Alex.
YES; we shall fare but ill, now these same Romans
Have cross'd the seas, and sat down here before us,
In Alexandria.

Eno.
Most scurvily.

Alex. (Looking out.)
But who's that stranger: By his warlike port,
He's of no vulgar note.

Eno.
Ha!—'tis Ventidius!
Our Emperor's great lieutenant in the East;
Who first shew'd Rome that Parthia could be conquer'd.
When Antony return'd from Syria last,
He left this man to guard the Roman frontiers.

Alex.
You seem to know him.

Eno.
Aye;—I honour him.
A braver Roman never drew a sword.
Firm to his prince; but as a friend, not slave.
He ne'er was of his pleasures, but presides
O'er all his cooler hours, and morning counsels.
In short, the plainness, fierceness, rugged virtue,
Of an old true stampt Roman lives in him.
His coming bodes some good, I trust.—Withdraw,
We shall learn more, anon. [Exeunt Enobarbus and Alexas. Enter Ventidius, and an Ægyptian Attendant.

Ven.
Nay, tell thy queen,
Ventidius is arriv'd, to end her charms.
Let your Ægyptian timbrels play alone;
Nor mix effeminate sounds with Roman trumpets.
You dare not fight for Antony; go pray,
And keep your coward's holy-day in temples. Enter an Officer of Antony.

Off.
The emperor approaches, and commands,
On pain of death, that none presume to stay.

Ægyp.
I dare not disobey him. [Exeunt Officer and Ægyptian Attendant.

Ven.
Well, I dare;—
But I'll observe him first unseen, and find
Which way his humour drives: the rest I'll venture. (Withdraws.)

Enter Antony.

Ant.
Why was I rais'd the meteor of the world,
Hung in the skies, and blazing as I travell'd,
Till all my fires were spent, and then cast downward,
To be trod out by Cæsar?

Ven.
On my soul,
'Tis mournful; wond'rous mournful!

Ant.
Count thy gains.
Now, Antony, would'st thou be born for this?
Glutton of fortune! thy devouring youth
Has starv'd thy wanting age.

Ven. (Aside.)
How sorrow shakes him!
So, now the tempest tears him up by th' roots,
And on the ground extends the noble ruin. [(Antony having thrown himself on the ground.

Ant.
Lie here, thou shadow of an emperor!
The place thou pressest on thy mother earth
Is all thy empire now: Now it contains thee;
Some few days hence, and then 'twill be too large,
When thou'rt contracted in thy narrow urn,
Shrunk to a few cold ashes; then Octavia,
(For Cleopatra will not live to see it)
Octavia then will have thee all her own,
And bear thee in her widow'd hand to Cæsar;
Cæsar will weep, the crocodile will weep,
To see his rival of the universe
Lie still and peaceful there. I'll think no more on't.

Ven.
I must disturb him; I can hold no longer. (Standing before him.)

Ant. (Starting up.)
Art thou Ventidius?

Ven.
Are you Antony?
I'm more like what I was, than you to him
I left you last.

Ant.
I'm angry.

Ven.
So am I.

Ant.
I would be private; leave me.

Ven.
Sir, I love you,
And therefore will not leave you.

Ant.
Will not leave me?
Where have you learnt that answer? Who am I?

Ven.
My emperor; the man I love next Heav'n:
If I said more, I think 'twere scarce a sin:
You're all that's good, and god-like.

Ant.
All that's wretched.
You will not leave me, then?

Ven.
'Twas too presuming
To say I would not;—but I dare not leave you:
And 'tis unkind in you to chide me hence
So soon, when I so far have come to see you.

Ant.
Now thou hast seen me, art thou satisfi'd?
For, if a friend, thou hast beheld enough;
And, if a foe, too much.

Ven.
Look, emperor, this is no common dew; (Weeping.)
I have not wept this forty years, but now
My mother comes afresh into my eyes;
I cannot help her softness.

Ant.
By Heav'n he weeps! poor, good old man, he weeps!
The big round drops course one another down
The furrows of his cheeks. Stop 'em, Ventidius,
Or I shall blush to death: They set my shame,
That caus'd 'em, full before me.

Ven.
I'll do my best.

Ant.
Sure there's contagion in the tears of friends:
See, I have caught it too. Believe me, 'tis not
For my own griefs, but thine. Nay, father,—

Ven
Emperor.

Ant.
Emperor! why, that's the stile of victory;
The conqu'ring soldier, red with unfelt wounds,

Salutes his general so; but never more
Shall that sound reach my ears.

Vent.
I warrant you.

Ant.
Actium, Actium! Oh—

Ven.
It sits too near you.

Ant.
Here, here it lies; a lump of lead by day,
And, in my short, distracted, nightly slumbers,
The hag that rides my dreams.

Ven.
Out with it, give it vent.

Ant.
Urge not my shame.
I lost a battle.

Ven.
So has Julius done.

Ant.
Thou favour'st me, and speak'st not half thou think'st;
For Julius fought it out, and lost it bravely;
But Antony—

Ven.
Nay, stop not.

Ant.
Antony,—well, thou wilt have it—like a coward fled,
Fled while his soldiers fought; sled first, Ventidius:
Thou long'st to curse me, and I give thee leave;
I know thou cam'st prepar'd to rail.

Ven.
I did.

Ant.
I'll help thee. I have been a man, Ventidius.

Ven.
Yes, and a brave one; but—

Ant.
I know thy meaning:—
But I have lost my reason, have disgrac'd
The name of soldier with inglorious ease.
Fortune came smiling to my youth, and woo'd it,
And purple greatness met my ripen'd years;
When first I came to empire, I was borne
On tides of people, crowding to my triumphs;
I was so great so happy, so belovd.
Fate could not ruin me; till I took pains
And work'd against my fortune, chid her from me:
My careless days, and my luxurious nights,

At length have weari'd her, and now she's gone,
Gone, gone, divorc'd for ever.—'Pr'ythee, curse me.

Ven.
No,

Ant.
Why?

Ven.
I would bring balm, and pour it in your wounds.

Ant.
I know thou would'st.

Ven.
I will.

Ant.
Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Ven.
You laugh,

Ant.
I do, to see officious love
Give cordials to the dead.

Ven.
You would be lost, then?

Ant.
I am.

Ven.
I say, you are not. Try your fortune.

Ant.
I have to the utmost. Dost thou think me desperate
Without just cause?—All's lost beyond repair;
I scorn the world, and think it not worth keeping.

Ven.
Cæsar thinks not so;
He'll thank you for the gift he could not take.
You would be kill'd; hold out your throat to Cæsar,
And so die tamely.

Ant.
I can kill myself.

Ven.
I can die with you too, when time shall serve;
But fortune calls upon us, now, to live;
To fight, to conquer.

Ant
Sure thou dream'st, Ventidius.

Ven.
Up for your honour's sake! twelve legions wait you,
And long to call you chief. By painful journeys
I led 'em, patient both of heat and hunger,
Down from the Parthian marshes to the Nile;
'Twill do you good to see their sun-burnt faces;

Their scarr'd cheeks, and chopt hands; there's virtue in 'em;
They'll sell their mangled limbs at dearer rates
Than yon trim bands can buy.

Ant.
Where left you them?

Ven.
I said, on the banks o'the Nile.

Ant.
Then, bring 'em hither;
There may be life in these.

Ven.
They will not come:
They petition
You would make haste to head 'em.

Ant.
I'm besieg'd.

Ven.
There's but one way shut up:—How came I hither?

Ant.
I will not stir.

Vent.
They would, perhaps, desire
A better reason.

Ant.
I have never us'd
My soldier's to demand a reason of
My actions. Why did they refuse to march?

Ven.
They said, they would not fight for Cleopatra.

Ant.
What was't they said?

Ven.
They said, they would not fight for Cleopatra.
Why should they fight indeed to make her conquer,
And make you more a slave?

Ant.
Ventidius, I allow your tongue free licence
On all my other faults; but, on your life,
No word of Cleopatra: She deserves
More worlds than I can lose.

Ven.
I take the privilege of plain love to speak.

Ant.
Plain love! plain arrogance! plain insolence!
Thy men are cowards; thou, an envious traitor;
Who, under seeming honestly, hast vented
The burden of thy rank, o'erflowing gall.

Oh! that thou wert my equal; great in arms
As the first Cæsar was, that I might kill thee,
Without a stain to honour.

Ven.
You may kill me;
You have done more already,—call'd me traitor.

Ant.
Art thou not one?

Ven.
For shewing 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 hind'red me to've led my conqu'ring eagles
To join with Cæsar's bands? I could have been
A traitor then; a glorious, happy traitor,
And not have been so call'd.

Ant.
Forgive me, soldier;
I've been too passionate
Why did'st thou tempt my anger, by discovery
Of what I would not hear.

Ven.
No prince but you
Could merit that sincerity I us'd,
Nor durst another man have ventur'd it:
But you, ere love misled your wand'ring eye,
Were sure the chief, and best of human race,
Fram'd in the very pride, and boast of nature!

Ant.
But Cleopatra—
Go on; for I can bear it now.

Ven.
No more.

Ant.
Thou dar'st not trust my passion, but thou may'st.
Do with me what thou wilt:
Lead me to victory, thou know'st the way.

Ven.
And will you leave this—

Ant.
Pr'ythee, do not curse her,
And I will leave her; though, I leav'n knows, I love
Beyond life, conquest, empire; all but honour.
But I will leave her.

Ven.
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 troop, that beat
The Parthians, cry aloud—Come follow me!

Ven.
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 th' exchange.

Ant.
Oh, Cleopatra!

Ven.
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.

Ven.
Methinks you breathe
Another soul: your looks are more divine;
You speak a Hero, and you move a God.

Ant.
O, thou hast fir'd me! my soul's up in arms,
And mans each part about me: once again
That noble eagerness of fight has seiz'd me;—
That eagerness, with which I darted upward
To Cassius' camp: In vain the steepy hill
Oppos'd my way; in vain a war of spears
Sung round my head, and planted all my shields
I won the trenches, while my foremost men
Lagg'd on the plain below.

Ven.
Ye gods! ye gods!
For such another hour!

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 'em; mow 'em out a passage,
And, ent'ring where the foremost squadrons yield,
Begin the noble harvest of the field. Exeunt.

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