Vent. How sorrow shakes him! [Aside.
So, now the tempest tears him up by the roots,
And on the ground extends the noble ruin.
                                   [ANT. having thrown himself down.
Lie there, thou shadow of an emperor;
The place, thou pressest on thy mother earth,
Is all thy empire now:  now it contains thee;
Some few days hence, and then ’twill be too large. 
When thou’rt contracted in thy narrow urn,
Shrunk to a few cold ashes; then Octavia,
(For Cleopatra will not live to see it)
Octavia then will have thee all her own,
And bear thee in her widowed hand to Caesar;
Caesar will weep, the crocodile will weep,
To see his rival of the universe
Lie still and peaceful there.  I’ll think no more on’t.

Ant. Give me some music; look that it be sad: 
I’ll sooth my melancholy, till I swell,
And burst myself with sighing.—­ [Soft music.
’Tis somewhat to my humour:  stay, I fancy
I’m now turned wild, a commoner of nature;
Of all forsaken, and forsaking all;
Live in a shady forest’s sylvan scene,
Stretched at my length beneath some blasted oak,
I lean my head upon the mossy bark,
And look just of a piece as I grew from it;
My uncombed locks, matted like misletoe,
Hang o’er my hoary face; a murm’ring brook
Runs at my foot.

Vent. Methinks, I fancy Myself there too.

Ant. The herd come jumping by me,
And, fearless, quench their thirst, while I look on,
And take me for their fellow-citizen. 
More of this image, more; it lulls my thoughts. [Soft music again.

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 godlike.

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 satified?  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.