Save when he heav'd his shield in my defence,
And on his naked side receiv'd my wound :
Then, when he could no more, he fell at once,
But roll'd his falling body cross their way,
And made a bulwark of it for his prince.
Dor. I never can forgive him such a death!
Seb. I prophesied thy proud soul could not
bear it.

Now judge thyself who best deserv'd my love.
I knew you both; and (durst I say) as Heaven
Foreknew among the shining angel host
Who should stand firm, who fall. [fall'n;
Dor. Had he been tempted so, so had he
And so, had I been favor'd, had I stood.
Seb.
What had been, is unknown; what
is, appears :
Confess he justly was preferr'd to thee. [stars,
Dor. Had I been born with his indulgent
My fortune had been his, and his been mine.
O, worse than hell! what glory have I lost,
And what has he acquir'd by such a death!
I should have fallen by Sebastian's side,
My corpse had been the bulwark of my king:
His glorious end was a patch'd work of fate,
Ill sorted with a soft effeminate life:
It suited better with my life than his
So to have died: mine had been of a piece,
Spent in your service, dying at your feet.

Seb. The more effeminate and soft his life, The more his fame, to struggle to the field, And meet his glorious fate confess, proud spirit

(For I will have it from thy very mouth), That better he deserv'd my love than thou. Dor. O, whither wouldst thou drive me?

I must grant,

Yes, I must grant, but with a swelling soul,
Henriquez had your love with more desert:
For you he fought and died: I fought against
you :

Through all the mazes of the bloody field
Hunted your sacred life; which that I miss'd
Was the propitious error of my fate,
Not of my soul; my soul's a regicide.
Seb. Thou mightst have given it a more
gentle name :

Thou meant'st to kill a tyrant, not a king.
Speak, didst thou not, Alonzo?

Dor Can I speak?

[arms,

Alas! I cannot answer to Alonzo:
No, Dorax cannot answer to Alonzo:
Alonzo was too kind a name for me.
Then, when I fought and conquer'd with your
In that blest age I was the man you nam'd:
Till rage and pride debas'd me into Dorax;
And lost, like Lucifer, my name above.
Seb. Yet twice this day I ow'd my life to
Dorax.
[my grief.
Dor. I sav'd you but to kill you there's
Seb. Nay, if thou canst be griev'd, thou
canst repent:
[wouldst :
Thou couldst not be a villain, though thou
Thou own'st too much in owning thou hast
err'd:

And I too little, who provok'd thy crime.

Dor. O, stop this headlong torrent of your

goodness;

It comes too fast upon a feeble soul,
Half drown'd in tears before; spare my confu-
sion,

For pity spare, and say not, first you err❜d.
For yet I have not dar'd, thro' guilt and shame,
To throw myself beneath your royal feet.
Now spurn this rebel, this proud renegade;
'Tis just you should, nor will I more complain.
Seb. Indeed thou shouldst not ask forgive-

ness first,

But thou prevent'st me still in all that 's noble.
Yes, I will raise thee up with better news:
Thy Violante's heart was ever thine;
Compell'd to wed, because she was my ward,.
Her soul was absent when she gave her hand :
Nor could my threats, or his pursuing court-
Effect the consummation of his love: [ship,
So still indulging tears, she pines for thee,
A widow and a maid. [Heaven bless'd me!
Dor. Have I been cursing Heaven, while
I shall run mad with ecstasy of joy :
What, in one moment to be reconcil'd
To Heaven, and to my king, and to my love :
But pity is my friend, and stops me short,
For my unhappy rival. Poor Henriquez !

Seb. Art thou so generous too, to pity him?
Nay, then I was unjust to love him better,
Here let me ever hold thee in my arms;
And all our quarrels be but such as these,
Who shall love best and closest shall embrace:
Be what Henriquez was-be my Alonzo.

Dor. What, My Alonzo, said you? my
Alonzo!

Let my tears thank you, for I cannot speak;
And if I could,
[as mine.
Words were not made to vent such thoughts
Seb. Thou canst not speak, and I can ne'er

be silent.

Some strange reverse of fate must sure attend
This vast profusion, this extravagance
Of Heaven to bless me thus. "Tis gold so pure,
It cannot bear the stamp without allay.
Be kind, ye pow'rs, and take but half away:
With ease the gifts of fortune I resign:
But let my love and friend be ever mine.

§ 3. Antony and Ventidius.

DRYDEN,

Ant. THEY tell me 'tis my birth-day; and I'll keep it With double pomp of sadness. [breath. "Tis what the day deserves which gave me Why was I rais'd the meteor of the world, Hung in the skies, and blazing as I travell'd, Till all my fires were spent, and then cast To be trod out by Cæsar? [downwards

Vent. [Aside.] On my soul 'Tis mournful, wondrous mournful! Ant. Count thy gains; Now, Antony, wouldst thou be born for this? Glutton of fortune, thy devouring youth Hast starv'd thy wanting age.

Vent. [Aside.] How sorrow shakes him!

Ant. [Having thrown himself down.]
Lie there, thou shadow of an emperor;
The place thou pressest on thy mother earth
Is all thy empire now: now it contains thee;
Some few days hence and then 'twill be too
large,

When thou 'rt contracted in thy narrow urn,
Shrunk to a few cold ashes: then Octavia
(For Cleopatra will not live to see it),
Octavia then will have thee all her own,
And bear thee in her widow'd hand to Cæsar.
Cæsar will weep, the crocodile will weep,
To see his rival of the universe [more on 't.
Lie still and peaceful there. I'll think no
Give me some music; look that it be sad;
I'll soothe my melancholy till I swell
And burst myself with sighing-
"Tis somewhat to my humor. Stay, I fancy
I'm now turn'd wild, a commoner of nature,
Of all forsaken, and forsaking all;
Live in a shady forest's sylvan scene;
Stretch'd at my length beneath some blasted
I lean my head upon the mossy bark,
And look just of a piece as I grew from it:
My uncomb'd locks, matted like mistletoe,
Hang o'er my hoary face; a murm'ring brook
Runs at my foot-

Vent. Methinks, I fancy
Myself there too.

[oak,

Ant. The herd come jumping by me, [on, And fearless quench their thirst while I look And take me for their fellow-citizen. More of this image, more; it lulls my thoughts. Vent. I must disturb him: I can hold no longer. [Stands before him. Ant. [Starting up.] Art thou Ventidius ? Vent. Are you Antony? I'm liker what I was, than you to him When that I left you last.

Ant. I'm angry.

Vent. So am I.

Ant. I would be private: leave me.
Vent. Sir, I love you,

And therefore will not leave you.
Ant. Will not leave me?
[am I?
Where have you learnt that answer! Who
Vent. My emperor: the man I love next
Heaven.

If I said more, I think 'twere scarce a sin :
You're all that's good and godlike..
Ant. All that 's wretched.
You will not leave me then?

Vent. 'Twas too presuming

To say I would not: but I dare not leave you;
And 'tis unkind in you to chide me hence
So soon, when I so far have come to see you.
Ant. Now thou hast seen me, art thou
satisfied?

For, if a friend, thou hast beheld enough;
And, if a foe, too much.

[dew,

Vent. Look, emperor, this is no common I have not wept these forty years; but now My mother comes afresh into my eyes;

Ant. By Heaven he weeps, poor good old The big round drops course one another down The furrows of his cheeks. Stop 'em, Ventidius,

Or I shall blush to death; they set my shame,
That caus'd 'em, full before me.
Vent. I'll do my best.

Ant. Sure there's contagion in the tears of friends;

(Well, thou wilt have it)-like a coward fled, Fled while his soldiers fought; fled first, Ventidius.

Thou long'st to curse me, and I give thee leave. know thou cam'st prepar'd to rail. Vent. I did.'

I

[Ventidius.
Ant. I'll help thee-I have been a man,
Vent. Yes, and a brave one: but-
Ant. I know thy meaning.

But I have lost my reason, have disgrac'd
The name of soldier with inglorious ease.
In the full vintage of my flowing honors
Sat still, and saw it prest by other hands. [it,
Fortune came smiling to my youth, and woo'd
And purple greatness met my ripen'd years.
When first I came to empire, I was borne
On tides of people, crowding to my triumphs;
The wish of nations, and the willing world
Receiv'd me as its pledge of future peace.
I was so great, so happy, so belov'd,
Fate could not ruin me; till I took pains,
And work'd against my fortune, chid her from

me,

And turn'd her loose: yet still she came again. My careless days and my luxurious nights At length have wearied her, and now she's gone: [soldier, Gone, gone, divorc'd for ever! Help me, To curse this madman, this industrious fool, Who labor'd to be wretched. Pr'ythee curse Vent. No. [me.

Ant. Why?

Ant. I am.

Vent. I say you are not.
Ant. I have to th' utmost.

Try your fortune.
Dost thou think
me desperate
[lost
Without just cause? No, when I found all
Beyond repair, I hid me from the world,
And learnt to scorn it here; which now I do
So heartily, I think it is not worth
The cost of keeping.

Vent. Cæsar thinks not so:

He'll thank you for the gift he could not take. You would be kill'd like Tully, would you? Do;

Hold out your throat to Cæsar, and die tamely.
Ant. No, I can kill myself; and so resolve.
Vent. I can die with you too, when time
shall serve :

But fortune calls upon us now to live,
To fight, to conquer.

Ant. Sure thou dream'st, Ventidius.
Vent. No, 'tis you dream; you sleep away
your hours

In desperate sloth, miscall'd philosophy. [you,
Up, up, for honor's sake; twelve legions wait
And long to call you chief. By painful jour-

neys

I led 'em, patient both of heat and hunger, Down from the Parthian marches to the Nile. "Twill do you good to see their sun-burnt faces, Their scarr'd cheeks, and chopt hands; there's virtue in 'em :

jewels,

And calls this diamond such or such a tax;
Each pendant in her ear shall be a province.
Ant. Ventidius, I allow your tongue free
license

On all my other faults; but, on your life,
No word of Cleopatra: she deserves
More worlds than I can lose..

Vent. Behold, you pow'rs,

To whom you have intrusted human kind;
See Europe, Afric, Asia put in balance;
And all weigh'd down by one light worthless
woman!

I think the gods are Antonies, and give,
Like prodigals, this nether world away
To none but wasteful hands.

Ant. You grow presumptuous. [speak.
Vent. I take the privilege of plain love to
Ant. Plain love! plain arrogance, plain
insolence!
[tor;
Thy men are cowards; thou, an envious trai-
Who, under seeming honesty, hast vented
The burden of thy rank o'erflowing gall.
O that thou wert my equal, great in arms
As the first Cæsar was, that I might kill thee
Without stain to my honor!

[tor.

Vent. You may kill me. You have done more already; call'd me traiAnt. Art thou not one?

[been

Than yon trim bands can buy.

Ant. Where left you them?

Vent. I say, in Lower Syria.
Ant. Bring 'em hither;

There may be life in these.
Vent. They will not come.

Ant. Why didst thou mock my hopes with
promis'd aids,

To double my despair? They're mutinous. Vent. Most firm and loyal.

Ant. Yet they will not march

To succor me. O trifler !

Vent. They petition

You would make haste to head 'em.

Ant. I am besieg'd.

[came I hither?

Vent. There's but one way shut up-how Ant. I will not stir.

Vent. They would perhaps desire

What hinder'd me t' have led my conqu'ring eagles

To fill Octavius' band? I could have been

A traitor then, a glorious, happy traitor,
And not have been so call'd.

Ant. Forgive me, soldier;

I've been too passionate.

Vent. You thought me false;

[Sir,

in arms,

And mans each part about me. Once again The noble eagerness of fight hath seiz'd me; That eagerness, with which I darted upward To Cassius' camp. In vain the steepy hill Oppos'd my way; in vain a war of spears Sung round my head, and planted all my shield; I won the trenches, while my foremost men Lagg'd on the plain below.

Vent. Ye gods, ye gods, For such another honor!

Ant. Come on, my soldier ;

Our hearts and arms are still the same. I long Once more to meet our foes; that thou and I, Like Time and Death, marching before our troops,

Jaff. Not hear me! By my sufferings, but you shall!

My lord, my lord! I'm not that abject wretch You think me. Patience! where's the distance throws

Me back so far, but I may boldly speak [me!
In right, though proud oppression will not hear
Pri. Have you not wrong'd me?
Jaff. Could my nature e'er
Have brook'd injustice or the doing wrong,
I need not now thus low have bent myself,
To gain a hearing from a cruel father.
Wrong'd you?

Pri. Yes, wrong'd me. In the nicest point, The honor of my house, you 've done me

wrong.

When you first came home from travel,
With such hopes as made you look'd on
By all men's eyes, a youth of expectation,
Pleas'd with your seeming virtue, I received
you ;
[merits;
Courted, and sought to raise you to your
My house, my table, nay, my fortune too,
My very self was yours: you might have us'd

me

To your best service: like an open friend
I treated, trusted you, and thought you mine:
When, in requital of my best endeavors,
You treacherously practis'd to undo me;
Seduc'd the weakness of my age's darling,
My only child, and stole her from my bosom.
Jaff. 'Tis to me you owe her;
Childless you had been else, and in the grave
Your name extinct; no more Priuli heard of.
You may remember, scarce five years are past,
Since in your brigantine you sail'd to see
The Adriatic wedded by our Duke;
And I was with you. Your unskilful pilot
Dash'd us upon a rock; when to your boat
You made for safety; enter'd first yourself:
Th' affrighted Belvidera, following next,
As she stood trembling on the vessel's side,
Was by a wave wash'd off into the deep;
When instantly I plung'd into the sea,
And buffeting the billows to her rescue,
Redeem'd her life with half the loss of mine.
Like a rich conquest, in one hand I bore her,
And, with the other, dash'd the saucy waves,
That throng'd and press'd to rob me of my
prize.
[arms

I brought her; gave her to your despairing
Indeed, you thank'd me; but a nobler gratitude
Rose in her soul; for, from that hour, she
lov'd me,

Till, for her life, she paid me with herself. Pri. You stole her from me; like a thief,

you stole her

At dead of night; that cursed hour you chose To rifle me of all my heart held dear.

§4. Priuli and Jaffier. OTWAY. Pri. No more! I'll hear no more! gone and leave me

The curse of disobedience all your portion. Jaff. Half of your curse you have bestow'd

in vain :

Was generous, honest, faithful, just, and valiant,

[grandsire,

Pri. No more.

Jaff. Yes, all; and then-adieu for ever. There's not a wretch, that lives on common charity,

But 's happier than I: for I have known
The luscious sweets of plenty; every night

Pr'ythee avoid, no longer cling thus round me, Like something baneful, that my nature's chill'd at. [tears I have not, Jaff. I have not wrong'd thee, by these But still am honest, true, and hope too, valiant,

OTWAY.

$5. Jaffier and Pierre. Jaff. By Heav'n you stir not, I must be heard, I must have leave to speak: Thou hast disgrac'd me, Pierre, by a vile blow: Had not a dagger done thee nobler justice ? But use me as thou wilt, thou canst not wrong me,

For I am fallen beneath the basest injuries :
Yet look upon me with an eye of mercy,
With pity and with charity behold me;
Shut not thy heart against a friend's repent-
ance;

But, as there dwells a godlike nature in thee,
Listen with mildness to my supplications.
Pier. What whining monk art thou? what
holy cheat,
[ears,
That would'st encroach upon my credulous
And cant thus vilely? hence! I know thee not.
Jaff. Not know me, Pierre !

Let not thy eyes then shun me, nor thy heart
Detest me utterly: Oh! look upon me,
Look back and see my sad, sincere submission!
How my heart swells, as e'en 'twould burst
my bosom ;

Fond of its goal, and laboring to be at thee;
What shall I do? what say to make thee hear
me?
[thou call thyself

Pier. Hast thou not wrong'd me? dar'st That once-lov'd valu'd friend of mine, And swear thou hast not wrong'd me? Whence these chains? [this moment? Whence the vile death, which I may meet Whence this dishonor, but from thee, thou false one? [I've done asking. Jaff. All's true; yet grant one thing, and Pier. What's that?

Jaff. To take thy life on such conditions The council have propos'd: thou and thy friend

May yet live long, and to be better treated.

Pier. Life! ask my life! confess! record myself

A villain, for the privilege to breathe,
And carry up and down this cursed city
A discontented and repining spirit,
Burdensome to itself, a few years longer,
To lose it, may be at last, in a lewd quarrel
For some new friend, treacherous and false as
thou art!
[jangling,

No, this vile world and I have long been
And cannot part on better terms than now,
When only men like thee are fit to live in 't.
Jaff. By all that 's just

Pier. Swear by some other powers, For thou hast broken that sacred oath too lately. [leave thee, Jaff. Then, by that hell I merit, I'll not Till to thyself at least thou 'rt reconcil'd, However thy resentment deal with me. Pier. Not leave me !

[thee;

[hardly.

tience;