 | All For Love : Or, The World well Lost |  |
45
ACT. IV.
Antony, Dollabella.Dolla.
Why would you shift it from your self, 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, Dollabella,
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 agen.
Dolla.
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.
Dolla.
Nature has cast me in so soft a mould,
That but to hear a story feign'd for pleasure
Of some sad Lovers 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 thy self me,
And when thou speak'st (but let it first be long)
Take off the edge from every sharper sound,
And let our parting be as gently made
As other Loves begin: wilt thou do this?
Dolla.
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: Farewel,
I sent her word to meet you.
(Goes to the door, and comes back.)
I forgot;
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Her Crown and Dignity shall be preserv'd,
If I have pow'r with Cæsar.—O, be sure
To think on that.
Dolla.
Fear not, I will remember.
[Antony goes again to the door, and comes back.
Ant.
And tell her, too, how much I was constrain'd;
I did not this, but with extreamest force:
Desire her not to hate my memory,
For I still cherish hers;—insist on that.
Dolla.
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, tho' 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 return'd, I feel
My Soul more tender; and my next command
Would be to bid her stay, and ruine both.
Exit.
Dolla.
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, busie and blind,
Works all her folly up, and casts it outward
To the Worlds open view: thus I discover'd,
And blam'd the love of ruin'd Antony;
Yet wish that I were he, to be so ruin'd.
Enter Ventidius above.
Ven.
Alone? and talking to himself? concern'd too?
Perhaps my ghess is right; he lov'd her once,
And may pursue it still.
Dolla.
O Friendship! Friendship!
I'l canst thou answer this; and Reason, worse:
Unfaithful in th' attempt; hopeless to win;
And, if I win, undone: meer madness all.
And yet th' occasion's fair. What injury,
To him, to wear the Robe which he throws by?
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None, none at all. This happens as I wish,
To ruine her yet more with Antony.
Enter Cleopatra, talking with Alexas, Charmion, Iras on the other side.
Dolla.
She comes! What charms have sorrow on that face!
Sorrow seems pleas'd 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 moments day.
Ven.
If she should love him too! Her Eunuch there!
That Porcpisce bodes ill weather. Draw, draw nearer,
Sweet Devil, that I may hear.
Alex.
Believe me I try
[Dollabella goes over to Charmion and Iras; seems to talk with them.
To make him jealous; jealousie is like
A polisht Glass held to the lips when life's in doubt:
If there be breath, 'twill catch the damp and show it.
Cleop.
I grant you jealousie's a proof of love,
But 'tis a weak and unavailing Med'cine;
It puts out the disease, and makes it show,
But has no pow'r to cure.
Alex.
'Tis your last remedy, and strongest too:
And then this Dollabella, who so fit
To practice on? He's handsom, valiant, young,
And looks as he were laid for Nature's bait
To catch weak Womens 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.
Cleop.
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 houshold Dove,
Fond without art; and kind without deceit;
But Fortune, that has made a Mistress of me,
Hast thrust me out to the wide World, unfurnish'd
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Alex.
Force your self.
Th' event will be, your Lover will return
Doubly desirous to possess the good
Which once he fear'd to lose.
Cleop.
I must attempt it;
But Oh with what regret!
Exit Alex. (she comes up to Dolabella.)
Ven.
So, now the Scene draws near; they're in my reach.
Cleop.
to Dol.
Discoursing with my Women! Might not I
Share in your entertainment?
Char.
You have been
The Subject of it, Madam.
Cleop.
How; and how?
Iras.
Such praises of your beauty!
Cleop.
Meer Poetry.
Your Roman Wits, your Gallus and Tibullus,
Have taught you this from Citheris and Delia.
Dolla.
Those Roman Wits have never been in Egypt,
Citheris and Delia else had been unsung:
I, who have seen—had I been born a Poet,
Should chuse a nobler name.
Cleop.
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.
Dolla.
No, Madam; yet he sent me—
Cleop.
Well, he sent you—
Dolla.
Of a less pleasing errand.
Cleop.
How less pleasing?
Less to your self, or me?
Dolla.
Madam, to both;
For you must mourn, and I must grieve to cause it.
Cleop.
You, Charmion, and your Fellow, stand at distance.
(Aside.)
Hold up, my Spirits.—Well, now your mournful matter;
For I'm prepar'd, perhaps can ghess it too.
Dolla.
I wish you would; for 'tis a thankless office
To tell ill news: and I, of all your Sex,
Most fear displeasing you.
Cleop.
Of all your Sex,
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Ven.
Most delicate advances! Woman! Woman!
Dear damn'd, inconstant Sex!
Cleop.
In the first place,
I am to be forsaken; is't not so?
Dolla.
I wish I could not answer to that question.
Cleop.
Then pass it o'er, because it troubles you:
I should have been more griev'd another time.
Next, I'm to lose my Kingdom.—Farewel, Egypt.
Yet, is there any more?
Dolla.
Madam, I fear
Your too deep sense of grief has turn'd your reason.
Cleop.
No, no, I'm not run mad; I can bear Fortune:
And Love may be expell'd by other Love,
As Poysons are by Poysons.
Dolla.
—You o'erjoy me, Madam,
To find your griefs so moderately born:
You've heard the worst; all are not false, like him.
Cleop.
No; Heav'n forbid they should.
Dolla.
Some men are constant.
Cleop.
And constancy deserves reward, that's certain.
Dolla.
Deserves it not; but give it leave to hope.
Ven.
I'll swear thou hast my leave. I have enough:
But how to manage this! Well, I'll consider.
Exit.
Dolla.
I came prepar'd,
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 easie; and my tongue,
Which on anothers message was employ'd,
Would gladly speak its own.
Cleop.
Hold, Dollabella.
First tell me, were you chosen by my Lord?
Or sought you this employment?
Dolla.
He pick'd me out; and, as his bosom-friend,
He charg'd me with his words.
Cleop.
The message then
I know was tender, and each accent smooth,
To mollifie that rugged word Depart.
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Oh, you mistake: he chose the harshest words,
With fiery eyes, and with contracted brows,
He coyn'd his face in the severest stamp:
And fury, shook his Fabrick like an Earthquake;
He heav'd for vent, and burst like bellowing Ætna,
In sounds scarce humane, “Hence, away for ever:
“Let her begone, the blot of my renown,
“And bane of all my hopes:
[All the time of this speech, Cleop. seems more and more concern'd, till she sinks quite down.
“Let her be driv'n as far as men can think
“From Mans commerce: She'll poyson to the Center.
Cleop.
Oh, I can bear no more!
Dolla.
Help, help: Oh Wretch! Oh cursed, cursed Wretch!
What have I done?
Char.
Help, chafe her Temples, Iras.
Iras.
Bend, bend her forward quickly.
Char.
Heav'n be prais'd,
She comes again.
Cleop.
Oh, let him not approach me.
Why have you brought me back to this loath'd Being,
Th' abode of Falshood, violated Vows,
And injur'd 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.
Dolla.
kneeling.
Believe me, 'tis against my self I speak,
That sure deserves belief; I injur'd 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 Farewels;
How almost vanquisht by his love he parted,
And lean'd 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 forg'd that lye; for whose forgiveness kneels
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Cleop.
With how much ease believe we what we wish!
Rise, Dollabella; if you have been guilty,
I have contributed, and too much love
Has made me guilty too.
Th' advance of kindness which I made, was feign'd,
To call back fleeting love by jealousie;
But 'twould not last. Oh, rather let me lose
Than so ignobly trifle with his heart.
Dolla.
I find your breast fenc'd round from humane reach,
Transparent as a Rock of solid Crystal;
Seen through, but never pierc'd. My Friend, my Friend!
What endless treasure hast thou thrown away,
And scatter'd, like an Infant, in the Ocean,
Vain sums of Wealth which none can gather thence.
Cleop.
Could you not beg
An hours 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 famish'd eyes
Before we part; for I have far to go,
If death be far, and never must return.
Ventidius, with Octavia, behind.
Ven.
From hence you may discover—Oh, sweet, sweet!
Would you indeed? the pretty hand in earnest?
[Takes her hand.
Dolla.
I will, for this reward.—Draw it not back,
'Tis all I e'er will beg.
Ven.
They turn upon us.
Octav.
What quick eyes has guilt!
Ven.
Seem not to have observ'd 'em, and go on.
They enter.
Dolla.
Saw you the Emperor, Ventidius?
Ven.
No.
I sought him; but I heard that he was private,
None with him, but Hipparchus his Freedman.
Dolla.
Know you his bus'ness?
Ven.
Giving him Instructions,
And Letters, to his Brother Cæsar.
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Well,
He must be found.
Exeunt Dol. and Cleop.
Octav.
Most glorious impudence!
Ven.
She look'd 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.
Ven.
I pity Dollabella; but she's dangerous:
Her eyes have powr'd beyond Thessalian Charms
To draw the Moon from Heav'n; for Eloquence,
The Sea-green Syrens taught her voice their flatt'ry;
And, while she speaks, Night steals upon the Day,
Unmark'd 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 heav'd 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. Anthony
Must needs have some remains of passion still,
Which may ferment into a worse relapse,
If now not fully cur'd. I know, this minute,
With Cæsar he's endeavouring her peace.
Octav.
You have prevail'd:—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, sha' not be.
Ven.
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 giv'n
My last Instructions.
Octav.
Mine, my Lord, are written.
Ant.
Ventidius!
[Drawing him aside.
Ven.
My Lord?
Ant.
A word in private,
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Ven.
Now, my Lord,
He parted hence; and Cleopatra with him.
Ant.
Speak softly. 'Twas by my command he went,
To bear my last farewel.
Ven.
aloud.
It look'd indeed
Like your farewel.
Ant.
More softly.—My farewel?
What secret meaning have you in those words
Of my Farewel? He did it by my Order.
Ven.
aloud.
Then he obey'd your Order. I suppose
You bid him do it with all gentleness,
All kindness, and all—love.
Ant.
How she mourn'd,
The poor forsaken Creature!
Ven.
She took it as she ought; she bore your parting
As she did Cæsar's, as she would anothers,
Were a new Love to come.
Ant.
aloud.
Thou dost belye her;
Most basely, and maliciously belye her.
Ven.
I thought not to displease you; I have done.
Octav.
coming up.
You seem disturb'd, my Lord.
Ant.
A very trifle.
Retire, my Love.
Ven.
It was indeed a trifle.
He sent—
Ant.
angrily.
No more. Look how thou disobey'st me;
Thy life shall answer it.
Octav.
Then 'tis no trifle.
Ven.
to Octav.
'Tis less; a very nothing: you too saw it,
As well as I, and therefore 'tis not secret.
Ant.
She saw it!
Ven.
Yes: she saw young Dollabella—
Ant.
Young Dollabella!
Ven.
Young, I think him young,
And handsom 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 receiv'd it graciously; she smil'd:
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Squeez'd it, and worry'd it with ravenous kisses;
She blush'd, and sigh'd, and smil'd, and blush'd again;
At last she took occassion to talk softly,
And brought her cheek up close, and lean'd on his:
At which, he whisper'd kisses back on hers;
And then she cry'd 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?
Ven.
Ev'n she, my Lord!
Ant.
My Cleopatra?
Ven.
Your Cleopatra;
Dollabella's Cleopatra:
Every Man's Cleopatra.
Ant.
Thou ly'st.
Ven.
I do not lye, my Lord.
Is this so strange? Should Mistresses be left,
And not provide against a time of change?
You know she's not much us'd 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 concern'd
That she's found false?
Ant.
I should be, were it so;
For, tho 'tis past, I would not that the World
Should tax my former choice: That I lov'd one
Of so light note; but I forgive you both.
Ven.
What has my age deserv'd, that you should think
I would abuse your ears with perjury?
If Heav'n be true, she's false.
Ant.
Tho Heav'n and Earth
Should witness it, I'll not believe her tainted.
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I'll bring you then a Witness
From Hell to prove her so. Nay, go not back;
[Seeing Alexas just entring, and starting back.
For stay you must and shall.
Alex.
What means my Lord?
Ven.
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 Chaldeans do the Moon,
Can tell what Signs she passes through, what day.
Alex.
My Noble Lord.
Ven.
My most Illustrious Pandar,
No fine set Speech, no Cadence, no turn'd Periods,
But a plain home-spun Truth, is what I ask:
I did, my self, o'erhear your Queen make love
To Dollabella. Speak; for I will know,
By your confession, what more past betwixt 'em;
How near the bus'ness draws to your employment;
And when the happy hour.
Ant.
Speak truth, Alexas, whether it offend
Or please Ventidius, care not: justifie
Thy injur'd Queen from malice: dare his worst.
Oct.
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,
Urg'd by desert and greatness of the Lover;
So far (Divine Octavia!) may my Queen
Stand ev'n excus'd 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 excus'd, but wholly justifi'd.
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 Scepters of the Earth, expos'd on heaps,
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She thought a Roman only could deserve her;
And, of all Romans, only Antony.
And, to be less than Wife to you, disdain'd
Their lawful passion.
Ant.
'Tis but truth.
Alex.
And yet, tho love, and your unmatch'd desert,
Have drawn her from the due regard of Honor,
At last, Heav'n open'd her unwilling eyes
To see the wrongs she offer'd fair Octavia,
Whose holy Bed she lawlesly usurpt,
The sad effects of this improsperous War,
Confirm'd those pious thoughts.
Ven.
aside.
O, wheel you there?
Observe him now; the Man begins to mend,
And talk substantial reason. Fear not, Eunuch,
The Emperor has giv'n thee leave to speak.
Alex.
Else had I never dar'd t' offend his ears
With what the last necessity has urg'd
On my forsaken Mistress; yet I must not
Presume to say her heart is wholly alter'd.
Ant.
No, dare not for thy life, I charge thee dare not,
Pronounce that fatal word.
Octav.
aside.
Must I bear this? good Heav'n, afford me patience.
Ven.
On, sweet Eunuch; my dear half man, proceed.
Alex.
Yet Dollabella
Has lov'd her long, he, next my God-like Lord,
Deserves her best; and should she meet his passion,
Rejected, as she is, by him she lov'd—
Ant.
Hence, from my sight; for I can bear no more:
Let Furies drag thee quick to Hell; let all
The longer damn'd have rest; each torturing hand
Do thou employ, till Cleopatra comes,
Then joyn thou too, and help to torture her.
Exit Alexas, thrust out by Antony.
Octav.
'Tis not well,
Indeed, my Lord, 'tis much unkind to me,
To show this passion, this extream concernment
For an abandon'd, faithless Prostitute.
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Octavia, leave me: I am much disorder'd.
Leave me, I say.
Octav.
My Lord?
Ant.
I bid you leave me.
Ven.
Obey him, Madam: best withdraw a while,
And see how this will work.
Octav.
Wherein have I offended you, my Lord,
That I am bid to leave you? Am I false,
Or infamous? Am I a Cleopatra?
Were I she,
Base as she is, you would not bid me leave you;
But hang upon my neck, take slight excuses,
And fawn upon my falshood.
Ant.
'Tis too much,
Too much, Octavia; I am prest with sorrows
Too heavy to be born; and you add more:
I would retire, and recollect what's left
Of Man within, to aid me.
Octav.
You would mourn
In private, for your Love, who has betray'd you;
You did but half return to me: your kindness
Linger'd behind with her. I hear, my Lord,
You make Conditions for her,
And would include her Treaty. Wondrous proofs
Of love to me!
Ant.
Are you my Friend, Ventidius?
Or are you turn'd a Dollabella too,
And let this Fury loose?
Ven.
Oh, be advis'd,
Sweet Madam, and retire.
Octav.
Yes, I will go; but never to return.
You shall no more be haunted with this Fury.
My Lord, my Lord, love will not always last,
When urg'd with long unkindness, and disdain;
Take her again whom you prefer to me;
She stays but to be call'd. Poor cozen'd Man!
Let a feign'd parting give her back your heart,
Which a feign'd love first got; for injur'd me,
Tho' my just sense of wrongs forbid my stay,
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To the dear pledges of our former love,
My tenderness and care shall be transferr'd,
And they shall cheer, by turns, my Widow'd Nights:
So, take my last farewel; for I despair
To have you whole, and scorn to take you half.
Exit.
Ven.
I combat Heav'n, which blasts my best designs:
My last attempt must be to win her back;
But Oh, I fear in vain.
Exit.
Ant.
Why was I fram'd with this plain honest heart,
Which knows not to disguise its griefs and weakness,
But bears its workings outward to the World?
I should have kept the mighty anguish in,
And forc'd a smile at Cleopatra's falshood:
Octavia had believ'd it, and had staid;
But I am made a shallow-forded Stream,
Seen to the bottom: all my clearness scorn'd,
And all my faults expos'd!—See, where he comes
Enter Dollabella.
Who has prophan'd the Sacred Name of Friend,
And worn it into vileness!
With how secure a brow, and specious form
He guilds the secret Villain! Sure that face
Was meant for honesty; but Heav'n mis-match'd it,
And furnish'd Treason out with Natures pomp,
To make its work more easie.
Dolla.
O, my Friend!
Ant.
Well, Dollabella, you perform'd my message?
Dolla.
I did, unwillingly.
Ant.
Unwillingly?
Was it so hard for you to bear our parting?
You should have wisht it.
Dolla.
Why?
Ant.
Because you love me.
And she receiv'd my message, with as true,
With as unfeign'd a sorrow, as you brought it?
Dolla.
She loves you, ev'n to madness.
Ant.
Oh, I know it.
You, Dollabella, do not better know
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Forsake this Beauty? This all-perfect Creature?
Dolla.
I could not, were she mine.
Ant.
And yet you first
Perswaded me: how come you alter'd since?
Dolla.
I said at first I was not fit to go;
I could not hear her sighs, and see her tears,
But pity must prevail: and so, perhaps,
It may again with you; for I have promis'd
That she should take her last farewel: and, see,
She comes to claim my word.
Enter Cleopatra.
Ant.
False Dollabella!
Dolla.
What's false, my Lord?
Ant.
Why, Dollabella's false,
And Cleopatra's false; both false and faithless.
Draw near, you well-join'd wickedness, you Serpents,
Whom I have, in my kindly bosom, warm'd
Till I am stung to death.
Dolla.
My Lord, have I
Deserv'd to be thus us'd?
Cleop.
Can Heav'n prepare
A newer Torment? Can it find a Curse
Beyond our separation?
Ant.
Yes, if Fate
Be just, much greater: Heav'n should be ingenious
In punishing such crimes. The rowling Stone,
And gnawing Vulture, were slight pains, invented
When Jove was young, and no examples known
Of mighty ills; but you have ripen'd sin
To such a monstrous growth, 'twill pose the Gods
To find an equal Torture. Two, two such,
Oh there's no farther name, two such—to me,
To me, who lock'd my Soul within your breasts,
Had no desires, no joys, no life, but you;
When half the Globe was mine, I gave it you
In Dowry with my heart; I had no use,
No fruit of all, but you: a Friend and Mistress
Was what the World could give. Oh, Cleopatra!
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This tender heart, which with an Infant-fondness
Lay lull'd betwixt your bosoms, and there slept
Secure of injur'd Faith?
Dolla.
If she has wrong'd you,
Heav'n, Hell, and You revenge it.
Ant.
If she wrong'd me,
Thou wouldst evade thy part of guilt; but swear
Thou lov'st not her.
Dolla.
Not so as I love you.
Ant.
Not so! Swear, swear, I say, thou dost not love her.
Dolla.
No more than Friendship will allow.
Ant.
No more?
Friendship allows thee nothing: thou art perjur'd.—
And yet thou didst not swear thou lov'dst her not;
But not so much, no more. Oh trifling Hypocrite,
Who dar'st not own to her thou dost not love,
Nor own to me thou dost! Ventidius heard it;
Octavia saw it.
Cleop.
They are enemies.
Ant.
Alexas is not so: he, he confest it;
He, who, next Hell, best knew it, he avow'd it.
(To Dol.)
Why do I seek a proof beyond your self?
You whom I sent to bear my last Farewel,
Return'd to plead her stay.
Dolla.
What shall I answer?
If to have lov'd be guilt, then I have sinn'd;
But if to have repented of that love
Can wash away my crime, I have repented,
Yet, if I have offended past forgiveness,
Let not her suffer: she is innocent.
Cleop.
Ah, what will not a Woman do who loves!
What means will she refuse, to keep that heart
Where all her joys are plac'd! 'Twas I encourag'd,
'Twas I blew up the fire that scorch'd his Soul,
To make you jealous; and by that regain you.
But all in vain; I could not counterfeit:
In spight of all the damms, my love broke o'er,
And drown'd my heart again: Fate took th' occasion;
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My whole life's truth.
Ant.
Thin Cobweb Arts of Falshood;
Seen, and broke through at first.
Dolla.
Forgive your Mistress.
Cleop.
Forgive your Friend.
Ant.
You have convinc'd your selves,
You plead each others Cause: What Witness have you,
That you but meant to raise my jealousie?
Cleop.
Our selves, and Heav'n.
Ant.
Guilt witnesses for guilt. Hence, Love and Friendship;
You have no longer place in humane breasts,
These two have driv'n you out: avoid my sight;
I would not kill the Man whom I lov'd;
And cannot hurt the Woman; but avoid me,
I do not know how long I can be tame;
For, if I stay one minute more to think
How I am wrong'd, my Justice and Revenge
Will cry so loud within me, that my pity
Will not be heard for either.
Dolla.
Heav'n has but
Our sorrow for our sins; and then delights
To pardon erring Man: sweet Mercy seems
Its darling Attribute, which limits Justice;
As if there were degrees in Infinite;
And Infinite would rather want perfection
Than punish to extent.
Ant.
I can forgive
A Foe; but not a Mistress, and a Friend:
Treason is there in its most horrid shape,
Where trust is greatest: and the Soul resign'd
Is stabb'd by its own Guards: I'll hear no more;
Hence from my sight, for ever.
Cleop.
How? for ever!
I cannot go one moment from you sight,
And must I go for ever?
My joys, my only joys are center'd here:
What place have I to go to? my own Kingdom?
That I have lost for you: or to the Romans?
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The wide World o'er, a helpless, banish'd Woman,
Banish'd for love of you; banish'd from you;
I, there's the Banishment! Oh hear me; hear me,
With strictest Justice: for I beg no favour:
And if I have offended you, then kill me,
But do not banish me.
Ant.
I must not hear you.
I have a Fool within me takes your part;
But Honour stops my ears.
Cleop.
For pity hear me!
Wou'd you cast off a Slave who follow'd you,
Who crouch'd beneath your Spurn?—He has no pity!
See, if he gives one tear to my departure;
One look, one kind farewel: Oh Iron heart!
Let all the Gods look down, and judge betwixt us,
If he did ever love!
Anth.
No more: Alexas!
Dolla.
A perjur'd Villain!
Anth.
to Cleop.
Your Alexas; yours.
Cleop.
O 'twas his plot: his ruinous design
T' ingage you in my love by jealousie.
Hear him; confront him with me; let him speak.
Anth.
I have; I have.
Cleop.
And if he clear me not—
Ant.
Your Creature! one who hangs upon your smiles!
Watches your eye to say or to unsay
Whate'er you please! I am not to be mov'd.
Cleop.
Then must we part? Farewel, my cruel Lord,
Th' appearance is against me; and I go
Unjustifi'd, for ever from your sight
How I have lov'd, you know; how yet I love,
My only comfort is, I know my self:
I love you more, ev'n now you are unkind,
Than when you lov'd me most; so well, so truly,
I'll never strive against it; but die pleas'd
To think you once were mine.
Ant.
Good Heav'n, they weep at parting.
Must I weep too? that calls 'em innocent.
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That I must not forgive.—
Live; but live wretched, 'tis but just you shou'd,
Who made me so: Live from each others sight:
Let me not hear you meet: Set all the Earth,
And all the Seas, betwixt your sunder'd Loves:
View nothing in common but the Sun and Skys:
Now, all take several ways;
And each your own sad fate with mine deplore;
That you were false, and I could trust no more.
Exeunt severally.
| All For Love : Or, The World well Lost | |