The modern British drama

Cleo. What tell'st thou me of Egypt?
My life, my soul is lost! Octavia has him!
Oh, fatal name to Cleopatra's love!
My kisses, my embraces, now are her's,
While I-But thou hast seen my rival; speak,
Does she deserve this blessing? is she fair?
Bright as a goddess? and is all perfection
Confined to her? It is. Poor I was made

Of that coarse matter, which, when she was
finished,

The gods threw by for rubbish.

Aler. She is indeed a very miracle.
Cleo. Death to my hopes! a miracle?

Alex. A miracle

[Bowing.

I mean of goodness; for in beauty, madam,

You make all wonder cease.

Cleo. I was too rash:

Take this in part of recompence. But oh!
I fear thou flatter'st me.

[Giving a ring.

Char. She comes! she's here!
Iras. Fly, madam! Cæsar's sister!
Cleo. Were she the sister of the thunderer Jove,
And bore her brother's lightning in her eyes,
Thus would I face my rival.

For one like that!

Oct. Thou lov'st him not so well.

Cleo. I love him better, and deserve him more.
Oct. You do not, cannot: you have been his
ruin.

Who made him cheap at Rome, but Cleopatra ?
Who made him scorned abroad, but Cleopatra?
At Actium who betrayed him? Cleopatra.
Who made his children orphans, and poor me

Enter OCTAVIA with VENTIDIUS. OCTAVIA bears A wretched widow? only Cleopatra.

up to CLEOPATRA.

Your bonds are easy; you have long been prac-
tised

In that lascivious art. He's not the first,
For whom you spread your snares; let Cæsar
witness.

Cleo. I loved not Cæsar; 'twas but gratitude
I paid his love: the worst your malice can,
Is but to say the greatest of mankind

Has been my slave. The next, but far above him
In my esteem, is he, whom law calls yours,
But whom his love made mine.

Oct. I would view nearer

[Coming up close to her. That face, which has so long usurped my right, To find the inevitable charms, that catch Mankind so sure, that ruined my dear lord.

Cleo. Yet she, who loves him best, is Cleopatra.
If you have suffered, I have suffered more.
You bear the specious title of a wife,
To gild your cause, and draw the pitying world
To favour it: the world contemns poor me,
For I have lost my honour, lost my fame,
And stained the glory of my royal house,
And all to bear the branded name of mistress.
There wants but life, and that too I would lose
For him I love.

Oct. Be it so then; take thy wish.
[Exit with VENT.

Cleo. And 'tis my wish,
Now he is lost, for whom I lived.

My sight grows dim, and every object dances
And swims before me in the maze of death.
My spirits, while they were opposed, kept up;
They could not sink beneath a rival's scorn:
But now she's gone they faint.

Aler. Mine have had leisure

To recollect their strength, and furnish counsel
To ruin her, who else must ruin you.

Cleo. Vain promiser !

Lead me, my Charmion; nay, your hand too, Iras.
My grief has weight enough to sink you both.
Conduct me to some olitary chamber,
And draw the curtains round,

Then leave me to myself, to take alone
My fill of grief;

There I till death will his unkindness weep,
As harmless infants moan themselves asleep.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I-A Saloon.

Enter ANTONY and DOLABELLA.

ACT IV.

He's rough by nature.

Ant. Oh, he'll speak too harshly, He'll kill her with the news: thou, only thou.

Dol. Nature has cast me in so soft a mould, That but to hear a story, feigned for pleasure, Of some sad lover's death, moistens my eyes, And robs me of my manhood. I should speak So faintly, with such fear to grieve her heart, She'd not believe it earnest.

Ant. Therefore, therefore

Thou, only thou, art fit. Think thyself me,
And when thou speak'st (but let it first be long,)
Take off the edge from every sharper sound,
And let our parting be as gently made
As other loves begin. Wilt thou do this?

Dol. What you have said so sinks into my soul,
That, if I must speak, I shall speak just so.
Ant. I leave you then to your sad task. Fare-
well!

I sent her word to meet you.

I forgot:

[Goes to the door, and comes back.

Let her be told, I'll make her peace with mine:
Her crown and dignity shall be preserved,
If I have power with Cæsar-Oh! be sure
To think on that!

Dol. Fear not, I will remember.

[ANTONY goes again to the door, and comes back.

Ant. And tell her too, how much I was con-
strained;

I did not this but with extremest force.
Desire her not to hate my memory,
For I'll still cherish hers-insist on that.
Dol. Trust me, I'll not forget it.
Ant. Then that's all.

[Goes out and returns again.
Wilt thou forgive my fondness this once more?
Tell her, though we shall never meet again,
If I should hear she took another love,
The news would break my heart-Now I must go,
For every time I have returned, I feel
My soul more tender, and my next command

VOL. I.

Would be to bid her stay, and ruin both. [Erit
Dol. Men are but children of a larger growth,
Our appetites as apt to change as theirs,
And full as craving too, and full as vain;
And yet the soul, shut up in her dark room,
Viewing so clear abroad, at home sees nothing,
But, like a mole in earth, busy and blind,
Works all her folly up, and casts it outward
To the world's open view. Thus I discovered,
And blamed the love of ruined Antony,
Yet wish that I were he, to be so ruined.

Enter VENTIDIUS above.

Vent. Alone, and talking to himself? Concerned too?

Perhaps my guess is right: he loved her once, And may pursue it still.

Dol. Oh, friendship! friendship!

Ill canst thou answer this, and reason worse:
Unfaithful in the attempt, hopeless to win,
And, if I win, undone.-Mere madness all
And yet the occasion's fair. What injury
To him, to wear the robe, which he throws by?
Vent. None, none at all. This happens as I
wish,

To ruin her yet more with Antony.

[Aside.

If there be breath, 'twill catch the damp and show it.
Cleo. I grant you jealousy's a proof of love,
But 'tis a weak and unavailing medicine;
It puts out the disease, and makes it show,
But has no power to cure.

Alex. Tis your last remedy, and strongest too: And then this Dolabella, who so fit

To practise on? He's handsome, valiant, young,
And looks as he were laid for nature's bait
To catch weak women's eyes.

He stands already more than half suspected

Of loving you: the least kind word or glance
You give this youth, will kindle him with love;
Then, like a burning vessel set adrift,
You'll send him down amain before the wind,
To fire the heart of jealous Antony.

Cleo. Can I do this? ah, no! my love's so true, That I can neither hide it, where it is,

Nor show it, where it is not. Nature meant me
A wife, a silly, harmless household dove,
Fond without art, and kind without deceit ;
But fortune, that has made a mistress of me,
Has thrust me out to the wide world, unfurnished
Of falsehood to be happy.

Aler. Force yourself;

The event will be, your lover will return
Doubly desirous to possess the good,
Which once he feared to lose.

Cleo. I must attempt it;

But oh, with what regret!

[Erit ALEX. She comes up to DOLABELLA. Vent. So, now the scene draws near; they're in my reach.

Cleo. [To DoL.] Discoursing with my women! Might not I

Share in your entertainment?

Char. You have been

The subject of it, madam.

Cleo. How! and how?

Iras. Such praises of your beauty!
Cleo. Mere poetry :

Your Roman wits, your Gallus and Tibullus,
Have taught you this from Cytheris and Delia.
Dol. Those Roman wits have never been in
Egypt,

Cytheris and Delia else had been unsung:
I, who have seen-had I been born a poet,
Should chuse a nobler name.

Cleo. You flatter me;

But 'tis your nation's vice: all of your country Are flatterers and all false. Your friend's like

Cleo. No, no, I'm not run mad; I can bear fortune;

And love may be expelled by other love,
As poisons are by poisons.

Dol. -You o'erjoy me, madam,

To find your griefs so moderately borne.
You've heard the worst: all are not false like him.
Cleo. No, heaven forbid they should!
Dol. Some men are constant.

Cleo. And constancy deserves reward, that's certain.

Dol. Deserves it not, but give it leave to hope. Vent. I'll swear thou hast my leave. I have enough.

But how to manage this! Well, I'll consider.

Dol. I came prepar'd

[Exit.

To tell you heavy news; news, which I thought Would fright the blood from your pale cheeks to hear;

But you have met it with a chearfulness,
That makes my task more easy; and my tongue,
Which on another's message was employed,
Would gladly speak its own.

Cleo. Hold, Dolabella.

First tell me, were you chosen by my lord,
Or sought you this employment?

Dol. He picked me out, and, as his bosom
friend,

He charged me with his words.

Cleo. The message then

I know was tender, and each accent smooth, To mollify that rugged word 'Depart!'

Dol. Oh' you mistake: he chose the harshest

words:

With fiery eyes, and with contracted brows,
He coined his face in the severest stamp,
And fury shook his fabric like an earthquake:
He heaved for vent, and burst, like bellowing
Etna,

In sounds scarce human, 'Hence away for ever!
'Let her begone, the blot of my renown,
And bane of all my hopes!

[All the time of this speech CLEOPATRA seems more and more concerned, till she sinks quite down.

'Let her be driven, as far as men can think, From man's commerce: she'll poison to the

That sure deserves belief. I injured him;
My friend ne'er spoke those words. Oh! had

you seen

How often he came back, and every time
With something more obliging and more kind
To add to what he said; what dear farewells,
How almost vanquished by his love he parted,
And leaned to what unwillingly he left!
I, traitor as I was, for love of you,

(But what can you not do, who made me false!)
I forged that lie, for whose forgiveness kneels
This self-accused, self-punished, criminal.

Cleo. With how much ease believe we what
we wish!

Rise, Dolabella; if you have been guilty,
I have contributed, and too much love
Has made me guilty too.

The advance of kindness, which I made, was
feigned

To call back fleeting love by jealousy ;
But 'twould not last. Oh! rather let me lose,
Than so ignobly trifle with his heart.

Dol. I find your breast fenced round from hu-
man reach,

Transparent as a rock of solid crystal,
Seen through, but never pierced. My friend, my
friend!

What endless treasure hast thou thrown away,
And scattered, like an infant, in the ocean
Vain sums of wealth, which none can gather
thence!

Cleo. Could you not beg

An hour's admittance to his private ear?
Like one, who wanders through long barren wilds,
And yet foreknows no hospitable inn
Is near to succour hunger,

Eats his fill before his painful march,
So would I feed a while my famished eyes
Before we part; for I have far to go,
If death be far, and never must return.

VENTIDIUS, with OCTAVIA behind

Vent. From hence you may discover-Oh sweet,
sweet!

Would you indeed! the pretty hand in earnest ?

[Aside.

Dol. I will, for this reward: [Takes her hand. -Draw it not back: 'Tis all I e'er will beg.

Vent. They turn upon us.

Oct. What quick eyes has guilt!

355

Vent, Seem not to have observed them, and

go on.

They enter.

Dol. Saw you the emperor, Ventidius ?
Vent. No;

I sought him, but I heard that he was private,
None with him but Hipparchus, his freed man.
Dol. Know you his business?
Vent. Giving him instructions
And letters to his brother Cæsar.
Dol. Well,
He must be found.

[Exeunt DOLABELLA and CLEOPATRA.

Oct. Most glorious impudence!
Vent. She looked, methought,
As she would say, 'Take your old man, Octavia
Thank you, I'm better here.'
Well, but what use

Make we of this discovery?

Oct. Let it die.

Vent. I pity Dolabella! but she's dangerous; Her eyes have power beyond Thessalian charms To draw the moon from heaven; for eloquence The sea-green sirens taught her voice their flat

tery;

And, while she speaks, night steals upon the day,
Unmarked of those, that hear: then she's so

charming,

Age buds at sight of her, and swells to youth:
The holy priests gaze on her when she smiles,
And with heaved hands, forgetting gravity,
They bless her wanton eyes: even I, who hate her,
With a malignant joy behold such beauty,
And, while I curse, desire it. Antony
Must needs have some remains of passion still,
Which may ferment into a worse relapse,
If now not fully cured-But see, he comes-
I know this minute

With Cæsar he's endeavouring her peace.

Oct. You have prevailed-but for a farther

purpose

I'll prove how he will relish this discovery.
heart:
What! make a strumpet's peace! it swells my

It must not, shall not be.

Vent. His guards appear.

Let me begin, and you shall second me.

Enter ANTONY.

Ant. Octavia, I was looking for you, my love. What, are your letters ready? I have given

My last instructions.

Oct. Mine, my lord, are written.

Ant. Ventidius!

Vent. My lord?

Ant. A word in private.
When saw you Dolabella?
Vent. Now, my lord.

[Drawing him aside.

He parted hence, and Cleopatra with him.
Ant. Speak softly: 'twas by my command he

went,
To bear my last farewell.

Vent. It looked indeed

Like your farewell.

Ant. More softly-My farewell!
What secret meaning have you in these words,
Of my farewel?" He did it by my order.
Vent. Then he obey'd your order, I suppose.

You bid him do it with all gentleness,
All kindness, and all-love.

Ant. How she mourned !

The poor forsaken creature!

[Aloud.

Vent. She took it as she ought; she bore your
parting,

As she did Cæsar's, as she would another's,
Were a new love to come.

Ant. Thou dost belie her,

Most basely and maliciously belie her.

Vent. I thought not to displease you: I have done.

You needed 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.
[Coming up. For stay you must and shall.

Oct. You seem disturbed, my lord.

Ant. A very trifle.

Retire, my love.

Vent. It was indeed a trifle. He sent

Ant. No more. Look how thou disobey'st me; Thy life shall answer it.

Oct. Then 'tis no trifle.

[Angrily.

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

At which he whispered kisses back on hers;
And then she cried aloud, that constancy
Should be rewarded !?-

Oct. This I saw and heard.

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'crhear 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 employ

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,

Ant. What woman was it, whom you heard So far, divine Octavia, may my queen

and saw

So playful with my friend?

Not Cleopatra?

Vent. Even she, my lord.
Ant. My Cleopatra!
Vent. Your Cleopatra,

Dolabella's Cleopatra,

Every man's Cleopatra,
Ant. Thou liest.

Vent. I do not lie, my lord.

Is this so strange? should mistresses be left,
And not provide against a time of change?
You know she's not much used to lonely nights.
Ant. I'll think no more on't.

I know 'tis false, and see the plot betwixt you.

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, Ven

tidius.

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The modern British drama, Том 1