Let her be told, I'll make her peace with mine:
Her Crown and Dignity shall be preserv'd,
If I have pow'r with Cæsar.———O, be sure
To think on that.
Dolla.Fear not, I will remember.[Antony goes again to
the door, and comes back.
Ant.And tell her, too, how much I was constrain'd;
I did not this, but with extreamest force:
Desire her not to hate my Memory,
For I still cherish hers;———insist on that.
Dolla.Trust me, I'll not forget it.
Ant.Then that's all. (Goes out, and returns again.)
Wilt thou forgive my fondness this once more?
Tell her, tho' we shall never meet again,
If I should hear she took another Love,
The news would break my heart.—Now I must go;
For every time I have return'd, I feel
My Soul more tender; and my next command
Would be to bid her stay, and ruine both. Exit.
Dolla.Men are but Children of a larger growth,
Our appetites as apt to change as theirs,
And full as craving too, and full as vain;
And yet the Soul, shut up in her dark room,
Viewing so clear abroad, at home sees nothing;
But, like a Mole in Earth, busie and blind,
Works all her folly up, and casts it outward
To the Worlds open view: thus I discover'd,
And blam'd the Love of ruin'd Antony;
Yet wish that I were he, to be so ruin'd.
Enter Ventidius above.
Ven.Alone? and talking to himself? concern'd too?
Perhaps my ghess is right; he lov'd her once,
And may pursue it still.
Dolla.O Friendship! Friendship!
Ill canst thou answer this; and Reason, worse:
Unfaithful in th' attempt; hopeless to win;
And, if I win, undone: mere madness all.
And yet th' occasion's fair. What injury,
To him, to wear the Robe which he throws by?
