Ven. I sent for 'em; I brought them in unknown To Cleopatra's guards.

Dol. Yet are you cold?

Oct. Thus long I have attended for my welcome, Which as a stranger sure I might expect.

Who am I?

Ant. Cæsar's sister.

Oct. That's unkind!

Had I been nothing more than Cæsar's sister,
Know I bad still remain'd in Cæsar's camp;
But your Octavia, your much injur'd wife,
Though banish'd from your bed, driv'n from your house,
In spite of Cæsar's sister, still is yours.

'Tis true, I have a heart disdains your coldness,
And prompts me not to seek what you should offer;
But a wife's virtue still surmounts that pride:
I come to claim you as my own, to show
My duty first, to ask, nay beg, your kindness.
Your hand, my lord; 'tis mine, and I will have it.
[Taking his Hand.
Ven. Do, take it, thou deserv'st it.

Dol. On my soul,

And so she does.

Ant. I fear, Octavia, you have begg'd my life.
Oct. Begg'd it, my lord?

Ant. Yes, begg'd it, my ambassadress;

Poorly and basely begg'd it, of your brother.
Oct. Poorly and basely I could never beg,

Nor could my brother grant.

Ant. Shall I, who to my kneeling slave could say,

Rise up, and be a king; shall I fall down

And cry, Forgive me, Cæsar? No; that word

Forgive would choke me up,

And die upon my tongue.

Dol. You shall not need it.

Ant. I will not need it. Come, you've all betray'd

me

My wife has bought me with her pray'rs and tears,
And now I must become her branded slave:

In ev'ry peevish mood she will upbraid

The life she gave: if I but look awry,
She cries, I'll tell my brother.

Oct. My hard fortune

Subjects me still to your unkind mistakes:

But the conditions I have brought, are such
You need not blush to take. love your honour,
Because 'tis mine. It never shall be said,
Octavia's husband was her brother's slave.
Sir, you are free, free ev'n from her you loathe;
For though my brother bargains for your love,
Makes me the price and cement of your peace,
I have a soul like yours; I cannot take
Your love as alms, nor beg what I deserve.
I'll tell my brother we are reconcil'd;

He shall draw back his troops, and you shall march
To rule the east. I may be dropp'd at Athens;
No matter where; I never will complain,

But only keep the barren name of wife,

And rid you of the trouble.

Ven. Was ever such a strife of sullen honour!

Both scorn to be oblig❜d.

Dol. Oh, she has touch'd him in the tend'rest part: See how he reddens with despite and shame

To be outdone in generosity!

Ant. Octavia, I have heard you, and must praise
The greatness of your soul,

But cannot yield to what you have propos'd;
For I can ne'er be conquer'd but by love,
And you do all for duty. You would free me,
And would be dropp'd at Athens; was't not so?
Oct. It was, my lord.

Ant. Then I must be oblig'd

To one who loves me not, who to herself
May call me thankless and ungrateful man.

I'll not endure it; no.

Ven. I'm glad it pinches there.

Oct. Would you triumph o'er poor Octavia's virtue? That pride was all I had to bear me up,

That you might think you ow'd me for your life,

And ow'd it to my duty, not my love.

Ant. Therefore you love me not.
Oct. Therefore, my lord,

I should not love you.

Ant. Therefore you would leave me.

Oct. And therefore I should leave you-if I could,
Dol. Her soul's too great, after such injuries,
To say she loves, and yet she lets you see it.
Her modesty and silence plead her cause.

Ant. Oh, Dolabella! which way shall I turn?
I find a secret yielding in my soul;
But Cleopatra, who would die with me,
Must she be left? Pity pleads for Octavia,
But does it not plead more for Cleopatra?
Ven. Justice and pity both plead for Octavia,
For Cleopatra neither.

One would be ruin'd with you, but she first
Had ruin'd you; the other you have ruin'd,
And yet she would preserve you.

In ev'ry thing their merits are unequal.
Ant. Oh my distracted soul !

Oct. Sweet heav'n! compose it.

Come, come, my lord, if I can pardon you,
Methinks you should accept it. Look on these;
Are they not yours? or stand they thus neglected
As they are mine? Go to him, children, go,
Kneel to him, take him by the hand, speak to him:
You, Agrippina, hang upon his arms,

And you, Antonia, clasp about his waist:
If he will shake you off, if he will dash you
Against the pavement, you must bear it, children;
For you are mine, and I was born to suffer.

[Here the Children go to him, &c. Ven. Was ever sight so moving! emperor!

Dol. Friend!

Oct. Husband!

Both Children. Father!

Ant. I am vanquish'd: take me,

Octavia, take me, children; share me all.

[Embracing them.

I've been a thriftless debtor to your loves,

And run out much in riot from your stock;

But all shall be amended.

Oct. Oh, blest hour!

Dol. Oh, happy change!

Ven. My joy stops at my tongue!

Ant. [To Octavia] This is thy triumph: lead me where thou wilt,

Ev'n to thy brother's camp.

Oct. All there are yours.

Enter ALEXAS, hastily.

Alex. The queen, my mistress, sir, and yoursAnt. "Tis past. Octavia, you shall stay this night; To-morrow Cæsar and we are one.

[Exeunt.

Enter ANTONY and DOLABELLA.

Dol. Why would you shift it from yourself on me? Can you not tell her you must part?

Ant. I cannot ;

I could pull out an eye and bid it go,

And t'other should not weep. Oh, Dolabella!
How many deaths are in this word depart!
I dare not trust my tongue to tell her so:
One look of hers would thaw me into tears,
And I should melt till I were lost again.
Dol. Then let Ventidius;

He's rough by nature.

Ant. Oh, he'll speak too harshly;

He'll kill her with the news: thou, only thou.
Dol. Nature has cast me in so soft a mould

That I should speak

So faintly, with such fear to grieve her heart,
She'd not believe it earnest.

Ant. Therefore, therefore