No More Learning

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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.

_Ant. _ More softly. --My farewell?
What secret meaning have you in those words
Of--my farewell? He did it by my order.

_Vent. _ Then he obeyed your order. I suppose [_Aloud. _
You bid him do it with all gentleness,
All kindness, and all--love.

_Ant. _ How she mourned,
The poor forsaken creature!

_Vent. _ She took it as she ought; she bore your parting
As she did Cæsar's, as she would another's,
Were a new love to come.

_Ant. _ Thou dost belie her; [_Aloud. _
Most basely, and maliciously belie her.

_Vent. _ I thought not to displease you; I have done.

_Octav. _ You seem disturbed, my lord. [_Coming up. _

_Ant. _ A very trifle.
Retire, my love.

_Vent. _ It was indeed a trifle.
He sent--

_Ant. _ No more. Look how thou disobeyest me; [_Angrily. _
Thy life shall answer it.

_Octav. _ Then 'tis no trifle.

_Vent. _ [_To_ OCTAV. ]
'Tis less; a very nothing: You too saw it,
As well as I, and therefore 'tis no secret.

_Ant. _ She saw it!

_Vent. _ Yes: She saw young Dolabella--

_Ant. _ Young Dolabella!

_Vent. _ Young, I think him young,
And handsome too; and so do others think him.
But what of that? He went by your command,
Indeed 'tis probable, with some kind message;
For she received it graciously; she smiled;
And then he grew familiar with her hand,
Squeezed it, and worried it with ravenous kisses;
She blushed, and sighed, and smiled, and blushed again;
At last she took occasion to talk softly,
And brought her cheek up close, and leaned on his;
At which, he whispered kisses back on hers;
And then she cried aloud,--That constancy
Should be rewarded.

_Octav. _ This I saw and heard.

_Ant. _ What woman was it, whom you heard and saw
So playful with my friend!
Not Cleopatra?

_Vent. _ Even she, my lord.

_Ant. _ My Cleopatra?

_Vent. _ Your Cleopatra;
Dolabella's Cleopatra;
Every man's Cleopatra[3].

_Ant. _ Thou liest.

_Vent. _ I do not lie, my lord.
Is this so strange? Should mistresses be left,
And not provide against a time of change?
You know she's not much used to lonely nights.

_Ant. _ I'll think no more on't.
I know 'tis false, and see the plot betwixt you. --
You needed not have gone this way, Octavia.
What harms it you that Cleopatra's just?
She's mine no more. I see, and I forgive:
Urge it no farther, love.

_Octav. _ Are you concerned,
That she's found false?

_Ant. _ I should be, were it so;
For, though 'tis past, I would not that the world
Should tax my former choice, that I loved one
Of so light note; but I forgive you both.

_Vent. _ What has my age deserved, that you should think
I would abuse your ears with perjury?
If heaven be true, she's false.

_Ant. _ Though heaven and earth
Should witness it, I'll not believe her tainted.

_Vent. _ I'll bring you, then, a witness
From hell, to prove her so. --Nay, go not back;
[_Seeing_ ALEXAS _just entering, and starting back. _
For stay you must and shall.

_Alex. _ What means my lord?

_Vent. _ To make you do what most you hate,--speak truth.
You are of Cleopatra's private counsel,
Of her bed-counsel, her lascivious hours;
Are conscious of each nightly change she makes,
And watch her, as Chaldæans do the moon,
Can tell what signs she passes through, what day.

_Alex. _ My noble lord!

_Vent. _ My most illustrious pandar,
No fine set speech, no cadence, no turned periods,
But a plain home-spun truth, is what I ask:
I did, myself, o'erhear your queen make love
To Dolabella. Speak; for I will know,
By your confession, what more past betwixt them;
How near the business draws to your employment;
And when the happy hour.

_Ant. _ Speak truth, Alexas; whether it offend
Or please Ventidius, care not: Justify
Thy injured queen from malice: Dare his worst.

_Octav. _ [_Aside. _]
See, how he gives him courage! how he fears
To find her false! and shuts his eyes to truth,
Willing to be misled!

_Alex. _ As far as love may plead for woman's frailty,
Urged by desert and greatness of the lover,
So far, divine Octavia, may my queen
Stand even excused to you, for loving him,
Who is your lord: so far, from brave Ventidius,
May her past actions hope a fair report.

_Ant. _ 'Tis well, and truly spoken: mark, Ventidius.

_Alex. _ To you, most noble emperor, her strong passion
Stands not excused, but wholly justified.
Her beauty's charms alone, without her crown,
From Ind and Meroe drew the distant vows
Of sighing kings; and at her feet were laid
The sceptres of the earth, exposed on heaps,
To chuse where she would reign:
She thought a Roman only could deserve her,
And, of all Romans, only Antony;
And, to be less than wife to you, disdained
Their lawful passion.

_Ant. _ 'Tis but truth.

_Alex. _ And yet, though love, and your unmatched desert,
Have drawn her from the due regard of honour,
At last heaven opened her unwilling eyes
To see the wrongs she offered fair Octavia,
Whose holy bed she lawlessly usurped.
The sad effects of this improsperous war
Confirmed those pious thoughts.

_Vent. _ [_Aside. _] O, wheel you there?
Observe him now; the man begins to mend,
And talk substantial reason. --Fear not, eunuch;
The emperor has given thee leave to speak.