._ 'Tis all too true.

_Ant._ Fulvia, my wife, grew jealous, As she indeed had reason; raised a war In Italy, to call me back.

_Vent._ But yet You went not.

_Ant._ While within your arms I lay, The world fell mouldering from my hands each hour, And left me scarce a grasp--I thank your love for't.

_Vent._ Well pushed: that last was home.

_Cleo._ Yet may I speak?

_Ant._ If I have urged a falsehood, yes; else, not. Your silence says, I have not. Fulvia died; (Pardon, you gods, with my unkindness died.) To set the world at peace, I took Octavia, This Cæsar's sister; in her pride of youth, And flower of beauty, did I wed that lady, Whom blushing I must praise, because I left her. You called; my love obeyed the fatal summons: This raised the Roman arms; the cause was yours. I would have fought by land, where I was stronger; You hindered it: yet, when I fought at sea, Forsook me fighting; and (Oh stain to honour! Oh lasting shame!) I knew not that I fled; But fled to follow you.

_Vent._ What haste she made to hoist her purple sails! And, to appear magnificent in flight, Drew half our strength away.

_Ant._ All this you caused. And, would you multiply more ruins on me? This honest man, my best, my only friend, Has gathered up the shipwreck of my fortunes; Twelve legions I have left, my last recruits, And you have watched the news, and bring your eyes To seize them too. If you have aught to answer, Now speak, you have free leave.

_Alex._ [_Aside._] She stands confounded: Despair is in her eyes.

_Vent._ Now lay a sigh in the way to stop his passage: Prepare a tear, and bid it for his legions; 'Tis like they shall be sold.

_Cleo._ How shall I plead my cause, when you, my judge, Already have condemned me? shall I bring The love you bore me for my advocate? That now is turned against me, that destroys me; For love, once past, is, at the best, forgotten; But oftener sours to hate: 'twill please my lord To ruin me, and therefore I'll be guilty. But, could I once have thought it would have pleased you, That you would pry, with narrow searching eyes Into my faults, severe to my destruction, And watching all advantages with care, That serve to make me wretched? Speak, my lord, For I end here. Though I deserve this usage, Was it like you to give it?

_Ant._ O you wrong me, To think I sought this parting, or desired To accuse you more than what will clear myself, And justify this breach.

_Cleo._ Thus low I thank you; And, since my innocence will not offend, I shall not blush to own it.

_Vent._ After this, I think she'll blush at nothing.

_Cleo._ You seem grieved, (And therein you are kind) that Cæsar first Enjoyed my love, though you deserved it better: I grieve for that, my lord, much more than you; For, had I first been yours, it would have saved My second choice: I never had been his, And ne'er had been but yours. But Cæsar first, You say, possessed my love. Not so, my lord: He first possessed my person; you, my love: Cæsar loved me; but I loved Antony. If I endured him after, 'twas because I judged it due to the first name of men; And, half constrained, I gave, as to a tyrant, What he would take by force.

_Vent._ O Syren! Syren! Yet grant that all the love she boasts were true, Has she not ruined you? I still urge that, The fatal consequence.

_Cleo._ The consequence indeed; For I dare challenge him, my greatest foe, To say it was designed: 'tis true, I loved you, And kept you far from an uneasy wife,-- Such Fulvia was. Yes, but he'll say, you left Octavia for me;-- And, can you blame me to receive that love, Which quitted such desert, for worthless me? How often have I wished some other Cæsar, Great as the first, and as the second young, Would court my love, to be refused for you!

_Vent._ Words, words; but Actium, sir; remember Actium.