Part 27

_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.

_Ant._ 'Tis well, and truly spoken: mark, Ventidius.

_Alex._ To you, most noble emperor, her strong passion Stands not excused, but wholly justified. Her beauty's charms alone, without her crown, From Ind and Meroe drew the distant vows Of sighing kings; and at her feet were laid The sceptres of the earth, exposed on heaps, To chuse where she would reign: She thought a Roman only could deserve her, And, of all Romans, only Antony; And, to be less than wife to you, disdained Their lawful passion.

_Ant._ 'Tis but truth.

_Alex._ And yet, though love, and your unmatched desert, 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 improsperous war Confirmed those pious thoughts.

_Vent._ [_Aside._] O, 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!

_Octav._ Must I bear this? Good heaven, afford me patience. [_Aside._

_Vent._ On, 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; let all The longer damned have rest; each torturing hand Do thou employ, till Cleopatra comes; Then join thou too, and help to torture her! [_Exit_ ALEXAS, _thrust out by_ ANTONY.

_Octav._ 'Tis not well, Indeed, my lord, 'tis much unkind to me, To show this passion, this extreme concernment, For an abandoned, faithless prostitute.

_Ant._ Octavia, leave me; I am much disordered: Leave me, I say.

_Octav._ My lord!

_Ant._ I bid you leave me.

_Vent._ Obey him, madam: best withdraw a while. And see how this will work.

_Octav._ Wherein have I offended you, my lord, That I am bid to leave you? Am I false, Or infamous? Am I a Cleopatra? Were I she, Base as she is, you would not bid me leave you: But hang upon my neck, take slight excuses, And fawn upon my falsehood.

_Ant._ 'Tis too much, 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.

_Octav._ 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. Wonderous 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.

_Octav._ 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 shall 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 weakness. 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.

Who has profaned the sacred name of friend, 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 mis-matched it, And furnished treason out with Nature's pomp, To make its work more easy.

_Dola._ O, my friend!

_Ant._ Well, Dolabella, you performed my message?

_Dola._ I did, unwillingly.

_Ant._ Unwillingly? Was it so hard for you to bear our parting? You should have wished it.

_Dola._ Why?

_Ant._ Because you love me. And she received my message, with as true, With as unfeigned a sorrow, as you brought it?

_Dola._ She loves you, even to madness.

_Ant._ Oh, I know it. You, Dolabella, do not better know How much she loves me. And should I Forsake this beauty? This all-perfect creature?

_Dola._ I could not, were she mine.

_Ant._ And yet you first Persuaded me: How come you altered since?

_Dola._ I said at first I was not fit to go: I could not bear her sighs, and see her tears, But pity must prevail: And so, perhaps, It may again with you; for I have promised, That she should take her last farewell: And, see, She comes to claim my word.

_Enter_ CLEOPATRA.

_Ant._ False Dolabella!

_Dola._ What's false, my lord?

_Ant._ Why, Dolabella's false, And Cleopatra's false; both false and faithless. Draw near, you well-joined wickedness, you serpents Whom I have in my kindly bosom warmed, Till I am stung to death.

_Dola._ My lord, have I Deserved to be thus used?

_Cleo._ Can heaven prepare A newer torment? Can it find a curse Beyond our separation?

_Ant._ Yes, if fate Be just, much greater: Heaven should be ingenious 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 Lay lulled betwixt your bosoms, and there slept, Secure of injured faith?

_Dola._ If she has wronged you, Heaven, hell, and you, revenge it.

_Ant._ If she has wronged me! Thou would'st evade thy part of guilt; but swear Thou lov'st not her.

_Dola._ Not so as I love you.

_Ant._ Not so! Swear, swear, I say, thou dost not love her.

_Dola._ No more than friendship will allow.

_Ant._ No more? Friendship allows thee nothing: Thou art perjured-- And yet thou didst not swear thou lov'dst her not; But not so much, no more. Oh, trifling hypocrite, Who darest not own to her, thou dost not love, Nor own to me, thou dost! Ventidius heard it; Octavia saw it.

_Cleo._ They are enemies.

_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_ DOLA. You, whom I sent to bear my last farewell, Returned, to plead her stay.

_Dola._ 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 loves! What means will she refuse, to keep that heart, Where all her joys are placed! 'Twas I encouraged, 'Twas I blew up the fire that scorched his soul, To make you jealous, and by that regain you. But all in vain; I could not counterfeit: In spite of all the dams, my love broke o'er, And drowned my heart again; fate took the occasion; And thus one minute's feigning has destroyed My whole life's truth.

_Ant._ Thin cobweb arts of falsehood; Seen, and broke through at first.

_Dola._ Forgive your mistress.

_Cleo._ Forgive your friend.

_Ant._ You have convinced yourselves. You plead each other's cause: What witness have you, 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 How I am wronged, my justice and revenge Will cry so loud within me, that my pity Will not be heard for either.

_Dola._ Heaven has but Our sorrow for our sins; and then delights To pardon erring man: Sweet mercy seems Its darling attribute, which limits justice; As if there were degrees in infinite, And infinite would rather want perfection, Than punish to extent.

_Ant._ I can forgive 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 centered 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!

_Dola._ A perjured villain!

_Ant._ [_To_ CLEO.] Your Alexas; yours.

_Cleo._ O '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 your smiles! Watches your eye, to say or to unsay, Whate'er you please! I am not to be moved.

_Cleo._ Then must we part? Farewell, my cruel lord! 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 it; 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. SCENE I.

_Enter_ CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, _and_ IRAS.

_Char._ Be juster, heaven; such virtue punished thus, Will make us think that chance rules all above, And shuffles, with a random hand, the lots, Which man is forced to draw.

_Cleo._ I could tear out these eyes, that gained his heart, And had not power to keep it. O the curse Of doting on, even when I find it dotage! Bear witness, gods, you heard him bid me go; You, whom he mocked with imprecating vows Of promised faith!--I'll die; I will not bear it. You may hold me-- [_She pulls out her Dagger, and they hold her._ But I can keep my breath; I can die inward, And choke this love.

_Enter_ ALEXAS.

_Iras._ Help, O 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!--O, O 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 not you o'er-rule, And force my plain, direct, and open love, Into these crooked paths of jealousy? Now, what's the event? Octavia is removed; But Cleopatra's 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'm lost too far; I'm 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 shipwrecked 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.

_Alex._ 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 do't; 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 conquest! 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.

_Alex._ 'Tis from the port. The loudness shows it near: Good news, kind heavens!

_Cleo._ Osiris make it so!

_Enter_ SERAPION.

_Serap._ Where, where's the queen?

_Alex._ How frightfully the holy coward stares! As if not yet recovered of the assault, When all his gods, and, what's more dear to him, His offerings, were at stake.

_Serap._ O horror, horror! Egypt has been; our latest hour is come: The queen of nations, from her ancient seat, Is sunk for ever in the dark abyss: Time has unrolled her glories to the last, And now closed up the volume.

_Cleo._ Be more plain: Say, whence thou comest; though fate is in thy face, Which from thy hagard eyes looks wildly out, And threatens ere thou speakest.

_Serap._ I came from Pharos; From viewing (spare me, and imagine it) Our land's last hope, your navy--

_Cleo._ Vanquished?

_Serap._ No; They fought not.

_Cleo._ Then they fled.

_Serap._ Nor that. I saw, 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 dipt from every bank, 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 behind The Roman rear: And now, they all come forward, And ride within the port,

_Cleo._ Enough, Serapion: I've 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?

_Serap._ His fury cannot be expressed by words: Thrice he attempted headlong to have fallen Full on his foes, and aimed at Cæsar's galley: With-held, 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.

_Alex._ You must not; haste you to your monument, While I make speed to Cæsar.

_Cleo._ Cæsar! No, I have no business with him.

_Alex._ I can work him To spare your life, and let this madman perish.

_Cleo._ Base fawning wretch! would'st 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.

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

_Alex._ O heavens! I dare not; I meet my certain death.

_Cleo._ Slave, thou deservest it,-- Not that I fear my lord, will I avoid him; I know him noble: when he banished me, And thought me false, he scorned to take my life; But I'll be justified, and then die with him.

_Alex._ O pity me, and let me follow you.

_Cleo._ To death, if thou stir hence. Speak, if thou canst, Now for thy life, which basely thou wouldst save; While mine I prize at this. Come, good Serapion. [_Exeunt_ CLEO. SERAP. CHAR. _and_ IRAS.

_Alex._ O that I less could fear to lose this being, Which, like a snow-ball in my coward hand, The more 'tis grasped, the faster melts away. Poor reason! what a wretched aid art thou! For still, in spite of thee, These two long lovers, soul and body, dread Their final separation. Let me think: What can I say, to save myself from death? No matter what becomes of Cleopatra.

_Ant._ Which way? where? [_Within._

_Vent._ This leads to the monument. [_Within._

_Alex._ Ah me! I hear him; yet I'm unprepared: My gift of lying's gone; And this court-devil, which I so oft have raised, Forsakes me at my need. I dare not stay; Yet cannot far go hence. [_Exit._

_Enter_ ANTONY _and_ VENTIDIUS.

_Ant._ O happy Cæsar! thou hast men to lead: Think not 'tis thou hast conquered Antony; But Rome has conquered Egypt. I'm betrayed.

_Vent._ Curse on this treacherous train! Their soil and heaven infect them all with baseness: And their young souls come tainted to the world With the first breath they draw.

_Ant._ The original villain sure no God created; He was a bastard of the sun, by Nile, Aped into man; with all his mother's mud Crusted about his soul.

_Vent._ The nation is One universal traitor; and their queen The very spirit and extract of them all.

_Ant._ Is there yet left A possibility of aid from valour? Is there one god unsworn to my destruction? The least unmortgaged hope? for, if there be, Methinks I cannot fall beneath the fate Of such a boy as Cæsar. The world's one half is yet in Antony; And from each limb of it, that's hewed away, The soul comes back to me.

_Vent._ There yet remain Three legions in the town. The last assault Lopt off the rest: if death be your design,-- As I must wish it now,--these are sufficient To make a heap about us of dead foes, An honest pile for burial.

_Ant._ They are enough. We'll not divide our stars; but, side by side, Fight emulous, and with malicious eyes Survey each other's acts: So every death Thou giv'st, I'll take on me, as a just debt, And pay thee back a soul.

_Vent._ Now you shall see I love you. Not a word Of chiding more. By my few hours of life, I am so pleased with this brave Roman fate, That I would not be Cæsar, to outlive you. When we put off this flesh, and mount together, I shall be shown to all the etherial crowd,-- Lo, this is he who died with Antony!

_Ant._ Who knows, but we may pierce through all their troops, And reach my veterans yet? 'tis worth the tempting, To o'erleap this gulph of fate, And leave our wandering destinies behind.

_Enter_ ALEXAS, _trembling._

_Vent._ See, see, that villain! See Cleopatra stampt upon that face, With all her cunning, all her arts of falsehood! How she looks out through those dissembling eyes! How he sets his countenance for deceit, And promises a lie, before he speaks! Let me dispatch him first. [_Drawing._

_Alex._ O spare me, spare me!

_Ant._ Hold; he's not worth your killing.--On thy life, Which thou may'st keep, because I scorn to take it, No syllable to justify thy queen; Save thy base tongue its office.

_Alex._ Sir, she is gone, Where she shall never be molested more By love, or you.

_Ant._ Fled to her Dolabella! Die, traitor! I revoke my promise; die! [_Going to kill him._

_Alex._ O hold! she is not fled.

_Ant._ She is: my eyes Are open to her falsehood; my whole life Has been a golden dream of love and friendship; But, now I wake, I'm like a merchant, roused From soft repose, to see his vessel sinking, And all his wealth cast over. Ungrateful woman! Who followed me, but as the swallow summer, Hatching her young ones in my kindly beams, Singing her flatteries to my morning wake: But, now my winter comes, she spreads her wings And seeks the spring of Cæsar.

_Alex._ Think not so: Her fortunes have, in all things, mixt with yours. Had she betrayed her naval force to Rome, How easily might she have gone to Cæsar, Secure by such a bribe!

_Vent._ She sent it first, To be more welcome after.