No More Learning

_ 'Tis past. --Octavia, you shall stay this night;
To-morrow, Cæsar and we are one.
[_Ex. leading_ OCTAV. DOL. _and the Children follow. _

_Vent. _ There's news for you; run, my officious eunuch,
Be sure to be the first; haste forward:
Haste, my dear eunuch, haste. [_Exit. _

_Alex. _ This downright fighting fool, this thick-skulled hero,
This blunt unthinking instrument of death,
With plain dull virtue has out-gone my wit.
Pleasure forsook my earliest infancy;
The luxury of others robbed my cradle,
And ravished thence the promise of a man
Cast out from nature, disinherited
Of what her meanest children claim by kind,
Yet greatness kept me from contempt: that's gone:
Had Cleopatra followed my advice,
Then he had been betrayed, who now forsakes.
She dies for love; but she has known its joys:
Gods, is this just, that I, who know no joys,
Must die, because she loves?

_Enter_ CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, IRAS, _and Train. _

Oh, madam, I have seen what blasts my eyes!
Octavia's here.

_Cleo. _ Peace with that raven's note.
I know it too; and now am in
The pangs of death.

_Alex. _ You are no more a queen;
Egypt is lost.

_Cleo. _ What tell'st thou me of Egypt?
My life, my soul is lost! Octavia has him! --
O fatal name to Cleopatra's love!
My kisses, my embraces now are hers;
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.

_Alex. _ She's 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 wonders cease.

_Cleo. _ I was too rash:
Take this in part of recompense. But, oh, [_Giving a ring. _
I fear thou flatterest me.

_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.

_Meets_ OCTAVIA _with_ VENTIDIUS. OCTAVIA _bears up to her. Their
Trains come up on either side. _

_Octav. _ I need not ask if you are Cleopatra;
Your haughty carriage--

_Cleo. _ Shows I am a queen:
Nor need I ask you, who you are.

_Octav. _ A Roman:
A name, that makes and can unmake a queen.

_Cleo. _ Your lord, the man who serves me, is a Roman.

_Octav. _ He was a Roman, till he lost that name,
To be a slave in Egypt; but I come
To free him thence.

_Cleo. _ Peace, peace, my lover's Juno.
When he grew weary of that household-clog,
He chose my easier bonds.

_Octav. _ I wonder not
Your bonds are easy; you have long been practised
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.

_Octav. _ 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. _ O, you do well to search; for had you known
But half these charms, you had not lost his heart.

_Octav. _ Far be their knowledge from a Roman lady,
Far from a modest wife! Shame of your sex,
Dost thou not blush, to own those black endearments,
That make sin pleasing?

_Cleo. _ You may blush, who want them.
If bounteous nature, if indulgent heaven
Have given me charms to please the bravest man,
Should I not thank them? should I be ashamed,
And not be proud? I am, that he has loved me;
And, when I love not him, heaven change this face
For one like that.

_Octav. _ Thou lov'st him not so well.

_Cleo. _ I love him better, and deserve him more.

_Octav. _ 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
A wretched widow? only Cleopatra.

_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 condemns 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.

_Octav. _ Be't so then; take thy wish. [_Exit with her Train. _

_Cleo. _ And 'tis my wish,
Now he is lost for whom alone 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.

_Alex. _ 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 solitary 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. _


ACT IV. SCENE I.

_Enter_ ANTONY _and_ DOLABELLA.

_Dola. _ Why would you shift it from yourself, on me?
Can you not tell her, you must part?

_Ant. _ I cannot.
I could pull out an eye, and bid it go,
And t'other should not weep. Oh, Dolabella,
How many deaths are in this word, _depart_!
I dare not trust my tongue to tell her so:
One look of hers would thaw me into tears,
And I should melt, till I were lost again.

_Dola. _ Then let Ventidius;
He's rough by nature.

_Ant. _ Oh, he'll speak too harshly;
He'll kill her with the news: Thou, only thou.

_Dola. _ 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 he as gently made,
As other loves begin: Wilt thou do this?

_Dola. _ 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: Farewell.
I sent her word to meet you. [_Goes to the door, and comes back. _
I forgot;
Let her be told, I'll make her peace with mine:
Her crown and dignity shall be preserved,
If I have power with Cæsar. --O, be sure
To think on that.

_Dola. _ Fear not, I will remember.
[ANTONY _goes again to the door, and comes back. _

_Ant. _ And tell her, too, how much I was constrained;
I did not this, but with extremest force:
Desire her not to hate my memory,
For I still cherish hers;--insist on that.

_Dola. _ 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
Would be, to bid her stay, and ruin both. [_Exit. _

_Dola. _ 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.

_Dola. _ O 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.

_Enter_ CLEOPATRA, _talking with_ ALEXAS; CHARMION, IRAS _on the
other side. _

_Dola. _ She comes! What charms have sorrow on that face!
Sorrow seems pleased to dwell with so much sweetness;
Yet, now and then, a melancholy smile
Breaks loose, like lightning in a winter's night,
And shows a moment's day.

_Vent. _ If she should love him too! her eunuch there!
That porc'pisce bodes ill weather. Draw, draw nearer,
Sweet devil, that I may hear.

_Alex. _ Believe me; try.
[DOLABELLA _goes over to_ CHARMION _and_ IRAS;
_seems to talk with them. _
To make him jealous; jealousy is like
A polished glass held to the lips when life's in doubt;
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 woman'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.

_Alex. _ 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! [_Exit_ 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.

_Dola. _ 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 choose 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 you.
I'm sure, he sent you not to speak these words.

_Dola. _ No, madam; yet he sent me--

_Cleo. _ Well, he sent you--

_Dola. _ Of a less pleasing errand.

_Cleo. _ How less pleasing?
Less to yourself, or me?

_Dola. _ Madam, to both;
For you must mourn, and I must grieve to cause it.

_Cleo. _ You, Charmion, and your fellow, stand at distance. --
Hold up my spirits. [_Aside. _]--Well, now your mournful matter;
For I'm prepared, perhaps can guess it too.

_Dola. _ I wish you would; for 'tis a thankless office,
To tell ill news: And I, of all your sex,
Most fear displeasing you.

_Cleo. _ Of all your sex,
I soonest could forgive you, if you should.

_Vent. _ Most delicate advances! woman! woman!
Dear, damned, inconstant sex!

_Cleo. _ In the first place,
I am to be forsaken; is't not so?

_Dola. _ I wish I could not answer to that question.

_Cleo. _ Then pass it o'er, because it troubles you:
I should have been more grieved another time.
Next, I'm to lose my kingdom--farewell, Egypt.
Yet, is there any more?

_Dola. _ Madam, I fear
Your too deep sense of grief has turned your reason.

_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.

_Dola. _ 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.

_Dola. _ Some men are constant.

_Cleo. _ And constancy deserves reward, that's certain.

_Dola. _ 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. [_Exit. _

_Dola. _ I came prepared
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 cheerfulness,
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?

_Dola. _ 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_.

_Dola. _ 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 Ætna,
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 center.

_Cleo. _ Oh, I can bear no more!

_Dola. _ Help, help:--Oh wretch! O cursed, cursed wretch!
What have I done!

_Char. _ Help, chafe her temples, Iras.

_Iras. _ Bend, bend her forward quickly.

_Char. _ Heaven be praised,
She comes again.

_Cleo. _ O let him not approach me.
Why have you brought me back to this loathed being,
The abode of falsehood, violated vows,
And injured love? For pity, let me go;
For, if there be a place of long repose,
I'm sure I want it. My disdainful lord
Can never break that quiet; nor awake
The sleeping soul, with hollowing in my tomb
Such words as fright her hence. --Unkind, unkind!

_Dola. _ Believe me, 'tis against myself I speak; [_Kneeling. _
That sure desires 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.

_Dola. _ I find your breast fenced round from human 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?

_Dola. _ I will, for this reward. [_Takes her hand. _
Draw it not back,
'Tis all I e'er will beg.

_Vent. _ They turn upon us.

_Octav. _ What quick eyes has guilt!

_Vent. _ Seem not to have observed them, and go on.

_They enter. _

_Dola. _ Saw you the emperor, Ventidius?

_Vent. _ No.
I sought him; but I heard that he was private,
None with him but Hipparchus, his freedman.

_Dola. _ Know you his business?

_Vent. _ Giving him instructions,
And letters to his brother Cæsar.

_Dola. _ Well,
He must be found. [_Exeunt_ DOLA. _and_ CLEO.

_Octav. _ 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?

_Octav. _ 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 Syrens taught her voice their flattery;
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. I know, this minute,
With Cæsar he's endeavouring her peace.

_Octav. _ You have prevailed:--But for a farther purpose [_Walks off. _
I'll prove how he will relish this discovery.
What, make a strumpet's peace! it swells my heart:
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 you, my love:
What, are your letters ready? I have given
My last instructions.

_Octav. _ Mine, my lord, are written.

_Ant. _ Ventidius. [_Drawing him aside. _

_Vent. _ My lord?

_Ant. _ A word in private. --
When saw you Dolabella?

_Vent. _ Now, my lord,
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 [_Aloud. _
Like your farewell.