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

What flocks of critics hover here to-day, As vultures wait on armies for their prey, All gaping for the carcase of a play! With croaking notes they bode some dire event, And follow dying poets by the scent. Ours gives himself for gone; y’ have watched your time: He fights this day unarmed,—without his rhyme;— And brings a tale which often has been told; As sad as Dido’s; and almost as old. His hero, whom you wits his bully call, Bates of his mettle, and scarce rants at all; He’s somewhat lewd; but a well-meaning mind; Weeps much; fights little; but is wond’rous kind. In short, a pattern, and companion fit, For all the keeping Tonies of the pit. I could name more: a wife, and mistress too; Both (to be plain) too good for most of you: The wife well-natured, and the mistress true. Now, poets, if your fame has been his care, Allow him all the candour you can spare. A brave man scorns to quarrel once a day; Like Hectors in at every petty fray. Let those find fault whose wit’s so very small, They’ve need to show that they can think at all; Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow; He who would search for pearls, must dive below. Fops may have leave to level all they can; As pigmies would be glad to lop a man. Half-wits are fleas; so little and so light, We scarce could know they live, but that they bite. But, as the rich, when tired with daily feasts, For change, become their next poor tenant’s guests; Drink hearty draughts of ale from plain brown bowls, And snatch the homely rasher from the coals: So you, retiring from much better cheer, For once, may venture to do penance here. And since that plenteous autumn now is past, Whose grapes and peaches have indulged your taste, Take in good part, from our poor poet’s board, Such rivelled fruits as winter can afford.

ALL FOR LOVE or THE WORLD WELL LOST

MARK ANTONY. VENTIDIUS, his General. DOLABELLA, his Friend. ALEXAS, the Queen’s Eunuch. SERAPION, Priest of Isis. MYRIS, another Priest. Servants to Antony.

CLEOPATRA, Queen of Egypt. OCTAVIA, Antony’s Wife. CHARMION, Cleopatra’s Maid. IRAS, Cleopatra’s Maid. Antony’s two little Daughters.

SCENE.—Alexandria.

Act I

Scene I.—The Temple of Isis

Enter SERAPION, MYRIS, Priests of Isis

SERAPION. Portents and prodigies have grown so frequent, That they have lost their name. Our fruitful Nile Flowed ere the wonted season, with a torrent So unexpected, and so wondrous fierce, That the wild deluge overtook the haste Even of the hinds that watched it: Men and beasts Were borne above the tops of trees, that grew On the utmost margin of the water-mark. Then, with so swift an ebb the flood drove backward, It slipt from underneath the scaly herd: Here monstrous phocae panted on the shore; Forsaken dolphins there with their broad tails, Lay lashing the departing waves: hard by them, Sea horses floundering in the slimy mud, Tossed up their heads, and dashed the ooze about them.

Enter ALEXAS behind them

MYRIS. Avert these omens, Heaven!

SERAPION. Last night, between the hours of twelve and one, In a lone aisle of the temple while I walked, A whirlwind rose, that, with a violent blast, Shook all the dome: the doors around me clapt; The iron wicket, that defends the vault, Where the long race of Ptolemies is laid, Burst open, and disclosed the mighty dead. >From out each monument, in order placed, An armed ghost starts up: the boy-king last Reared his inglorious head. A peal of groans Then followed, and a lamentable voice Cried, Egypt is no more! My blood ran back, My shaking knees against each other knocked; On the cold pavement down I fell entranced, And so unfinished left the horrid scene.

ALEXAS. And dreamed you this? or did invent the story, [Showing himself.] To frighten our Egyptian boys withal, And train them up, betimes, in fear of priesthood?

SERAPION. My lord, I saw you not, Nor meant my words should reach you ears; but what I uttered was most true.

ALEXAS. A foolish dream, Bred from the fumes of indigested feasts, And holy luxury.

SERAPION. I know my duty: This goes no further.

ALEXAS. ‘Tis not fit it should; Nor would the times now bear it, were it true. All southern, from yon hills, the Roman camp Hangs o’er us black and threatening like a storm Just breaking on our heads.

SERAPION. Our faint Egyptians pray for Antony; But in their servile hearts they own Octavius.

MYRIS. Why then does Antony dream out his hours, And tempts not fortune for a noble day, Which might redeem what Actium lost?

ALEXAS. He thinks ‘tis past recovery.

SERAPION. Yet the foe Seems not to press the siege.

ALEXAS. Oh, there’s the wonder. Maecenas and Agrippa, who can most With Caesar, are his foes. His wife Octavia, Driven from his house, solicits her revenge; And Dolabella, who was once his friend, Upon some private grudge, now seeks his ruin: Yet still war seems on either side to sleep.

SERAPION. ‘Tis strange that Antony, for some days past, Has not beheld the face of Cleopatra; But here, in Isis’ temple, lives retired, And makes his heart a prey to black despair.

ALEXAS. ‘Tis true; and we much fear he hopes by absence To cure his mind of love.

SERAPION. If he be vanquished, Or make his peace, Egypt is doomed to be A Roman province; and our plenteous harvests Must then redeem the scarceness of their soil. While Antony stood firm, our Alexandria Rivalled proud Rome (dominion’s other seat), And fortune striding, like a vast Colossus, Could fix an equal foot of empire here.

ALEXAS. Had I my wish, these tyrants of all nature, Who lord it o’er mankind, rhould perish,—perish, Each by the other’s sword; But, since our will Is lamely followed by our power, we must Depend on one; with him to rise or fall.

SERAPION. How stands the queen affected?

ALEXAS. Oh, she dotes, She dotes, Serapion, on this vanquished man, And winds herself about his mighty ruins; Whom would she yet forsake, yet yield him up, This hunted prey, to his pursuer’s hands, She might preserve us all: but ‘tis in vain— This changes my designs, this blasts my counsels, And makes me use all means to keep him here. Whom I could wish divided from her arms, Far as the earth’s deep centre. Well, you know The state of things; no more of your ill omens And black prognostics; labour to confirm The people’s hearts.

Enter VENTIDIUS, talking aside with a Gentleman of ANTONY’S

SERAPION. These Romans will o’erhear us. But who’s that stranger? By his warlike port, His fierce demeanour, and erected look, He’s of no vulgar note.

ALEXAS. Oh, ‘tis Ventidius, Our emperor’s great lieutenant in the East, Who first showed Rome that Parthia could be conquered. When Antony returned from Syria last, He left this man to guard the Roman frontiers.

SERAPION. You seem to know him well.

ALEXAS. Too well. I saw him at Cilicia first, When Cleopatra there met Antony: A mortal foe was to us, and Egypt. But,—let me witness to the worth I hate,— A braver Roman never drew a sword; Firm to his prince, but as a friend, not slave, He ne’er was of his pleasures; but presides O’er all his cooler hours, and morning counsels: In short the plainness, fierceness, rugged virtue, Of an old true-stampt Roman lives in him. His coming bodes I know not what of ill To our affairs. Withdraw to mark him better; And I’ll acquaint you why I sought you here, And what’s our present work. [They withdraw to a corner of the stage; and VENTIDIUS, with the other, comes forward to the front.]

VENTIDIUS. Not see him; say you? I say, I must, and will.

GENTLEMAN. He has commanded, On pain of death, none should approach his presence.

VENTIDIUS. I bring him news will raise his drooping spirits, Give him new life.

GENTLEMAN. He sees not Cleopatra.

VENTIDIUS. Would he had never seen her!

GENTLEMAN. He eats not, drinks not, sleeps not, has no use Of anything, but thought; or if he talks, ‘Tis to himself, and then ‘tis perfect raving: Then he defies the world, and bids it pass, Sometimes he gnaws his lips, and curses loud The boy Octavius; then he draws his mouth Into a scornful smile, and cries, “Take all, The world’s not worth my care.”

VENTIDIUS. Just, just his nature. Virtue’s his path; but sometimes ‘tis too