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
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!
Where have you learnt that answer? Who am I?

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 god-like.

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.

Vent. Look, emperor, this is no common dew.

[Weeping

I have not wept this forty years; but now
My mother comes afresh into my eyes;
I cannot help her softness.

Ant. By heaven, he weeps! poor good old man, he weeps!
The big round drops course one another down
The furrows of his cheeks.—Stop them, Ventidius,
Or I shall blush to death: they set my shame,
That caused them, full before me.

Vent. I’ll do my best.

Ant. Sure there’s contagion in the tears of friends:
See, I have caught it too. Believe me, ’tis not
For my own griefs, but thine.—Nay, father!

Vent. Emperor.

Ant. Emperor! Why, that’s the style of victory;
The conqu’ring soldier, red with unfelt wounds,
Salutes his general so: but never more
Shall that sound reach my ears.

Vent. I warrant you.

Ant. Actium, Actium! Oh!—

Vent. It sits too near you.

Ant. Here, here it lies; a lump of lead by day,
And, in my short, distracted, nightly slumbers,
The hag that rides my dreams.—