Ant.
'TIS plain, Ventidius, Cæsar has dissembled;
He knows no honour, he!—and the conditions,
Sent by Octavia and Dolabella,
Were treacherously meant.

Ven.
You please to think so.

Ant.
Is it not clear?—He'll not withdraw his troops.

Ven.
And thus the war continues.—I had hopes
To patch up peace.

Ant.
Thou see'st it cannot be.

Ven.
Well, well!

Ant.
So cold! wilt thou, as numbers have,
When Fortune is upon the wane, forsake me?

Ven.
I shall forsake you when I die;—not sooner.

Ant.
My friend! (soften'd).

Ven.
Come, cheerly, General;—your genius
O'er Cæsar's still may rise;—for him you conquer'd;
Philippi knows it;—then you shared with him
That Empire which your sword made all your own.

Ant.
Fool that I was!—upon my Eagle's wing,
I bore this Wren, till I was tired of soaring,
And, now, he mounts above me.

Ven.
We lose time.
The day advances.

Ant.
We'll to yonder eminence:—
The preparation is, to-day, by sea;
We please them not by land.

Ven.
The preparation
Is both for sea and land: On sea, I fear,
Tis a frail venture, since your loss at Actium.

Ant.
I would they fought in fire, or in the air!
We'd fight there too.—But, this it is, Ventidius:
Order for sea is given; and our best force
Is forth to man the gallies.—With our foot,
Upon the hills adjoining to the City,
Their naval movements we may best discover,
And look on their endeavours.—Follow me. [Exit Antony.

Ven.
Swallows have built
In Cleopatra's sails their nests: the Augurers

Say, they know not,—they cannot tell,—look grimly,
And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony
Is valiant, and dejected; and, by starts,
His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear,
Of what he has, and has not.—To the last,
Though my brave General be fall'n to dotage,
My love, against my judgment, clings to him. [Exit. Scene 2 SCENE—Interior of Cleopatra's Palace. (Shouts at a distance.) Enter Cleopatra, Charmion, and Iras.

Cle.
Hear'st thou how fares the battle?

Char.
Antony
Now stands surveying our Ægyptian gallies,
Engaging Cæsar's fleet. (Shout again).

Cle.
Now death, or conquest!

Iras.
Have comfort, Madam;—'twas a cheering shout. (Shouts repeated).
Hark! they redouble it.

Char.
'Tis from the port.

Cle.
Good news, kind Heav'n! Enter Alexas.

Alex.
O, horror, horror!
Ægypt has been;—our latest hour is come;
Time has unroll'd our glories to the last,
And, now, closed up the volume.

Cle.
Say the worst.

Alex.
Proud on the waves, your well appointed fleet
Row'd forth to sea, and smooth the well-timed oars
Were dipt to meet the foe;—soon did they meet,

But not as foes! In brief, we saw their caps
On either side thrown up; Ægyptian gallies
(Receiv'd like friends) past through, and fell behind
The Roman rear; and, now, they all come forward,
And ride within the port.

Cle.
Enough, Alexas;
I've heard my doom!—What says Mark Antony?
Where is he? Oh, he will be more enraged
Than Telamon for his shield!

Alex.
You must avoid him.
He raves on you, and cries he is betray'd.
His fury shakes his fabrick like an earthquake;
Heaving for vent, he bursts, like bellowing Ætna,
In sounds scarce human.—Do not see him yet.

Cle.
I must not.—Whither go?

Alex.
Retire, awhile,
Within your monument:—meet not this tempest;
It will o'erblow.

Cle.
Not till he hears I'm dead;—
Then would this gust of anger end in grief.

Alex.
E'en that way turn it, then;—let me report
To Antony that you have slain yourself:
When undeceiv'd, his joy will be so great,
He will forgive, if not forget, the ills
Our fleet hath wrought him.

Cle.
Well, well, be it so.
And yet, 'tis not for fear that I avoid him:
I know him noble; when he banish'd me,
And thought me false, he scorn'd to take my life.
But I'll be justified, and then die with him.
Away, Alexas!—Come, my women, come! Exeunt.—Cleopatra, and her Women, on one side; Alexas on the other.]

Scene 3 SCENE—Within the Town of Alexandria. Enter Antony, and Ventidius.

Ant.
Gods! how this foul Ægyptian hath betray'd me!
Her fleet and Cæsar's mingle in the port,
And there, like long-lost friends, carouse together.
O, sun! thy up-rise shall I see no more;
Fortune and Antony part here, even here!—
All come to this! to this!

Ven.
This Ægypt is
One universal traitor; and their queen
The spirit, and the extract, of 'em all.

Ant.
Is there yet left a possibility?—
The least unmortgaged hope?—for, if there be,
Methinks I should not fall beneath the fate
Of such a boy as Cæsar.

Ven.
There are, yet,
(The remnant now fled with us from the hills)
Three legions left. 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're enough.

Ven.
Now you shall see I love you:—not a word
Of chiding more: By my few hours of life!
I am so pleas'd with this brave Roman fate,
That I would not be Cæsar to outlive you.

Ant.
Who knows but yet we may— Enter Alexas.
How now, Alexas?

Ven.
He comes from Cleopatra;—from your ruin;
And looks a lie before he utters it.
Hence, villain, hence!

Ant.
Away from me for ever!
No syllable to justify thy queen:
Let her begone; the blot of my renown,
And bane of all my hopes! Let her be driven,
As far as man can think, from human commerce;
She'll poison to the center!

Alex.
Sir, be satisfied,
She'll ne'er molest you more;—she could not bear
To be accus'd by you; but shut herself
Within her monument: Her silent tears
Dropt, as they had not leave, but stole their parting:
At last, with dying looks—

Ant.
My heart forebodes!—

Ven.
All for the best: Go on.

Alex.
She snatch'd her poignard,
And, 'ere we could prevent the fatal blow,
Plung'd it within her breast. Go, bear my Lord,
(Turning to me, she said,) my last farewel;
And ask him, if he yet suspect my faith:—
More she was saying, but death rush'd betwixt:—
She half pronounc'd your name, with her last breath,
And half was lost with it.

Ant.
And art thou dead?
Dead, Cleopatra! Oh, then what am I?
The murderer of this truth, this innocence!
Thoughts cannot form themselves in words so horrid
As can express my guilt! Oh, my poor love!

Ven.
Is't come to this? the gods have been too gracious;
And thus you thank 'em for't.

Ant. (To Alexas.)
Why stay'st thou here?
Is it for thee to spy upon my soul,
And see its inward mourning? get thee hence:—
Thou art not worthy to behold what, now,

Becomes a Roman Emperor to perform. [Exit Alexas.
I will not fight; There's no more work for war;
The business of my angry hours is done.

Ven.
Cæsar is at your gate.

Ant.
Why, let him enter;
He's welcome, now.

Ven.
What lethargy has crept into your soul?

Ant.
'Tis but a scorn of life, and just desire
To free myself from bondage.

Ven.
Do it bravely.

Ant.
I will; but not by fighting. O, Ventidius!
What should I fight for now? My Cleopatra,
Now thou art dead, let Cæsar take the world,—
An empty circle, since the jewel's gone
Which made it worth my strife.

Ven.
Wou'd you be taken?

Ant.
Yes, I wou'd be taken;
But, as a Roman ought,—dead, my Ventidius.

Ven.
As I shall not outlive you, I could wish
We threw life from us with a better grace;
That, like two lions, taken in the toils,
We might, at least thrust out our paws, and wound
The hunters that inclose us.

Ant.
I have thought on't;
Ventidius, you must live.

Ven.
I must not, Sir.

Ant.
Wilt thou not live to speak some good of me?
To stand by my fair fame, and guard th' approaches
From the ill tongues of men.

Ven.
Who shall guard mine,
For living after you?

Ant.
Say, I command it.

Ven.
If we die well, our deaths will speak themselves,
And need no living witness.

Ant.
Thou hast lov'd me,
And fain I wou'd reward thee; I must die;
Kill me, and take the merit of my death
To make thee friends with Cæsar.

Ven.
Did I think
You wou'd have us'd me thus? that I should die
With a hard thought of you!

Ant.
Forgive me, Roman:
Since I have heard of Cleopatra's death,
My reason bears no rule upon my tongue.
I have thought better; do not twice deny me.

Ven.
By Heav'n, I will not,
So it be not t' outlive you.

Ant
Kill me first.

Ven.
Give me your hand.
We shall soon meet again. Now, farewel, Emperor— (Embraces.)
Methinks that word's too cold to be my last:
Since death sweeps all distinctions, farewel, Friend!
And, yet, I cannot look on you, and kill you:
'Pray, turn your face.

Ant.
I do: strike home, be sure.

Ven.
Home as my sword will reach. (Kills himself.)

Ant.
O, thou mistak'st:
Thou robb'st me of my death.

Ven.
Think 'tis the first time that I e'er deceiv'd you,
If that may plead my pardon. And, you gods,
Forgive me, oh, forgive! for I die perjur'd,
Rather than kill my friend. (Dies.)

Ant.
Farewel! Ever my leader, ev'n in death!
My queen and thou have got the start of me,
And I'm the lag of honour. (Falls on his Sword.) Ah! not dead!

I've mist my heart—O, unperforming hand!
Thou never cou'd'st have err'd in a worse time. [Noise without.
Hark! I hear footsteps.—Oh, dispatch, dispatch me! Enter Philo, with Soldiers.

Philo.
Whence are those groans! Ha,—'tis our General!

Ant.
I've done my work ill, friends; make, make an end
Of what I have begun.

Philo.
Not I!—nor any one. Enter Diomedes.

Dio.
Where is Mark Antony?

Philo. (Mournfully.)
Here, Diomed!

Dio.
Oh, heavy sight! [Sees Antony.

Ant.
Diomed, is it not?

Dio.
I come, Sir, from the Queen; from Cleopatra.

Ant.
When did she send?

Dio.
Now, my Lord.

Ant.
Now! where is she?

Dio.
Lock'd in her monument:—for when she heard
You did suspect she had made terms with Cæsar,
(Which never will be found) and that your rage
Could not be sooth'd, she yielded to Alexas
Her hasty leave to tell you she was dead,
But, fearing since, how it might work, hath sent
Me to proclaim the truth; and I am come,
I dread, too late!

Ant.
Too late, good Diomed: Call my guard, I pr'ythee.

Dio.
What, ho! the Emperor's guard!—Come, your Lord calls.

Enter a Guard.

Ant.
Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides.
'Tis the last service that I shall command you.

A Soldier.
Woe, woe are we, you may not live to wear
All your true followers out!

Ant.
Nay, my good fellows! please not our hard fate
To grace it with your sorrows. Yonder lies,
In death, the brave Ventidius:—Bear his corse
To burial;—and respect it as my own.—
And—life flows fast—Take me to Cleopatra! [Soldiers throng round, and support him.
I've led you oft;—lead me, now, gallant friends,
And have my thanks for all! [Exit Mark Antony, supported by his Guard—other Soldiers join their shields, on which they place the corse of Ventidius, and bear it away. Scene 4 SCENE.—A Street in Alexandria. Enter Cæsar, Dolabella, Agrippa, and Soldiers.

Cæs.
How! fall'n upon his sword, and dying, say you?

Dol.
'Tis held for certain that he cannot live.

Cæs.
The breaking of so great a spirit should
Convulse the frame of nature; this our globe
Should have shook lions into civil streets,
And citizens to dens. In his name lay
A moiety of the world. O Antony!
I've follow'd thee to this: I must, perforce,
Have shewn to thee such a declining day,
Or look on thine.

Agr.
Cæsar is touch'd

Dol.
When such a spacious mirror's set before him,
He needs must see himself.

Cæsar.
Come hither, Dolabella;
Hie thee to Cleopatra; say to her
We purpose her no shame: give her what comfort
The quality of her passion shall require;
Lest, in her greatness, by some desperate act
She do defeat us; for her life in Rome
Would be eternal in our triumph.—Go. [Exit Dolabella.
On, in our march, through Alexandria. [Flourish, Exeunt. Scene 5 SCENE.—The Interior of a Monument. Cleopatra, Charmion, and Iras, discover'd.

Cle.
O Charmion, I shall ne'er go hence!

Char.
Be comforted.

Cle.
No;—strange and terrible events are welcome,
But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow,
Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great
As that which makes it. Enter Diomedes.
How now?—is he dead?

Dio.
His death's upon him, but not dead.
Look out o'the other side your monument;
His Guard now bring him hither.

Cle.
O, Sun! now quit the shining sphere thou mov'st in,
And leave the world in darkness.—O, Mark Antony! Enter Antony, supported by the Guard.
Help, help! (Running to him.)

Ant.
I'm dying, Cleopatra, dying!
But here importune death awhile, until
Of many thousand kisses, the poor last
I lay upon thy lips.

Cle.
O, come, come, come! (Embracing him.)
And die where thou hast liv'd: had my lips power
Thus would I wear them out.

Ant.
Give me some wine, and let me speak a little.

Cle.
No, let me rail at fortune; and—

Ant.
One word, sweet:
Of Cæsar seek your honour, and your safety.

Cle.
They do not go together.

Ant.
Gentle, hear me;—
None about Cæsar trust, but Proculeius.

Cle.
My resolution, and my hand, I'll trust;—
None about Cæsar.

Ant.
The miserable change, now, at my end,
Lament nor sorrow at; but please your thoughts
In feeding them with those my former fortunes;
Wherein I lived, the greatest prince o'the world,
The noblest; and do now not basely die,
Nor cowardly;—put off my helmet to
My countryman; a Roman, by a Roman,
Valiantly vanquish'd;—and—my spirit is going;
I can no more!—one kiss!—and—Oh! [Dies.

Cle.
The crown o'the earth doth melt! My Lord! my Lord!
O, wither'd is the garland of the war!
The soldier's pride is fall'n;—the odds are gone;
And there is nothing left of worth beneath
The visiting moon!

Char.
O, quietness, dear lady! [Cleopatra faints.

Iras
Oh, Madam, Madam!

Char.
Leave us with the Queen,
Awhile, good Diomed. Take the soldiers hence. [Exit Diomedes, with the Soldiers

Cle. (Recovering.)
Ah me!—Is't Charmion there? what, Iras, too?

My faithful girls!—Ah, women, women, look!
Look there! look there! (Pointing to Antony.)
The case of that huge spirit now is cold.

Char.
Dear, royal Empress!

Cle.
Good now, come; take heart:
We'll bury him; and then what's brave, what's noble,
Let's do it after the high Roman fashion,
And make death proud to take us. [Noise heard.

Iras.
Listen!—hark!—
Some one has forced the monument.

Cle.
Surprised! Enter Dolabella.
E'en be it so.—Well, Sir, you come from Cæsar.

Dol.
Cæsar sends greeting to the Queen of Ægypt;
And bids thee study on what fair demands
Thou mean'st to have him grant thee.

Cle.
What's thy name?

Dol.
My name is Dolabella:—
Most noble Queen, assuredly you know me?

Cle.
No matter, Sir, what I have heard, or known.
You laugh, when boys, or women, tell their dreams;
Is't not your trick?

Dol.
I understand not, Madam.

Cle.
I dreamt there was an Emperor Antony:—
O, such another sleep! that I might see
But such another man!

Dol.
Hear me, good Madam:
Your loss is mighty as yourself; you bear it
As answering to the weight.—Would I might never
O'ertake pursu'd success, but I do feel
A grief, that strikes my very heart at root.

Cle.
I thank you, Sir.—
Know you what Cæsar means to do with me?

Dol.
I am loth to tell you what I would you knew.

Cle.
He'll lead me, then, in triumph?

Dol.
Madam, he will: Once, sworn by your command,
Which my love makes religion to obey,
I tell you this:—Cæsar through Syria
Intends his journey; and, within three days,
You, with your children, will he send before:
Make your best use of this: I have perform'd
Your pleasure, and my promise.

Cle.
Dolabella,
I shall remain your debtor.

Dol.
I, your servant.
Adieu, good Queen! I must attend on Cæsar.

Cle.
Farewel, and thanks! [Exit Dolabella.
Now, Charmion, what think'st thou?
Thou, an Ægyptian puppet, shalt be shewn
In Rome, as well as I.

Char.
O, the good gods! and must we live to see it?

Cle.
No, never, never, Charmion! thou remember'st,
This morn, a rural fellow brought me fruit!
And at the bottom of his basket lurk'd
The pretty worm of Nile, that kills, and pains not:
Bring me that basket. [Exit Charmion.
Methinks, I hear
Antony call; I see him rouse himself
To praise my noble act; I hear him mock
The luck of Cæsar, which the gods give men
To excuse their after wrath.

Enter Charmion with the basket.

Char.
Oh, Madam! what is it you have resolved!

Cle. (Taking the basket.)
Dull that thou art! I go to meet my love.
Ay, here's the Aspick:—Husband, now, I come! (Goes to a couch, which she ascends: her women compose her on it.
Now to that name my courage prove my title!
I am fire and air; my other elements
I give to baser life.—So, have you done?
Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips.
Farewel, kind Charmion! Iras, long farewel! (Kissing them.)
Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain! that I may say
The gods themselves do weep.
Come mortal wretch, (To the asp, applying it.)
Come, thou poor venomous fool!
Be angry and dispatch.

Char.
O, Eastern star!

Cle.
Peace, peace!
I soon shall meet my noble Antony,
And meet his kiss, which 'tis my Heav'n to have.

Char.
O, break! O, break, my heart!

Cle.
As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle,—
O, Antony! (Dies.)

Char.
So, fare thee well!
Now boast thee, Death, in thy possession lies
A pair unparall'd.

Guards. (Without).
Break down the door!

1st Guard.
Where is the Queen?
Cæsar hath sent—

Char.
Too slow a messenger.

1st Guard.
Approach, ho! All's not well:—Cæsar's beguil'd.

2d Guard.
Where's Dolabella; sent from Cæsar? Call him:
He scarcely yet has left the monument.

1st Guard.
What work is here! Charmion, is this well done?

Char.
It is well done, and fitting for a Princess
Descended of so many royal kings. Enter Dolabella.

Dol.
How now? A cry without of

Way there! make way for Cæsar! Enter Cæsar, and Train.

Dol.
O, Sir! you are too sure an augurer;
That you did fear, is done.

Cæsar.
Bravest at the last:
She levell'd at our purposes, and, being royal,
Took her own way. The manner of her death?
I do not see her bleed; she looks like sleep;
As she would catch another Antony
In her strong toil of grace.

1st Guard. (Taking up the basket.)
These leaves have slime upon them;
Such as the Aspick leaves upon the caves of Nile.

Cæsar.
Most probable
That so she fell: for, I have oft been told,
She hath pursued conclusions infinite
Of easy ways to die.

Now bear the bodies from the monument.
She shall be bury'd by her Antony;
Then we'll to Rome.—Come, Dolabella; see
High honour in this great solemnity. [Exeunt Cæsar and his Party. Scene 6 SCENE—A Street in Alexandria. Enter Proculeius, with an Officer, and a Company of Soldiers.

Pro.
Halt. We must here abide, till Dolabella
Arrive, to tell us how we may proceed,
In the interment of Mark Antony;
Lo! in good time, he comes. Enter Dolabella.

Dol.
Well met, my friends,—
If well we meet upon a cause so mournful.

Pro.
Antony was your friend.

Dol.
He was;—none, once,
So dear to me as Antony;—not Cæsar;
We were so closed within each other's bosoms
The rivets were not found that join'd us fast.
War sunder'd us!—Oh, in his happier day,
His legs bestrid the ocean;—his rear'd arm
Crested the world;—his voice was propertied
As all the tuned spheres, unto his friends;
But when he meant to quail, and strike the orb,
He was as rattling thunder.

Proc.
How stands the order for our march?

Dol.
E'en thus:—
Attend the ceremony, as to serve,
Rather than to command, its order.—They

Who serv'd Mark Antony, e'en to the last,
The best will honour him.—Our Cæsar's troops
Must be subservient;—Antony's adherents
Must fix the order of procession, and
Admit us, or reject us, at their will.

Pro.
I am instructed.

Dol.
I shall go with you.

Pro.
Now, soldiers, march! (Soldiers and their Leaders march out.) Scene 7 SCENE—Alexandria. A GRAND FUNERAL PROCESSION: DURING WHICH IS SUNG THE FOLLOWING EPICEDIUM: