All For Love, John Dryden [best ereader for pc .TXT] 📗

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. 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.]

VENTIDIUS. Was ever sight so moving?—Emperor!

DOLABELLA. Friend!

OCTAVIA. Husband!

BOTH CHILDREN. Father!

ANTONY. I am vanquished: take me, 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.

OCTAVIA. O blest hour!

DOLABELLA. O happy change!

VENTIDIUS. My joy stops at my tongue; But it has found two channels here for one, And bubbles out above.

ANTONY. [to OCTAVIA] This is thy triumph; lead me where thou wilt; Even to thy brother’s camp.

OCTAVIA. All there are yours.

Enter ALEXAS hastily

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

ANTONY. ‘Tis past.— Octavia, you shall stay this night: To-morrow, Caesar and we are one. [Exit leading OCTAVIA; DOLABELLA and the CHILDREN follow.]

VENTIDIUS. There’s news for you; run, my officious eunuch, Be sure to be the first; haste forward: Haste, my dear eunuch, haste. [Exit.]

ALEXAS. 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, 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

O madam, I have seen what blasts my eyes! Octavia’s here.

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

ALEXAS. You are no more a queen; Egypt is lost.

CLEOPATRA. 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.

ALEXAS. She is indeed a very miracle.

CLEOPATRA. Death to my hopes, a miracle!

ALEXAS. A miracle; [Bowing.] I mean of goodness; for in beauty, madam, You make all wonders cease.

CLEOPATRA. I was too rash: Take this in part of recompense. But, oh! [Giving a ring.] I fear thou flatterest me.

CHARMION. She comes! she’s here!

IRAS. Fly, madam, Caesar’s sister!

CLEOPATRA. 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.]

OCTAVIA. I need not ask if you are Cleopatra; Your haughty carriage—

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

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

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

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

CLEOPATRA. Peace, peace, my lover’s Juno. When he grew weary of that household clog, He chose my easier bonds.

OCTAVIA. 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 Caesar witness.

CLEOPATRA. I loved not Caesar; ‘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.

OCTAVIA. 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.

CLEOPATRA. Oh, you do well to search; for had you known But half these charms, you had not lost his heart.

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

CLEOPATRA. 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.

OCTAVIA. Thou lov’st him not so well.

CLEOPATRA. I love him better, and deserve him more.

OCTAVIA. 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.

CLEOPATRA. 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.

OCTAVIA. Be’t so, then; take thy wish. [Exit with her Train.]

CLEOPATRA. 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.

ALEXAS. Mine have had leisure To recollect their strength, and furnish counsel, To ruin her, who else must ruin you.

CLEOPATRA. 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

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

ANTONY. I cannot. I could pull out an eye, and bid it go, 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.

DOLABELLA. Then let Ventidius; He’s rough by nature.

ANTONY. Oh, he’ll speak too harshly; He’ll kill her with the news: Thou, only thou.

DOLABELLA. 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.

ANTONY. 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, As other loves begin: Wilt thou do this?

DOLABELLA. What you have said so sinks into my soul, That, if I must speak, I shall speak just so.

ANTONY. 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 Caesar.—Oh, be sure To think on that.

DOLABELLA. Fear not, I will remember. [ANTONY goes again to the door, and comes back.]

ANTONY. 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.

DOLABELLA. Trust me. I’ll not forget it.

ANTONY. 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.]

DOLABELLA. 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

VENTIDIUS. Alone, and talking to himself? concerned too? Perhaps my guess is right; he loved her once, And may pursue it still.

DOLABELLA. 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!

VENTIDIUS. 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.

DOLABELLA. 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.

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

ALEXAS. 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.

CLEOPATRA. 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.

ALEXAS. ‘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 women’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.

CLEOPATRA. 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