Which none else durst have done? but had I been A traitor then, a glorious, happy traitor,- Ant. Forgive me, soldier; Vent. You thought me false; Thought my old age betrayed you: Kill me, sir, Ant. I did not think so; I said it in my rage: Pr'ythee forgive me : Vent. No prince but you Could merit that sincerity I used, Nor durst another man have ventured it; Else you had been immortal, and a pattern, When heaven would work for ostentation's sake, 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? Speak again. Ant. Indeed I do. Speak this, and this, and this [Hugging him. Thy praises were unjust; but I'll deserve them, And yet mend all. Do with me what thou wilt; Ant. Pr'ythee do not curse her, And I will leave her; though, heaven knows, I love Vent. That's my royal master; And, shall we fight? Ant. I warrant thee, old soldier. Thou shalt behold me once again in iron; Vent. O now I hear my emperor! in that word Ant. Oh, Cleopatra ! Vent. Again? Ant. I've done: In that last sigh she went. Vent. Methinks you breathe Another soul: Your looks are more divine; Ant. Oh, thou hast fired me; my soul's up in arms, Vent. Ye gods, ye gods, For such another honour ! Ant. Come on, my soldier! Our hearts and arms are still the same: I long CLEOPATRA ON THE CYDNUS. Her galley down the silver Cydnus rowed, Act I. Sc. 1. The tackling silk, the streamers waved with gold; The gentle winds were lodged in purple sails: Her nymphs, like Nereides, round her couch were placed; She lay, and leant her cheek upon her hand, As if, secure of all beholders' hearts, Neglecting, she could take them; boys, like cupids, 1 Dryden's Antony is a water-colour rival of Shakespeare's, yet he exhibits much of the animation of his original. A darting glory seemed to blaze abroad, That men's desiring eyes were never wearied, But hung upon the object. To soft flutes The silver oars kept time; and while they played, The hearing gave new pleasure to the sight; And both to thought. Twas heaven, or somewhat more; Stood panting on the shore, and wanted breath To give their welcome voice.1 Act III. Sc. 1. FROM THE TRAGEDY OF DON SEBASTIAN.2 SEBASTIAN, CAPTIVE, TO HIS CONQUEROR THE MOORISH EMPEROR, MULEY MOLUCH. Here satiate all your fury, Let Fortune empty her whole quiver on me; Can take in all and verge enough for more. I would have conquered you; and ventured only Nor am I fate's. Now I have pleased my longing, And trod the ground which I beheld from far, For if you give it burial, there it takes Possession of your earth; If burned and scattered in the air, the winds And spread me o'er your clime: for where one atom Act I. Sc. 1. THE HAUGHTINESS OF DESPOTISM. Emperor. What's royalty but power to please myself? And my own slaves the sovereigns ;-'tis resolved. 1 Compare this description with Shakespeare's Ant. and Cleop. Act II. Sc. 2. The uncertain fate of Sebastian, king of Portugal, in his expedition against the Moors in 1578, forms the groundwork of Dryden's tragedy. Upon a similar uncertainty in Spanish history, Southey has founded his Don Roderic. Sebastian's defeat at Alcazar is matter of history; Dryden claims the right of working as he chooses, the tradition of the hero's having survived the disaster; and a singularly wild tale he has woven of his imaginary fate. The Portuguese long fondly looked to the return of Sebastian as the means of retrieving their liberties from the subsequent subjugation by Spain. "Don Sebastian' has been weighed in its tragic merits against All for Love,' and one or other is universally allowed to be the first of Dryden's dramatic performances."-Scott. But when a government is grown to strength, FEMALE BEAUTY. Her soul's the deity that lodges there, Nor is the pile unworthy of the god. Act II. Sc. 1. Act II. Sc. 1. THE PAST. Sebastian. The joys I have possessed are ever mine, Out of thy reach; behind eternity; Hid in the sacred treasure of the past; But blest remembrance brings them hourly back. Life is but air, LIFE. Act III. Sc. 1. That yields a passage to the whistling wind; And closes when 'tis gone. Act III. Sc. 1. SEBASTIAN'S DEATH DECREED BY THE MOORISH EMPEROR. Emperor, Sebastian, Almeyda, &c. Emp. Go bear the captive to a speedy death, And set my soul at ease. Alm. I charge you, hold, ye ministers of death — Speak, my Sebastian! Plead for thy life; oh ask it of the tyrant; Beg him to save my life in saving thine. Seb. Farewell; my life's not worth another word. Farewell the greatness of Almeyda's soul! It pulls me down so low as to thy feet; Nay, to embrace thy knees with loathing hands, [Kneels. Which blister when they touch thee: Yet even thus, Emp. A secret pleasure trickles through my veins : It works about the inlets of my soul To feel thy touch, and pity tempts the pass; Alm. A flood of scalding tears will make it run. Thus compass you with these supplanting cords, Emp. Still kneel and still embrace: 'tis double pleasure So to be hugged, and see Sebastian die. Alm. Look, tyrant, when thou nam'st Sebastian's death, The very executioners turn pale: Rough as they are, and hardened in their trade Of death, they start at an anointed head, Send me to exile with the man I love, Emp. Here's my claim [Laying his hand on his sword. And this extinguished thine; thou givest me nothing. My prayers and penance shall discount for these, Emp. Let after reckonings trouble fearful fools: But since thou beggest me to prescribe my terms, The only I can offer are thy love, And this one day of respite to resolve. Grant or deny; for thy next word is fate, And fate is deaf to prayer. Alm. May heaven be so At thy last breath to thine !—I curse thee not; |