by John Dryden
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. 315
Ant. Actium, Actium! Oh! —
Vent. 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. — 320
Vent. Out with it; give it vent.
Ant. Urge not my shame.
I lost a battle, —
Vent. So has Julius done.
Ant. Thou favour’st me, and speak’st not half thou think’st; 325
For Julius fought it out, and lost it fairly.
But Antony —
Vent. Nay, stop not.
Ant. Antony —
Well, thou wilt have it, — like a coward, fled, 330
Fled while his soldiers fought; fled first, Ventidius.
Thou long’st to curse me, and I give thee leave.
I know thou cam’st prepared to rail.
Vent. I did.
Ant. I’ll help thee. — I have been a man, Ventidius. 335
Vent. Yes, and a brave one! but —
Ant. I know thy meaning.
But I have lost my reason, have disgraced
The name of soldier, with inglorious ease.
In the full vintage of my flowing honours, 340
Sat still, and saw it prest by other hands.
Fortune came smiling to my youth, and wooed it,
And purple greatness met my ripened years.
When first I came to empire, I was borne
On tides of people, crowding to my triumphs; 345
The wish of nations, and the willing world
Received me as its pledge of future peace;
I was so great, so happy, so beloved,
Fate could not ruin me; till I took pains,
And worked against my fortune, child her from me. 350
And returned her loose; yet still she came again.
My careless days, and my luxurious nights,
At length have wearied her, and now she’s gone,
Gone, gone, divorced for ever. Help me, soldier,
To curse this madman, this industrious fool, 355
Who laboured to be wretched: Pr’ythee, curse me.
Vent. No.
Ant. Why?
Vent. You are too sensible already 360
Of what you’ve done, too conscious of your failings;
And, like a scorpion, whipt by others first
To fury, sting yourself in mad revenge.
I would bring balm, and pour it in your wounds,
Cure your distempered mind, and heal your fortunes. 365
Ant. I know thou would’st.
Vent. I will.
Ant. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Vent. You laugh.
Ant. I do, to see officious love, 370
Give cordials to the dead.
Vent. You would be lost, then?
Ant. I am.
Vent. I say you are not. Try your fortune.
Ant. I have, to the utmost. Dost thou think me desperate, 375
Without just cause? No, when I found all lost
Beyond repair, I hid me from the world,
And learnt to scorn it here; which now I do
So heartily, I think it is not worth
The cost of keeping. 380
Vent. Cæsar thinks not so;
Hell’ thank you for the gift he could not take.
You would be killed like Tully, would you? do,
Hold out your throat to Cæsar, and die tamely.
Ant. No, I can kill myself; and so resolve. 385
Vent. 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.
Vent. No; ’tis you dream; you sleep away your hours 390
In desperate sloth, miscalled philosophy.
Up, up, for honour’s sake; twelve legions wait you,
And long to call you chief: By painful journeys
I led them, patient both of heat and hunger,
Down form the Parthian marches to the Nile. 395
‘Twill do you good to see their sunburnt faces,
Their scarred cheeks, and chopt hands: there’s virtue in them.
They’ll sell those mangled limbs at dearer rates
Than you trim bands can buy.
Ant. Where left you them? 400
Vent. I said in Lower Syria.
Ant. Bring them hither;
There may be life in these.
Vent. They will not come.
Ant. Why didst thou mock my hopes with promised aids, 405
To double my despair? They’re mutinous.
Vent. Most firm and loyal.
Ant. Yet they will not march
To succour me. O trifler!
Vent. They petition 410
You would make haste to head them.
Ant. I’m besieged.
Vent. There’s but one way shut up: How came I hither?
Ant. I will not stir.
Vent. They would perhaps desire 415
A better reason.
Ant. I have never used
My soldiers to demand a reason of
My actions. Why did they refuse to march?
Vent. They said they would not fight for Cleopatra. 420
Ant. What was’t they said?
Vent. They said they would not fight for Cleopatra.
Why should they fight indeed, to make her conquer,
And make you more a slave? to gain you kingdoms,
Which, for a kiss, at your next midnight feast, 425
You’ll sell to her? Then she new-names her jewels,
And calls this diamond such or such a tax;
Each pendant in her ear shall be a province.
Ant. Ventidius, I allow your tongue free licence
On all my other faults; but, on your life, 430
No word of Cleopatra: she deserves
More worlds than I can lose.
Vent. Behold, you Powers,
To whom you have intrusted humankind!
See Europe, Afric, Asia, put in balance, 435
And all weighed down by one light, worthless woman!
I think the gods are Antonies, and give,
Like prodigals, this nether world away
To none but wasteful hands.
Ant. You grow presumptuous. 440
Vent. 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 honesty, hast vented
The burden of thy rank, o’erflowing gall. 445
O that thou wert my equal; great in arms
As the first Cæsar was, that I might kill thee
Without a stain to honour!
Vent. You may kill me;
You have done more already, — called me traitor. 450
Ant. Art thou not one?
Vent. For showing 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, 455
Come to partake your fate, to die with you.
What hindered me to have led my conquering eagles
To fill Octavius’ bands? I could have been
A traitor then, a glorious, happy traitor,
And not have been so called. 460
Ant. Forgive me, soldier;
I’ve been too passionate.
Vent. You thought me false;
Thought my old age betrayed you: Kill me, sir,
Pray, kill me; yet you need not, your unkindness 465
Has left your sword no work.
Ant. I did not th
ink so;
I said it in my rage: Pr’ythee, forgive me.
Why didst thou tempt my anger, by discovery
Of what I would not hear? 470
Vent. No prince but you
Could merit that sincerity I used,
Nor durst another man have ventured it;
But you, ere love misled your wandering eyes,
Were sure the chief and best of human race, 475
Framed in the very pride and boast of nature;
So perfect, that the gods, who formed you, wondered
At their own skill, and cried — A lucky hit
Has mended our design. Their envy hindered,
Else you had been immortal, and a pattern, 480
When Heaven would work for ostentation’s sake
To copy out again.
Ant. But Cleopatra —
Go on; for I can bear it now.
Vent. No more. 485
Ant. Thou dar’st not trust my passion, but thou may’st;
Thou only lov’st, the rest have flattered me.
Vent. Heaven’s blessing on your heart for that kind word!
May I believe you love me? Speak again.
Ant. Indeed I do. Speak this, and this, and this. [Hugging him. 490
Thy praises were unjust; but, I’ll deserve them;
And yet mend all. Do with me what thou wilt;
Lead me to victory! thou know’st the way.
Vent. And, will you leave this —
Ant. Pr’ythee, do not curse her, 495
And I will leave her; though, Heaven knows, I love
Beyond life, conquest, empire, all, but honour;
But I will leave her.
Vent. That’s my royal master;
And, shall we fight? 500
Ant. I warrant thee, old soldier.
Thou shalt behold me once again in iron;
And at the head of our old troops, that beat
The Parthians, cry aloud — Come, follow me!
Vent. Oh, now I hear my emperor! in that word 505
Octavius fell. Gods, let me see that day,
And, if I have ten years behind, take all:
I’ll thank you for the exchange.
Ant. O Cleopatra!
Vent. Again? 510
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.
Vent. Methinks, you breathe
Another soul: Your looks are more divine; 515
You speak a hero, and you move a god.
Ant. Oh, thou hast fired me; my soul’s up in arms,
And mans each part about me: Once again,
That noble eagerness of fight has seized me;
That eagerness with which I darted upward 520
To Cassius’ camp: In vain the steepy hill
Opposed my way; in vain a war of spears
Sung round my head, and planted on my shield;
I won the trenches, while my foremost men
Lagged on the plain below. 525
Vent. Ye gods, ye gods,
For such another honour!
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, 530
Like Time and Death, marching before our troops,
May taste fate to them; mow them out a passage,
And, entering where the foremost squadrons yield,
Begin the noble harvest of the field. [Exeunt.
ACT II
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.
Cleo. Then he would see me, ere he went to fight: 5
Flatter me not: If once he goes, he’s lost,
And all my hopes destroyed.
Alex. Does this weak passion
Become a mighty queen?
Cleo. I am no queen: 10
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, 15
I have no more to lose! prepare thy bands;
I’m fit to be a captive: Antony
Has taught my mind the fortune of a slave.
Iras. Call reason to assist you.
Cleo. I have none, 20
And none would have: My love’s a noble madness,
Which shows the cause deserved it. Moderate sorrow
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, 25
And now am lost above it. No, I’m 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. 30
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. 35
He once was mine; and once, though now ’tis gone,
Leaves a faint image of possession still.
Alex. Think him inconstant, cruel, and ungrateful.
Cleo. I cannot: If I could, those thoughts were vain.
Faithless, ungrateful, cruel, though he be, 40
I still must love him.
Enter CHARMION
Now, what news, my Charmion?
Will he be kind? and will he not forsake me?
Am I to live, or die? — nay, do I live? 45
Or am I dead? for when he gave his answer,
Fate took the word, and then I lived or died.
Char. I found him, madam —
Cleo. A long speech preparing?
If thou bring’st comfort, haste, and give it me, 50
For never was more need.
Iras. I know he loves you.
Cleo. Had he been kind, her eyes had told me so,
Before her tongue could speak it: Now she studies,
To soften what he said; but give me death, 55
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, 60
While awfully he cast his eyes about,
And every leader’s hopes or fears surveyed:
Methought he looked resolved, and yet not pleased.
When he beheld me struggling in the crowd,
He blushed, and bade make way. 65
Alex. There’s comfort yet.
Char. Ventidius fixed his eyes upon my passage
Severely, as he meant to frown me back,
And sullenly gave place: I told my message,
Just as you gave it, broken and disordered; 70
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 breaking, 75
But, shunned my eyes, and guiltily looked down:
He seemed not now that awful Antony,
Who shook and armed assembly with his nod;
But, making show as he would rub his eyes,
Disguised and blotted out a falling tear. 80
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 himsel
f so well,
He could deny you nothing, if he saw you; 85
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. 90
Cleo. Is that a word
For Antony to use to Cleopatra?
O that faint word, respect! how I disdain it!
Disdain myself, for loving after it!
He should have kept that word for cold Octavia. 95
Respect is for a wife: Am I that thing,
That dull, insipid lump, without desires,
And without power to give them?
Alex. You misjudge;
You see through love, and that deludes your sight; 100
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, 105
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 by honour; 110
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.
Alex. And would you more? 115
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: 120
See me, and give me a pretence to leave him! —
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; 125
But all, I fear, in vain. [Exit with CHARMION and IRAS.
Alex. I fear so too;
Though I concealed my thoughts, to make her bold;
But ’tis our utmost means, and fate befriend it! [Withdraws.
Enter Lictors with Fasces; one bearing the Eagle; then enter ANTONY with VENTIDIUS, followed by other Commanders 130
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, 135
The most deliberate fighter! if he ventures
(As in Illyria once, they say, he did,
To storm a town), ’tis when he cannot choose;
When all the world have fixt their eyes upon him;
And then he lives on that for seven years after; 140