Come, give me all myself!
Let me not live, If the young bridegroom, longing for his night, Was ever half so fond.
DOLABELLA. I must be silent, for my soul is busy About a nobler work; she's new come home, Like a long-absent man, and wanders o'er Each room, a stranger to her own, to look If all be safe.
ANTONY. Thou hast what's left of me;
For I am now so sunk from what I was, Thou find'st me at my lowest water-mark.
The rivers that ran in, and raised my fortunes, Are all dried up, or take another course:
What I have left is from my native spring;I've still a heart that swells, in scorn of fate, And lifts me to my banks.
DOLABELLA. Still you are lord of all the world to me.
ANTONY. Why, then I yet am so; for thou art all.
If I had any joy when thou wert absent, I grudged it to myself; methought I robbed Thee of thy part. But, O my Dolabella!
Thou has beheld me other than I am.
Hast thou not seen my morning chambers filled With sceptred slaves, who waited to salute me?
With eastern monarchs, who forgot the sun, To worship my uprising?--menial kings Ran coursing up and down my palace-yard, Stood silent in my presence, watched my eyes, And, at my least command, all started out, Like racers to the goal.
DOLABELLA. Slaves to your fortune.
ANTONY. Fortune is Caesar's now; and what am I?
VENTIDIUS. What you have made yourself; I will not flatter.
ANTONY. Is this friendly done?
DOLABELLA. Yes; when his end is so, I must join with him;Indeed I must, and yet you must not chide;Why am I else your friend?
ANTONY. Take heed, young man, How thou upbraid'st my love: The queen has eyes, And thou too hast a soul. Canst thou remember, When, swelled with hatred, thou beheld'st her first, As accessary to thy brother's death?
DOLABELLA. Spare my remembrance; 'twas a guilty day, And still the blush hangs here.
ANTONY. To clear herself, For sending him no aid, she came from Egypt.
Her galley down the silver Cydnus rowed, The tackling silk, the streamers waved with gold;The gentle winds were lodged in purple sails:
Her nymphs, like Nereids, round her couch were placed;Where she, another sea-born Venus, lay.
DOLABELLA. No more; I would not hear it.
ANTONY. Oh, you must!
She lay, and leant her cheek upon her hand, And cast a look so languishingly sweet, As if, secure of all beholders' hearts, Neglecting, she could take them: boys, like Cupids, Stood fanning, with their painted wings, the winds.
That played about her face. But if she smiled A darting glory seemed to blaze abroad, That men's desiring eyes were never wearied, But hung upon the object: To soft flutes The silver oars kept time; and while they played, The hearing gave new pleasure to the sight;And both to thought. 'Twas heaven, or somewhat more;For she so charmed all hearts, that gazing crowds Stood panting on the shore, and wanted breath To give their welcome voice.
Then, Dolabella, where was then thy soul?
Was not thy fury quite disarmed with wonder?
Didst thou not shrink behind me from those eyes And whisper in my ear--Oh, tell her not That I accused her with my brother's death?
DOLABELLA. And should my weakness be a plea for yours?
Mine was an age when love might be excused, When kindly warmth, and when my springing youth Made it a debt to nature. Yours--VENTIDIUS. Speak boldly.
Yours, he would say, in your declining age, When no more heat was left but what you forced, When all the sap was needful for the trunk, When it went down, then you constrained the course, And robbed from nature, to supply desire;In you (I would not use so harsh a word)
'Tis but plain dotage.
ANTONY. Ha!
DOLABELLA. 'Twas urged too home.--
But yet the loss was private, that I made;'Twas but myself I lost: I lost no legions;I had no world to lose, no people's love.
ANTONY. This from a friend?
DOLABELLA. Yes, Antony, a true one;
A friend so tender, that each word I speak Stabs my own heart, before it reach your ear.
Oh, judge me not less kind, because I chide!
To Caesar I excuse you.
ANTONY. O ye gods!
Have I then lived to be excused to Caesar?
DOLABELLA. As to your equal.
ANTONY. Well, he's but my equal:
While I wear this he never shall be more.
DOLABELLA. I bring conditions from him.
ANTONY. Are they noble?
Methinks thou shouldst not bring them else; yet he Is full of deep dissembling; knows no honour Divided from his interest. Fate mistook him;For nature meant him for an usurer:
He's fit indeed to buy, not conquer kingdoms.
VENTIDIUS. Then, granting this, What power was theirs, who wrought so hard a temper To honourable terms?
ANTONY. I was my Dolabella, or some god.
DOLABELLA. Nor I, nor yet Maecenas, nor Agrippa:
They were your enemies; and I, a friend, Too weak alone; yet 'twas a Roman's deed.
ANTONY. 'Twas like a Roman done: show me that man, Who has preserved my life, my love, my honour;Let me but see his face.
VENTIDIUS. That task is mine, And, Heaven, thou know'st how pleasing.
[Exit VENTIDIUS.]
DOLABELLA. You'll remember To whom you stand obliged?
ANTONY. When I forget it Be thou unkind, and that's my greatest curse.
My queen shall thank him too, DOLABELLA. I fear she will not.
ANTONY. But she shall do it: The queen, my Dolabella!
Hast thou not still some grudgings of thy fever?
DOLABELLA. I would not see her lost.
ANTONY. When I forsake her, Leave me my better stars! for she has truth Beyond her beauty. Caesar tempted her, At no less price than kingdoms, to betray me;But she resisted all: and yet thou chidest me For loving her too well. Could I do so?
DOLABELLA. Yes; there's my reason.
Re-enter VENTIDIUS, with OCTAVIA, leading ANTONY'S two little DAUGHTERSANTONY. Where?--Octavia there!
[Starting back.]
VENTIDIUS. What, is she poison to you?--a disease?
Look on her, view her well, and those she brings:
Are they all strangers to your eyes? has nature No secret call, no whisper they are yours?
DOLABELLA. For shame, my lord, if not for love, receive them With kinder eyes. If you confess a man, Meet them, embrace them, bid them welcome to you.
