SCENE-Within the Town of Alexandria,

Enter ANTONY, and VENTIDIUS.

Ant. Gods! how this foul Ægyptian hath betray'd me! Her fleet and Cæfar's mingle in the port, And there, like long-loft friends, carouse together. O, fun! thy up-rife fhall, I fee no more; Fortune and Antony part here, even here ! All come to this! to this!

The leaft unmortgaged hope?-for, if there be,
Methinks I fhould not fall beneath the fate
Of fuch a boy as Cæfar.

Ven. There are, yet,

(The remnant now fled with us from the hills)
Three legions left. If Death be your design,
As I must wish it now, these are sufficient
To make a heap about us of dead foes,
An honest pile for burial.

Ant. They're enough.

Ven. Now you fhall fee I love you -not a word

Of chiding more: By my few hours of life!
I am fo pleas'd with this brave Roman fate,
That I would not be Cæfar to outlive you.one
Ant. Who knows but yet we may

How now, Alexas?

Enter ALEXAS.

Ven. He comes from Cleopatra ;-from your ruin; And looks a lie before he utters it.

Hence, villain, hence!

Ant. Away from me for ever!

No fyllable to justify thy queen:

Let her begone; the blot of my renown,

And bane of all my hopes! Let her be driven,
As far as man can think, from human commerce;
She'll poifon to the center!

Alex. Sir, be fatisfied,

She'll ne'er moleft you more ;-she could not bear
To be accus'd by you; but fhut herself

Within her monument: Her filent tears
Dropt, as they had not leave, but stole their parting:

At laft, with dying looks,

Ant. My heart forebodes!.

Ven. All for the beft: Go on.

Alex. She fnatch'd her poignard,

And, 'ere we could prevent the fatal blow,
Plung'd it within her breaft. Go, bear my Lord,
(Turning to me, she said,) my last farewel;
And ask him, if he yet fufpect my faith :-
More she was saying, but death rufh'd betwixt:-
She half pronounc'd your name, with her last breath,
And half was loft with it.

Ant. And art thou dead?

Dead, Cleopatra ! Oh, then what am I?
The murderer of this truth, this innocence!

Thoughts cannot form themselves in words fo horrid

As can express my guilt! Oh, my poor love!

Ven. Is't come to this? the gods have been too gracious;

And thus you thank 'em for't.

Ant. (To Alexas.) Why ftay'st thou here?

Is it for thee to fpy upon my foul,

And see its inward mourning? get thee hence ;

Thou art not worthy to behold what, now,

Becomes a Roman Emperor to perform.

[Exit Alexas.

I will not fight; There's no more work for war;

The business of my angry hours is done.

Ven. Cæfar is at your gate.

Ant. Why, let him enter;

He's welcothe, now.

Ven. What lethargy has crept into your foul? Ant. 'Tis but a scorn of life, and just defire To free myself from bondage.

Ven. Do it bravely.

Ant. I will; but not by fighting. O, Ventidius!
What should I fight for now? My Cleopatra,
Now thou art dead, let Cæfar take the world,

An empty circle, fince the jewel's gone
Which made it worth my ftrife.

Ven. Wou'd you be taken?

Ant. Yes, I wou'd be taken;

But, as a Roman ought,-dead, my Ventidius.
Ven. As I fhall not outlive you, I could with
We threw life from us with a better grace;

That, like two lions, taken in the toils,

We might, at leaft thruft out our paws, and wound
The hunters that inclose us.

Ant. I have thought on't;
Ventidius, you must live.
Ven. I must not, Sir.

Ant. Wilt thou not live to speak fome good of me? To ftand by my fair fame, and guard th' approaches

From the ill tongues of men.

Ven. Who fhall guard mine,

For living after you ?

Ant. Say, I command it.