John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  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, 105

  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 110

  Which once he feared to lose.

  Cleo. I must attempt it;

  But oh, with what regret! [Exit ALEXAS. 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 115

  Share in your entertainment?

  Char. You have been

  The subject of it, madam.

  Cleo. How! and how!

  Iras. Such praises of your beauty! 120

  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: 125

  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. 130

  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? 135

  Less to yourself, or me?

  Dola. Madam, to both;

  For your 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; 140

  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, 145

  I soonest could forgive you, if you should.

  Vent. Most delicate advances! Women! women!

  Dear, damned, inconstant sex!

  Cleo. In the first place,

  I am to be forsaken; is’t not so? 150

  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? 155

  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. 160

  Dola. Your 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. 165

  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 170

  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, 175

  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, 180

  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; 185

  With fiery eyes, and 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, 190

  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 centre.”

  Cleo. Oh, I can bear no more! 195

  Dola. Help, help! — O 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, 200

  She comes again.

  Cleo. Oh, 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; 205

  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! 210

  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, 215

  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?) 220

  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 225

  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. 230

  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, 235

  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 240

  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. 245

  VENTIDIUS with OCTAVIA, behind

  Vent. From hence you may discover — oh, sweet, sweet!

  Would you indeed? The pretty hand in earnest?

  D
ola. I will, for this reward. [Takes her hand.

  Draw it not back. 250

  ’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? 255

  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, 260

  And letters to his brother Cæsar.

  Dola. Well,

  He must be found. [Exeunt DOLABELLA and CLEOPATRA.

  Octav. Most glorious impudence!

  Vent. She looked, methought, 265

  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. 270

  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, 275

  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, 280

  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, 285

  With Cæsar he’s endeavouring her peace.

  Octav. You have prevailed: — But for a further 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. 290

  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 295

  My last instructions.

  Octav. Mine, my lord, are written.

  Ant. Ventidius. [Drawing him aside.

  Vent. My lord?

  Ant. A word in private. — 300

  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. 305

  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. 310

  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! 315

  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. 320

  Vent. I thought not to displease you; I have done.

  Octav. You seemed disturbed, my Lord. [Coming up.

  Ant. A very trifle.

  Retire, my love.

  Vent. It was indeed a trifle. 325

  He sent —

  Ant. No more. Look how thou disobey’st me; [Angrily.

  Thy life shall answer it.

  Octav. Then ’tis no trifle.

  Vent. [to OCTAV.] ’Tis less; a very nothing: You too saw it, 330

  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, 335

  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, 340

  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; 345

  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? 350

  Not Cleopatra?

  Vent. Even she, my lord.

  Ant. My Cleopatra?

  Vent. Your Cleopatra;

  Dolabella’s Cleopatra; every man’s Cleopatra. 355

  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. 360

  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: 365

  Urge it no further, 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 370

  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. 375

  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. 380

  Alex. What means my lord

  Vent. To make you do what most you hate, — speak truth.

  Your are of Cleopatra’s private counsel,

  Of her bed-counsel, her lascivious hours;

  Are conscious of each nightly change she makes, 385

  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 pander,

  No fine set speech, no cadence, no turned periods, 390

  But a plain homespun 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 passed betwixt them;

  How near the business draws to your employment; 395

  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 400

  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 405

  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 410

  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, 415

  To choose 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. 420

  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, 425

  Whose holy bed she lawlessly usurped.

  The sad effects of this improsperous war

  Confirmed those pious thoughts.

  Vent. [aside]. Oh, wheel you there?

  Observe him now; the man begins to mend, 430

  And talk substantial reason. — Fear not, eunuch;

  The emperor has given thee leave to speak.

  Alex. Else had I never dared to offend his ears

  With what the last necessity has urged

  On my forsaken mistress; yet I must not 435

  Presume to say, her heart is wholly altered.

  Ant. No, dare not for thy life, I charge thee dare not

  Pronounce that fatal word!

  Octav. Must I bear this? Good Heaven, afford me patience. [Aside.

  Vent. On, sweet eunuch; my dear half-man, proceed. 440

  Alex. Yet Dolabella

  Has loved her long; he, next my god-like lord,

  Deserves her best; and should she meet his passion,

  Rejected, as she is, by him she loved —

  Ant. Hence from my sight! for I can bear no more: 445

  Let furies drag thee quick to hell; let all

  The longer damned have rest; each torturing hand

  Do thou employ, till Cleopatra comes;

  Then join thou too, and help to torture her! [Exit ALEXAS, thrust out by ANTONY.

  Octav. ’Tis not well. 450

  Indeed, my lord, ’tis much unkind to me,

  To show this passion, this extreme concernment,

  For an abandoned, faithless prostitute.

  Ant. Octavia, leave me; I am much disordered:

  Leave me, I say. 455

  Octav. My lord!

  Ant. I bid you leave me.

  Vent. Obey him, madam: best withdraw a while,

  And see how this will work.