Cas. The time of universal peace is near; Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world Shall bear the olive freely.

Enter an OFFICER.

Offi. Antony is come into the field.

Cas. Go, charge Agrippa.

Plant those that have revolted in the van,

That Antony may seem to spend his fury

Upon himself.

[Exeunt. Shouts, flourishes, &c.

SCENE III.

The Gates of Alexandria.

Flourish and Shouts from ANTONY's Party.

Enter VENTIDius.

Ven. Ne'er, till this hour, fought I against my will For Antony. Plague on his leave-taking!

I thought how her white arms would fold him in, And mar my wholesome counsels. One hope still Remains to part him from this.-[Shouts.]-So! he

comes.

Enter ANTONY, with his Forces.

Ant. This day is ours;-bravely thou fought'st,
Ventidius;

We have beat him to his camp.

Ven. True-against odds;

But still you draw supplies from one poor town,
And all Ægyptians;Cæsar has the world

All at his beck; nations come pouring in,
To fill the gaps he makes.

Ant. Nay, nay, Ventidius,

No more on this theme, now.-Run one before,
To tell the queen of our approach.-To-morrow,
Before the sun shall see us, we'll spill the blood
That has to-day escaped. I thank you all;
You have fought

Not as you served the cause, but as t'had been
Each man's like mine; Oh! you have shewn all
Hectors.

Enter the city; clip your wives, your friends;
Tell them your feats; whilst they, with joyful tears,
Wash the concealment from your wounds, and kiss
The honour'd gashes whole.

Enter CLEOPATRA, attended.

O, thou day o'the world!

Chain mine arm'd neck; leap thou, attire and all, Through proof of harness to my heart, and there Ride on the pants in triumph.

Cle. O, infinite virtue! com'st thou smiling from The world's great snare, uncaught?

Ant. My nightingale,

We have beat them to their beds. Behold this man; Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand.

Kiss it, my warrior; he hath fought to-day,

As if a god, in hate of mankind, had

Destroy'd in such a shape.

Cle. I'll give thee, friend,

An armour all of gold; it was a king's.

Ant. He has deserved it, were it carbuncled

Like holy Phoebus' car.

Ven. I'll none on't;-no;

Not all the diamonds of the East can bribe

Ventidius from his faith.

Ant. Give me thy hand;

[TO CLEOPATRA,

Through Alexandria make a jovial march;

Bear our hack'd targets like the men that own them.
Had our great palace the capacity,

To camp this host, we all would drink carouses
To next day's fate, together. Trumpeters,
With brazen din rejoice the city's ear:

Make mingle with our rattling tambourines,

That Heaven and earth may strike their sounds together,

Applauding our approach.

[Exeunt all but ANTONY and Ventidius. Ven. (Pulling ANTONY by the sleeve.) Emperor! Ant. 'Tis the old argument: I pr'ythee spare me. Ven. But this one hearing, Emperor.

Ant. Let go

My robe, or by my father, Hercules,

Ven. By Hercules's father, that's yet greater,' I bring you somewhat you would wish to know. Ant. Thou see'st we are observed; attend me here, And I'll return.

[Exit.
Ven. I'm waning in his favour, yet I love him;
I love this man, who runs to meet his ruin;
And, sure the gods, like me, are fond of him:
His virtues lie so mingled with his faults,

As would confound their choice to punish one,
And not reward the other.

Enter ANTONY.

Ant. We can conquer.

They look on us at distance, and, like curs,
"Scaped from the lion's paws, they bay far off;
They lick their wounds, and faintly threaten war.
Five thousand Romans, with their faces upward,
Lie breathless on the plain.

Ven. 'Tis well; and he,

Who lost 'em, could have spared ten thousand more.
Yet if, by this advantage, you could gain

An easier peace, while Cæsar doubts the chance
Of arms-

Ant. O, think not on't, Ventidius;
The boy pursues my ruin; he'll no peace.
O, he's the coolest murderer; so stanch,
He kills, and keeps his temper.

Ven. Have you no friend

In all his army, who has power to move him?
Mæcenas or Agrippa might do much.

Ant. They're both too deep in Cæsar's interests.
We'll work it out by dint of sword, or perish.
Ven. Fain would I find some other

Ant. Thank thy love;

But wherefore drive me from myself, to search
For foreign aids? to hunt my memory

To find a friend? The wretched have no friends:
Yet I had one, the bravest youth of Rome;
I scarce need tell his name;-'twas Dolabella.
Ven. He's now in Cæsar's camp.

Ant. No matter where,

Since he's no longer mine. He took unkindly
That I forbade him Cleopatra's sight,

Because I fear'd he loved her. When he departed He took no leave; and that confirm'd my thoughts. Ven. It argues that he loved you more than her; Else had he staid;-but he perceived you jealous, And would not grieve his friend. I know he loves you. Ant. I should have seen him then ere now.

Ven. Perhaps,

He has thus long been lab'ring for your peace.
Ant. Would he were here!

Ven. Would you believe he loved you?

I read your answer in your eyes, you would.
Not to conceal it longer, he has sent

A messenger from Cæsar's camp, with letters.
Ant. Let him appear.

Ven. I'll bring him instantly.

[Exit VENTIDIUS; and

Re-enters immediately, with DOLAbella.
Ant. 'Tis he himself, by holy friendship!

[Runs to embrace him.

Art thou return'd at last, my better half?
Come, give me all myself. Oh, Dolabella!
Thou hast beheld me other than I am.

Hast thou not seen my morning chambers fill'd
With sceptred slaves, who waited to salute me?
With eastern monarchs, who forgot the sun,
To worship my uprising?

Dol. Slaves to your fortune.

Ant. Fortune is Cæsar's now, and what am I? Ven. What you have made yourself. I will not flatter.

Ant. Is this friendly done?

Dol. Yes, when his end is so; I must join with him; Indeed I must, and yet you must not chide: Why am I else your friend?

Ant. Take heed, young man,

How thou upbraid'st my love: The queen has eyes, And thou too hast a soul.

Canst thou remember, When, swell'd with hatred, thou beheld'st her first, As accessary to thy brother's death?

Dol. Spare my remembrance; 'twas a guilty day, And still the blush hangs here.

Ant. To clear herself

For sending him no aid, she came from Egypt.
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burnt on the water: the stern was beaten gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that

'The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver,

Which to the tune of flutes kept time, and made
The water, which they beat, to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
It beggar'd all description :-She did lie
In her pavilion,