John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  And so she does: she’s neither too submissive,

  Nor yet too haughty; but so just a mean 310

  Shows, as it ought, a wife and Roman too.

  Ant. I fear, Octavia, you have begged my life.

  Octav. Begged it, my lord?

  Ant. Yes, begged it, my ambassadress;

  Poorly and basely begged it of your brother. 315

  Octav. Poorly and basely I could never beg:

  Nor could my brother grant.

  Ant. Shall I, who, to my kneeling slave, could say,

  Rise up, and be a king; shall I fall down

  And cry, — Forgive me, Cæsar! Shall I set 320

  A man, my equal, in the place of Jove,

  As he could give me being? No; that word,

  Forgive, would choke me up,

  And die upon my tongue.

  Dola. You shall not need it. 325

  Ant. I will not need it. Come, you’ve all betrayed me, —

  My friend too! — to receive some vile conditions.

  My wife has bought me, with her prayers and tears;

  And now I must become her branded slave.

  In every peevish mood, she will upbraid 330

  The life she gave: if I but look awry,

  She cries — I’ll tell my brother.

  Octav. My hard fortune

  Subjects me still to your unkind mistakes.

  But the conditions I have brought are such, 335

  Your need not blush to take: I love your honour,

  Because ’tis mine; it never shall be said,

  Octavia’s husband was her brother’s slave.

  Sir, you are free; free, even from her you loathe;

  For, though my brother bargains for your love, 340

  Makes me the price and cement of your peace,

  I have a soul like yours; I cannot take

  Your love as alms, nor beg what I deserve.

  I’ll tell my brother we are reconciled;

  He shall draw back his troops, and you shall march 345

  To rule the East: I may be adopt at Athens;

  No matter where. I never will complain,

  But only keep the barren name of wife,

  And rid you of the trouble.

  Apart. 350

  Vent. Was ever such a strife of sullen honour!

  Both scorn to be obliged.

  Dola. Oh, she has touched him in the tenderest part;

  See how he reddens with despite and shame,

  To be outdone in generosity! 355

  Vent. 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: 360

  For I can ne’er be conquered but by love;

  And you do all for duty. You would free me,

  And would be dropt at Athens; was’t not so?

  Octav. It was, my lord.

  Ant. Then I must be obliged 365

  To one who loves me not; who, to herself,

  May call me thankless and ungrateful man: —

  I’ll not endure it; no.

  Vent. I am glad it pinches there. [Aside.

  Octav. Would you triumph o’er poor Octavia’s virtue? 370

  That pride was all I had to bear me up;

  That you might think you owed me for your life,

  And owed it to my duty, not my love.

  I have been injured, and my haughty soul

  Could brook but ill the man who slights my bed. 375

  Ant. Therefore you love me not.

  Octav. Therefore, my lord,

  I should not love you.

  Ant. Therefore you would leave me?

  Octav. And therefore I should leave you — if I could. 380

  Dola. Her soul’s too great, after such injuries,

  To say she loves; and yet she lets you see it.

  Her modesty and silence plead her cause.

  Ant. O Dolabella, which way shall I turn?

  I find a secret yielding in my soul; 385

  But Cleopatra, who would die with me,

  Must she be left? Pity pleads for Octavia;

  But does it not plead more for Cleopatra?

  Vent. Justice and pity both plead for Octavia;

  For Cleopatra, neither. 390

  One would be ruined with you; but she first

  Had ruined you: The other, you have ruined,

  And yet she would preserve you.

  In everything their merits are unequal.

  Ant. O my distracted soul! 395

  Octav. Sweet Heaven compose it! —

  Come, come, my lord, if I can pardon you,

  Methinks you should accept it. Look on these;

  Are they not yours? or stand they thus neglected,

  As they are mine? Go to him, children, go; 400

  Kneel to him, take him by the hand, speak to him;

  For you may speak, and he may own you too,

  Without a blush; and so he cannot all

  His children: go, I say, and pull him to me,

  And pull him to yourselves, from that bad woman. 405

  You, Agrippina, hang upon his arms;

  And you, Antonia, clasp about his waist:

  If he will shake you off, if he will dash you

  Against the pavement, you must bear it, children;

  For you are mine, and I was born to suffer. [Here the Children go to him, etc. 410

  Vent. Was ever sight so moving? — Emperor!

  Dola. Friend!

  Octav. Husband!

  Both Child. Father!

  Ant. I am vanquished: take me, 415

  Octavia; take me, children: share me all. [Embracing them.

  I’ve been a thriftless debtor to your loves,

  And run out much, in riot, from your stock;

  But all shall be amended.

  Octav. O blest hour! 420

  Dola. O happy change!

  Vent. My joy stops at my tongue;

  But it has found two channels here for one,

  And bubbles out above.

  Ant. [to OCTAV.]. This is thy triumph; lead me where thou wilt; 425

  Even to thy brother’s camp.

  Octav. All there are yours.

  Enter ALEXAS hastily

  Alex. The queen, my mistress, sir, and yours —

  Ant. ’Tis past. — 430

  Octavia, you shall stay this night: To-morrow,

  Cæsar and we are one. [Exit leading OCTAVIA; DOLABELLA 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. 435

  Alex. This downright fighting fool, this thick-skulled hero,

  This blunt, unthinking instrument of death,

  With plain dull virtue has outgone my wit.

  Pleasure forsook my earliest infancy;

  The luxury of others robbed my cradle, 440

  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, 445

  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 450

  O 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. 455

  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 h
im! —

  O fatal name to Cleopatra’s love! 460

  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 465

  Of that coarse matter, which, when she was finished,

  The gods threw by for rubbish.

  Alex. She is indeed a very miracle.

  Cleo. Death to my hopes, a miracle!

  Alex. A miracle; [Bowing. 470

  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. 475

  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. 480

  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: 485

  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. 490

  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 495

  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 500

  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, 505

  To find the inevitable charms, that catch

  Mankind so sure, that ruined my dear lord.

  Cleo. Oh, 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, 510

  Far from a modest wife! Shame of our 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 515

  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. 520

  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? 525

  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. 530

  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, 535

  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, 540

  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! 545

  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! 550

  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 555

  My fill of grief:

  There I till death will his unkindness weep;

  As harmless infants moan themselves asleep. [Exeunt.

  ACT IV

  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, 5

  And t’other should not weep. O 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. 10

  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, 15

  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. 20

  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 be as gently made, 25

  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. 30

  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. — Oh, be sure

  To think on that. 35

  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. 40

  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, 45

  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

&n
bsp; Would be, to bid her stay, and ruin both. [Exit.

  Dola. Men are but children of a larger growth; 50

  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, 55

  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 60

  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: 65

  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, 70

  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 75

  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. 80

  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, 85

  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 90

  To practise on? He’s handsome, valiant, young,

  And looks as he were laid for nature’s bait,

  To catch weak women’s eyes.

  He stands already more than half suspected

  Of loving you: the least kind word or glance, 95

  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, 100

  That I can neither hide it where it is,