Dol. Nor I; nor yet Mæcenas, nor Agrippa: Ant. 'Twas like a Roman done: Shew me that person, Who has preserved my life, my love, my honour; Ven. That task is mine; And, Heaven, thou know'st how pleasing! Dol. You'll remember To whom you stand obliged? Ant. When I forget it, [Exit VENTIDIUS. Be thou unkind; and that's my greatest curse, My queen shall give thanks too. Dol. I fear she will not. Ant. She shall, she shall: the queen, my Dolabella! Hast thou not still some grudgings of thy fever ? Dol. I would not see her lost. Ant. When I forsake her, Leave me, my better stars; for she has truth Beyond her beauty. At no less price than But she resisted all Cæsar tempted her For loving her too well. Could I do so? Re-enter VENTIDIUS with OCTAVIA. Ant. Where? Octavia there? [Starting back. Ven. What, is she poison to you? A disease? Look on her, view her well. Dol. For shame, my lord, if not for love, receive her With kinder eyes. If confess a man, you Meet her, embrace her, bid her welcome to you. Ant. I stood amazed to think how she came hither. Ven. I sent to her; I brought her in, unknown To Cleopatra's guards. Dol. Yet, are you cold? welcome, Oct. Thus long I have attended for my Which, as a stranger, sure I might expect. Who am I? Ant. Cæsar's sister. Oct. That's unkind! Had I been nothing more than Cæsar's sister, In spite of Cæsar's sister, still is yours. 'Tis true, I have a heart disdains I come to claim you as my own; to shew Ant. I fear, Octavia, you have begg'd my life. Ant. Yes, begg'd it, my ambassadress. Ant. I will not need it. Come, you've all betray'd me; My friend, too! to receive some vile conditions. The life she gave. Oct. My hard fortune loath; Subjects me still to your unkind mistakes. He shall draw back his troops, and you shall march But only keep the barren name of wife, And rid you of the trouble. Ven. Was ever such a strife of sullen honour? Both scorn to be obliged. Dol. O, she has touch'd him in the tend'rest part. See how he reddens with despite, and shame, To be outdone in generosity! Ven. See how he winks! how he dries up a tear, That fain would fall! Ant. Octavia, I have heard you, and must praise The greatness of your soul, But cannot yield to what you have proposed; Ant. Then I must be obliged To one who loves me not; who, to herself, I'll not endure it; no. Ven. I'm glad it pinches there. Oct. Would you exult o'er poor Octavia's virtue ? That pride was all I had to bear me up ; That you might think you owed me for your life, I have been injured, and my haughty soul Oct. Therefore, my lord, I should not love you. Ant. Therefore you would leave me? Oct. And therefore I should leave you,—if I could. Ant. I am vanquish'd. Take me, Octavia ; [Embracing her. I've been a thriftless debtor to your love, But all shall be amended. Oct. O, blest hour! Dol. Happy change! Ven. My joy stops at my tongue; But it has found two channels here, for one, Ant. [To OCTAVIA.] This is thy triumph; lead me where thou wilt; Even to thy brother's camp. Oct. All there are yours. Enter ALEXAS, hastily. Alex. The queen, my mistress, sir, and yours- Octavia, you shall stay this night; to-morrow, [Exit, leading OCTAVIA; DOLABELLA follows. Ven. There's news for you; run, my officious pandar; Be sure to be the first; haste forward: go- ACT THE FIFTH. SCENE I. Outside of the City of Alexandria. Enter ANTONY and VENTIDIUS. 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 ! [Softened. 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. |