Ant. You grow presumptuous.

Vent. I take the privilege of plain love to speak.

Ant. Plain love! plain arrogance, plain insolence!
Thy men are cowards; thou, an envious traitor;
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 a stain to honour!

Vent. You may kill me;
You have done more already,—called me traitor.

Ant. Art thou not one?

Vent. For showing you yourself,
Which none else durst have done? but had I been
That name, which I disdain to speak again,
I needed not have sought your abject fortunes,
Come to partake your fate, to die with you.
What hindered me to have led my conquering eagles
To fill Octavius’ bands? I could have been
A traitor then, a glorious, happy traitor,
And not have been so called.

Ant. Forgive me, soldier;
I’ve been too passionate.

Vent. You thought me false:
Thought my old age betrayed you: Kill me. sir,
Pray, kill me; yet you need not, your unkindness
Has left your sword no work.

Ant. I did not think so;
I said it in my rage: Pr’ythee, forgive me.
Why didst thou tempt my anger, by discovery
Of what I would not hear?

Vent. No prince but you
Could merit that sincerity I used,
Nor durst another man have ventured it;
But you, ere love misled your wandering eyes,
Were sure the chief and best of human race,
Framed in the very pride and boast of nature;
So perfect, that the gods, who formed you, wondered
At their own skill, and cried—A lucky hit
Has mended our design. Their envy hindered,
Else you had been immortal, and a pattern,
When Heaven would work for ostentation’s sake
To copy out again.

Ant. But Cleopatra—
Go on; for I can bear it now.

Vent. No more.

Ant. Thou dar’st not trust my passion, but thou may’st,
Thou only lov’st, the rest have flattered me.

Vent. Heaven’s blessing on your heart for that kind word!
May I believe you love me? Speak again.

Ant. Indeed I do. Speak this, and this.

[Hugging him.

Vent. And, will you leave this—

Ant. Pr’ythee, do not curse her,
And I will leave her; though, Heaven knows, I love
Beyond life, conquest, empire, all, but honour;
But I will leave her.

Vent. That’s my royal master;
And, shall we fight?

Ant. I warrant thee, old soldier.
Thou shalt behold me once again in iron;
And at the head of our old troops, that beat
The Parthians, cry aloud—Come, follow me!

Vent. Oh, now I hear my emperor! in that word
Octavius fell. Gods, let me see that day,
And, if I have years behind, take all:
I’ll thank you for the exchange.