Burnt ont he water: the ftern was beaten gold;
Purple the fails, and fo perfumed, that

The winds were love-fick with them; the oars were filver,

Which, to the tune of flutes kept time, and made
The water, which they beat, to follow fafter
As amorous of their ftrokes. For her own perfon,"
It beggar'd all defcription :-fhe did lye

In her pavillion,

O'er-picturing that Venus, where we fee

The fancy out work nature :-On each fide her Stood pretty dimpled boys, like fmiling Cupids, With diverfe colour'd fans, whofe wind did feem To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, And what they undid, did.

Dol. No more-I will not hear it.

Ant. 'Twas Heav'n, or fomewhat more;

For the fo charm'd all hearts, that gazing crowds
Stood panting on the fhore, and wanted breath
To give their welcome voice.

Then Dolabella, where was then thy foul?
Was not thy fury quite difarm'd with wonder?
Did'st thou not fhrink 'behind me from those
And whisper in my ear, "Oh! tell her not
That I accus'd her of my brother's death."

eyes

Dol. And should my weakness be a plea for yours? But yet the lofs was private that I made: 'I was but myfelf 1 loft: I loft no legions: I had no world to lofe, or people's love. Ant. This from a friend?

Ven. Yes, Emperor, a true one.

Dol. A friend fo tender, that each word I speak Stabs my own heart, before it reach your ear. O, judge me not lefs kind because I chide: To Cæfar I excufe you.

Ant. O ye gods!

Have I then liv'd to be excus'd to Cæfar!

Dol. As to your equal.

Ant. Well, he's but my equal:

While I wear this he never fhall be more.
Dol. I bring conditions from him.

Ant Are they noble?

Methinks thou should'st not bring 'em else: granting this,

What pow'r was theirs, who wrought fo hard a tem

per

To honourable terms?

It was my Dolabella, or fome god.

Dol. Nor I; nor yet Mæcenas, nor Agrippa. They were your enemies; and I, a friend

Too weak alone: yet 'twas a Roman deed.

Ant. 'Twas like a Roman done: Shew me that perfon,

Who has preferv'd my life, my love, my honour; Bring us but face to face.

Ven. That task is mine;

And, Heav'n, thou know'st how pleafing!

Dol. You'll remember

To whom you ftand oblig'd?

Ant. When I forget it,

[Exit Ventidius.

Be thou unkind; and that's my greateft curfe.
My queen fhall give thanks too,

Dol. I fear the will not.

Ant. She hall, fhe fhall: the Queen, my Dola bella!

Haft thou not ftill fome grudgings of thy fever?
Dol. I would not fee her loft.

Ant. When I forfake her,

Leave me, my better ftars; for he has truth
Beyond her beauty. Cæfar tempted her
At no lefs price than kingdoms, to betray ine;
But she refifted all: and yet thou chid'ft me
For loving her too well. Could I do fo?
Dol. Yes: there's my reafon.

Re-enter VENTIDIUS with OCTAVIA.

Ant. Where? O&tavia there! (Starting back.) Ven. What, is the poison to you? A disease? Look on her, view her well.

Dol. For fhame, my Lord! if not for love, re

ceive her

With kinder eyes. If you confefs a man,

Meet her, embrace her, bid her welcome to you. Your arms should open, ev❜n without your knowledge,

To clafp her in; your feet should turn to wings,
To bear you to her,

Ant. I ftood amaz'd to think how the came hither. Ven I fent to her; I brought her in, unknown. To Cleopatra's guards.

Dol. Yet, are you cold?

Qa. Thus long I have attened fo r my welcome; Which, as a stranger, fure I might expect,

Who am I?

Ant Cæfar's fifter.

Oct. That's unkind!

Had I been nothing more than Cæfar's fifter,
Know, I had ftill remain'd in Cæfar's camp;
But your Octavia, your much injur'd wife,
Tho' banish'd from your bed, driv'n from your
house,

In spite of Cæfar's fifter, ftill is yours.

'Tis true, I have a heart disdains your coldness, And prompts me not to feek what you should offer; But a wife's virtue ftill furmounts that pride. I come to claim you as my own; to shew My duty firft, to afk, nay beg, your kindness: Your hand, my Lord; 'tis mine, and I will have it. (Taking his Hand.)

Ven. Do, take it, thou deferv'ft it.