All For Love [26]
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
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