she was saying, but death rushed betwixt.
She half pronounced your name with her last breath,
And buried
half within her.
Vent. Heaven be praised!
Ant. Then art thou innocent, my poor dear love,
And art thou dead?
O those two words! their sound should
be divided:
Hadst thou been false, and died; or hadst thou lived,
And hadst been trueBut innocence and
death!
This shows not well above. Then what am I,
The murderer of this truth, this innocence!
Thoughts
cannot form themselves in words so horrid
As can express my guilt!
Vent. Ist come to this? The gods have been too gracious;
And thus you thank them for it!
Ant. [to Alex.]. Why stayest thou here?
Is it for thee to spy upon my soul,
And see its inward mourning?
Get thee hence;
Thou art not worthy to behold, what now
Becomes a Roman emperor to perform.
Alex. He loves her still:
His grief betrays it. Good! the joy to find
Shes yet alive, completes the reconcilement.
Ive
saved myself, and her. But, oh! the Romans!
Fate comes too fast upon my wit.
Hunts me too hard, and
meets me at each double.
[Aside. Exit
Vent. Would she had died a little sooner, though!
Before Octavia went, you might have treated:
Now twill
look tame, and would not be received.
Come, rouse yourself, and lets die warm together.
Ant. I will not fight: theres no more work for war.
The business of my angry hours is done.
Vent. Cæsar is at your gates.
Ant. Why, let him enter;
Hes welcome now.
Vent. What lethargy has crept into your soul?
Ant. Tis but a scorn of life, and just desire
To free myself from bondage.
Vent. Do it bravely.
Ant. I will; but not by fighting. O Ventidius!
What should I fight for now?my queen is dead.
I was but
great for her; my power, my empire,
Were but my merchandise to buy her love;
And conquered kings, my
factors. Now shes dead,
Let Cæsar take the world,
An empty circle, since the jewels gone
Which made it
worth my strife: my beings nauseous:
For all the bribes of life are gone away.
Vent. Would you be taken?
Ant. Yes, I would be taken;
But, as a Roman ought,dead, my Ventidius:
For Ill convey my soul from
Cæsars reach,
And lay down life myself. Tis time the world
Should have a lord, and know whom to obey.
We
two have kept its homage in suspense,
And bent the globe, on whose each side we trod,
Till it was dented
inwards. Let him walk
Alone upont: Im weary of my part.
My torch is out; and the world stands before
me,
Like a black desert at the approach of night:
Ill lay me down, and stray no farther on.
Vent. I could be grieved,
But that Ill not outlive you: choose your death;
For, I have seen him in such various
shapes,
I care not which I take: Im only troubled,
The life I bear is worn to such a rag,
Tis scarce worth
giving. I could wish, indeed,
We threw it from us with a better grace;
That, like two lions taken in the toils,
We
might at last thrust out our paws, and wound
The hunters that inclose us.
Ant. I have thought on it.
Ventidius, you must live.