SCENE I.-A grand Saloon.

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.

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,

Flatter me not; if once he goes, he's lost,

And all my hopes destroyed.

Aler. Does this weak passion

Become a mighty queen?

Cico. 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 bonds;

I am fit to be a captive: Antony

Has taught my mind the fortune of a slave.
Irus Call reason to assist you.

Cico, I have none,

And none would have: my love's a noble mad

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 am 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

dies

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 and 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 pas

sage

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 break-
ing,

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 how 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 inspid 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 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.

Ater. 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,'
[A march.
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.

Aler. I fear so too, Though I concealed my thoughts to make her bold;

But 'tis our utmost means, and fate befriend it! [Withdraws. A march till all are on,

Enter Lictors with fasces, one bearing the Eagle; then enter ANTONY and 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.

Oh! 'tis the coldest youth upon a charge, The most deliberate fighter! if he ventures (As in Illyria once they said he did)

To storm a town, 'tis when he cannot chuse, When all the world have fixed 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,

Alex. Great emperor,

In mighty arms renowned above mankind,
But, in soft pity to the oppressed, 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 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, And too presuming for her low fortune and your ebbing love;

That were a wish for her most 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 wished 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 she 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?

Aler. None, none, my lord,
But what's to her, that now 'tis past for ever.
Ant. [Going to tie it.] We soldiers are so
aukward-help me tie it.

Alex. In faith, my lord, we courtiers too are aukward

In these affairs; so are all men indeed,

Even I who am not one.

But shall I speak?

Ant. Yes, freely.

Vent. Then I have washed an Ethiop. You

are undone !

You're in the toils! you're taken! you're destroyed!

Her eyes do Cæsar's work.

Ant. You fear too soon:

I am 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.

you;

Gods! I thank

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,

Into our mutual ruin.

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 stepped 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 inquiring nations from my sight, To give whole years to you.

Vent. Yes, to your shame be it 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 passed 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, although 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

Vent. Now lay a sigh i'th' way to stop his pas

sage;

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 mez
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. Oh, 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;
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. Oh, siren! siren!

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
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, remem
ber Actium!

Cleo. Ev'n there I dare his malice. True,

counselled