All For Love - John Dryden (rm book recommendations TXT) 📗

not warmth enough to die by that.

VENTIDIUS. Or old age and a bed.

ANTONY. Ay, there’s his choice, He would live, like a lamp, to the last wink, And crawl the utmost verge of life. O Hercules! Why should a man like this, Who dares not trust his fate for one great action, Be all the care of Heaven? Why should he lord it O’er fourscore thousand men, of whom each one Is braver than himself?

VENTIDIUS. You conquered for him: Philippi knows it; there you shared with him That empire, which your sword made all your own.

ANTONY. Fool that I was, upon my eagle’s wings I bore this wren, till I was tired with soaring, And now he mounts above me. Good heavens, is this,—is this the man who braves me? Who bids my age make way? Drives me before him, To the world’s ridge, and sweeps me off like rubbish?

VENTIDIUS. Sir, we lose time; the troops are mounted all.

ANTONY. Then give the word to march: I long to leave this prison of a town, To join thy legions; and, in open field, Once more to show my face. Lead, my deliverer.

Enter ALEXAS

ALEXAS. Great emperor, In mighty arms renowned above mankind, But, in soft pity to the opprest, a god; This message sends the mournful Cleopatra To her departing lord.

VENTIDIUS. Smooth sycophant!

ALEXAS. A thousand wishes, and ten thousand prayers, Millions of blessings wait you to the wars; Millions of sighs and tears she sends you too, And would have sent As many dear embraces to your arms, As many parting kisses to your lips; But those, she fears, have wearied you already.

VENTIDIUS. [aside.] False crocodile!

ALEXAS. And yet she begs not now, you would not leave her; That were a wish too mighty for her hopes, Too presuming For her low fortune, and your ebbing love; That were a wish for her more prosperous days, Her blooming beauty, and your growing kindness.

ANTONY. [aside.] Well, I must man it out:—What would the queen?

ALEXAS. First, to these noble warriors, who attend Your daring courage in the chase of fame,— Too daring, and too dangerous for her quiet,— She humbly recommends all she holds dear, All her own cares and fears,—the care of you.

VENTIDIUS. Yes, witness Actium.

ANTONY. Let him speak, Ventidius.

ALEXAS. You, when his matchless valour bears him forward, With ardour too heroic, on his foes, Fall down, as she would do, before his feet; Lie in his way, and stop the paths of death: Tell him, this god is not invulnerable; That absent Cleopatra bleeds in him; And, that you may remember her petition, She begs you wear these trifles, as a pawn, Which, at your wished return, she will redeem [Gives jewels to the Commanders.] With all the wealth of Egypt: This to the great Ventidius she presents, Whom she can never count her enemy, Because he loves her lord.

VENTIDIUS. Tell her, I’ll none on’t; I’m not ashamed of honest poverty; Not all the diamonds of the east can bribe Ventidius from his faith. I hope to see These and the rest of all her sparkling store, Where they shall more deservingly be placed.

ANTONY. And who must wear them then?

VENTIDIUS. The wronged Octavia.

ANTONY. You might have spared that word.

VENTIDIUS. And he that bribe.

ANTONY. But have I no remembrance?

ALEXAS. Yes, a dear one; Your slave the queen—

ANTONY. My mistress.

ALEXAS. Then your mistress; Your mistress would, she says, have sent her soul, But that you had long since; she humbly begs This ruby bracelet, set with bleeding hearts, The emblems of her own, may bind your arm. [Presenting a bracelet.]

VENTIDIUS. Now, my best lord,—in honour’s name, I ask you, For manhood’s sake, and for your own dear safety,— Touch not these poisoned gifts, Infected by the sender; touch them not; Myriads of bluest plagues lie underneath them, And more than aconite has dipt the silk.

ANTONY. Nay, now you grow too cynical, Ventidius: A lady’s favours may be worn with honour. What, to refuse her bracelet! On my soul, When I lie pensive in my tent alone, ‘Twill pass the wakeful hours of winter nights, To tell these pretty beads upon my arm, To count for every one a soft embrace, A melting kiss at such and such a time: And now and then the fury of her love, When–-And what harm’s in this?

ALEXAS. None, none, my lord, But what’s to her, that now ‘tis past for ever.

ANTONY. [going to tie it.] We soldiers are so awkward—help me tie it.

ALEXAS. In faith, my lord, we courtiers too are awkward In these affairs: so are all men indeed: Even I, who am not one. But shall I speak?

ANTONY. Yes, freely.

ALEXAS. Then, my lord, fair hands alone Are fit to tie it; she, who sent it can.

VENTIDIUS. Hell, death! this eunuch pander ruins you. You will not see her?

[ALEXAS whispers an ATTENDANT, who goes out.]

ANTONY. But to take my leave.

VENTIDIUS. Then I have washed an Aethiop. You’re undone; Y’ are in the toils; y’ are taken; y’ are destroyed: Her eyes do Caesar’s work.

ANTONY. You fear too soon. I’m constant to myself: I know my strength; And yet she shall not think me barbarous neither, Born in the depths of Afric: I am a Roman, Bred in the rules of soft humanity. A guest, and kindly used, should bid farewell.

VENTIDIUS. You do not know How weak you are to her, how much an infant: You are not proof against a smile, or glance: A sigh will quite disarm you.

ANTONY. See, she comes! Now you shall find your error.—Gods, I thank you: I formed the danger greater than it was, And now ‘tis near, ‘tis lessened.

VENTIDIUS. Mark the end yet.

Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, and IRAS

ANTONY. Well, madam, we are met.

CLEOPATRA. Is this a meeting? Then, we must part?

ANTONY. We must.

CLEOPATRA. Who says we must?

ANTONY. Our own hard fates.

CLEOPATRA. We make those fates ourselves.

ANTONY. Yes, we have made them; we have loved each other, Into our mutual ruin.

CLEOPATRA. The gods have seen my joys with envious eyes; I have no friends in heaven; and all the world, As ‘twere the business of mankind to part us, Is armed against my love: even you yourself Join with the rest; you, you are armed against me.

ANTONY. I will be justified in all I do To late posterity, and therefore hear me. If I mix a lie With any truth, reproach me freely with it; Else, favour me with silence.

CLEOPATRA. You command me, And I am dumb.

VENTIDIUS. I like this well; he shows authority.

ANTONY. That I derive my ruin >From you alone–-

CLEOPATRA. O heavens! I ruin you!

ANTONY. You promised me your silence, and you break it Ere I have scarce begun.

CLEOPATRA. Well, I obey you.

ANTONY. When I beheld you first, it was in Egypt. Ere Caesar saw your eyes, you gave me love, And were too young to know it; that I settled Your father in his throne, was for your sake; I left the acknowledgment for time to ripen. Caesar stept in, and, with a greedy hand, Plucked the green fruit, ere the first blush of red, Yet cleaving to the bough. He was my lord, And was, beside, too great for me to rival; But, I deserved you first, though he enjoyed you. When, after, I beheld you in Cilicia, An enemy to Rome, I pardoned you.

CLEOPATRA. I cleared myself–-

ANTONY. Again you break your promise. I loved you still, and took your weak excuses, Took you into my bosom, stained by Caesar, And not half mine: I went to Egypt with you, And hid me from the business of the world, Shut out inquiring nations from my sight, To give whole years to you.

VENTIDIUS. Yes, to your shame be’t spoken. [Aside.]

ANTONY. How I loved. Witness, ye days and nights, and all ye hours, That danced away with down upon your feet, As all your business were to count my passion! One day passed by, and nothing saw but love; Another came, and still ‘twas only love: The suns were wearied out with looking on, And I untired with loving. I saw you every day, and all the day; And every day was still but as the first, So eager was I still to see you more.

VENTIDIUS. ‘Tis all too true.

ANTONY. Fulvia, my wife, grew jealous, (As she indeed had reason) raised a war In Italy, to call me back.

VENTIDIUS. But yet You went not.

ANTONY. While within your arms I lay, The world fell mouldering from my hands each hour, And left me scarce a grasp—I thank your love for’t.

VENTIDIUS. Well pushed: that last was home.

CLEOPATRA. Yet may I speak?

ANTONY. If I have urged a falsehood, yes; else, not. Your silence says, I have not. Fulvia died, (Pardon, you gods, with my unkindness died); To set the world at peace, I took Octavia, This Caesar’s sister; in her pride of youth, And flower of beauty, did I wed that lady, Whom blushing I must praise, because I left her. You called; my love obeyed the fatal summons: This raised the Roman arms; the cause was yours. I would have fought by land, where I was stronger; You hindered it: yet, when I fought at sea, Forsook me fighting; and (O stain to honour! O lasting shame!) I knew not that I fled; But fled to follow you.

VENTIDIUS. What haste she made to hoist her purple sails! And, to appear magnificent in flight, Drew half our strength away.

ANTONY. All this you caused. And, would you multiply more ruins on me? This honest man, my best, my only friend, Has gathered up the shipwreck of my fortunes; Twelve legions I have left, my last recruits. And you have watched the news, and bring your eyes To seize them too. If you have aught to answer, Now speak, you have free leave.

ALEXAS. [aside.] She stands confounded: Despair is in her eyes.

VENTIDIUS. Now lay a sigh in the way to stop his passage: Prepare a tear, and bid it for his legions; ‘Tis like they shall be sold.

CLEOPATRA. How shall I plead my cause, when you, my judge, Already have condemned me? Shall I bring The love you bore me for my advocate? That now is turned against me, that destroys me; For love, once past, is, at the best, forgotten; But oftener sours to hate: ‘twill please my lord To ruin me, and therefore I’ll be guilty. But, could I once have thought it would have pleased you, That you would pry, with narrow searching eyes, Into my faults, severe to my destruction, And watching all advantages with care, That serve to make me wretched? Speak, my lord, For I end here. Though I deserved this usage, Was it like you to give it?

ANTONY. Oh, you wrong me, To think I sought this parting, or desired To accuse you more than what will clear myself, And justify this breach.

CLEOPATRA. Thus low I thank you; And, since my innocence will not offend, I shall not blush to own it.

VENTIDIUS. After this, I think she’ll blush at nothing.

CLEOPATRA. You seem grieved (And therein you are kind) that Caesar first Enjoyed my love, though you deserved it better: I grieve for that, my lord, much more than you; For, had I first been yours, it would have saved My second choice: I never had been his, And ne’er had been but yours. But Caesar first, You say, possessed my love. Not so, my lord: He first possessed my person; you, my love: Caesar loved me; but I loved Antony. If I endured him after, ‘twas because I judged it due to