presides
  O'er all his cooler hours, and morning counsels:
  In short the plainness, fierceness, rugged virtue,
  Of an old true-stampt Roman lives in him.
  His coming bodes I know not what of ill
  To our affairs. Withdraw to mark him better;
  And I'll acquaint you why I sought you here,
  And what's our present work.
       [They withdraw to a corner of the stage; and VENTIDIUS,
        with the other, comes forward to the front.]

  VENTIDIUS. Not see him; say you?
  I say, I must, and will.

  GENTLEMAN. He has commanded,
  On pain of death, none should approach his presence.

  VENTIDIUS. I bring him news will raise his drooping spirits,
  Give him new life.

GENTLEMAN. He sees not Cleopatra.

VENTIDIUS. Would he had never seen her!

  GENTLEMAN. He eats not, drinks not, sleeps not, has no use
  Of anything, but thought; or if he talks,
  'Tis to himself, and then 'tis perfect raving:
  Then he defies the world, and bids it pass,
  Sometimes he gnaws his lips, and curses loud
  The boy Octavius; then he draws his mouth
  Into a scornful smile, and cries, "Take all,
  The world's not worth my care."

  VENTIDIUS. Just, just his nature.
  Virtue's his path; but sometimes 'tis too narrow
  For his vast soul; and then he starts out wide,
  And bounds into a vice, that bears him far
  From his first course, and plunges him in ills:
  But, when his danger makes him find his faults,
  Quick to observe, and full of sharp remorse,
  He censures eagerly his own misdeeds,
  Judging himself with malice to himself,
  And not forgiving what as man he did,
  Because his other parts are more than man.—
  He must not thus be lost.
       [ALEXAS and the Priests come forward.]

  ALEXAS. You have your full instructions, now advance,
  Proclaim your orders loudly.

  SERAPION. Romans, Egyptians, hear the queen's command.
  Thus Cleopatra bids: Let labour cease;
  To pomp and triumphs give this happy day,
  That gave the world a lord: 'tis Antony's.
  Live, Antony; and Cleopatra live!
  Be this the general voice sent up to heaven,
  And every public place repeat this echo.

  VENTIDIUS. Fine pageantry!
       [Aside.]

  SERAPION. Set out before your doors
  The images of all your sleeping fathers,
  With laurels crowned; with laurels wreath your posts,
  And strew with flowers the pavement; let the priests
  Do present sacrifice; pour out the wine,
  And call the gods to join with you in gladness.

  VENTIDIUS. Curse on the tongue that bids this general joy!
  Can they be friends of Antony, who revel
  When Antony's in danger? Hide, for shame,
  You Romans, your great grandsires' images,
  For fear their souls should animate their marbles,
  To blush at their degenerate progeny.

  ALEXAS. A love, which knows no bounds, to Antony,
  Would mark the day with honours, when all heaven
  Laboured for him, when each propitious star
  Stood wakeful in his orb, to watch that hour
  And shed his better influence. Her own birthday
  Our queen neglected like a vulgar fate,
  That passed obscurely by.

  VENTIDIUS. Would it had slept,
  Divided far from his; till some remote
  And future age had called it out, to ruin
  Some other prince, not him!

  ALEXAS. Your emperor,
  Though grown unkind, would be more gentle, than
  To upbraid my queen for loving him too well.

  VENTIDIUS. Does the mute sacrifice upbraid the priest!
  He knows him not his executioner.
  Oh, she has decked his ruin with her love,
  Led him in golden bands to gaudy slaughter,
  And made perdition pleasing: She has left him
  The blank of what he was.
  I tell thee, eunuch, she has quite unmanned him.
  Can any Roman see, and know him now,
  Thus altered from the lord of half mankind,
  Unbent, unsinewed, made a woman's toy,
  Shrunk from the vast extent of all his honours,
  And crampt within a corner of the world?
  O Antony!
  Thou bravest soldier, and thou best of friends!
  Bounteous as nature; next to nature's God!
  Couldst thou but make new worlds, so wouldst thou give them,
  As bounty were thy being! rough in battle,
  As the first Romans when they went to war;
  Yet after victory more pitiful
  Than all their praying virgins left at home!

  ALEXAS. Would you could add, to those more shining virtues,
  His truth to her who loves him.

  VENTIDIUS. Would I could not!
  But wherefore waste I precious hours with thee!
  Thou art her darling mischief, her chief engine,
  Antony's other fate. Go, tell thy queen,
  Ventidius is arrived, to end her charms.
  Let your Egyptian timbrels play alone,
  Nor mix effeminate sounds with Roman trumpets,
  You dare not fight for Antony; go pray
  And keep your cowards' holiday in temples.
       [Exeunt ALEXAS, SERAPION.]

Re-enter the Gentleman of M. ANTONY

  2 Gent. The emperor approaches, and commands,
  On pain of death, that none presume to stay.

  1 Gent. I dare not disobey him.
       [Going out with the other.]

  VENTIDIUS. Well, I dare.
  But I'll observe him first unseen, and find
  Which way his humour drives: The rest I'll venture.
       [Withdraws.]

       Enter ANTONY, walking with a disturbed motion before
       he speaks

  ANTONY. They tell me, 'tis my birthday, and I'll keep it
  With double pomp of sadness.
  'Tis what the day deserves, which gave me breath.
  Why was I raised the meteor of the world,
  Hung in the skies, and blazing as I travelled,
  'Till all my fires were spent; and then cast downward,
  To be trod out by Caesar?

  VENTIDIUS. [aside.] On my soul,
  'Tis mournful, wondrous mournful!

  ANTONY. Count thy gains.
  Now, Antony, wouldst thou be born for this?
  Glutton of fortune, thy devouring youth
  Has starved thy wanting age.

  VENTIDIUS. How sorrow shakes him!
       [Aside.]
  So, now the tempest tears him up by the roots,
  And on the ground extends the noble ruin.
       [ANTONY 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 ashes; then Octavia
  (For Cleopatra will not live to see it),
  Octavia then will have thee all her own,
  And bear thee in her widowed hand to Caesar;
  Caesar will weep, the crocodile will weep,
  To see his rival of the universe
  Lie still and peaceful there. I'll think