Cleo. I have none,
And none would have:  My love’s a noble madness,
Which shows the cause deserved it.  Moderate sorrow
Fits vulgar love, and for a vulgar man: 
But I have loved with such transcendent passion,
I soared, at first, quite out of reason’s view,
And now am lost above it.  No, I’m proud
’Tis thus:  Would Antony could see me now! 
Think you he would not sigh, though he must leave me? 
Sure he would sigh; for he is noble-natured,
And bears a tender heart:  I know him well. 
Ah, no, I know him not; I knew him once,
But now ’tis past.

Iras. Let it be past with you:  Forget him, madam.

Cleo. Never, never, Iras.  He once was mine; and once, though now ’tis gone, Leaves a faint image of possession still.

Alex. Think him inconstant, cruel, and ungrateful.

Cleo. I cannot:  If I could, those thoughts were vain.  Faithless, ungrateful, cruel, though he be, I still must love him.

  Enter CHARMION.

Now, what news, my Charmion? 
Will he be kind? and will he not forsake me? 
Am I to live, or die? nay, do I live? 
Or am I dead? for when he gave his answer,
Fate took the word, and then I lived or died.

Char. I found him, madam—­

Cleo. A long speech preparing?  If thou bring’st comfort, haste, and give it me, For never was more need.

Iras. I know he loves you.

Cleo. Had he been kind, her eyes had told me so,
Before her tongue could speak it:  Now she studies,
To soften what he said; but give me death,
Just as he sent it, Charmion, undisguised,
And in the words he spoke.

Char. I found him, then,
Encompassed round, I think, with iron statues;
So mute, so motionless his soldiers stood,
While awfully he cast his eyes about,
And every leader’s hopes or fears surveyed: 
Methought he looked resolved, and yet not pleased. 
When he beheld me struggling in the crowd,
He blushed, and bade make way.

Alex. There’s comfort yet.

Char. Ventidius fixed his eyes upon my passage,
Severely, as he meant to frown me back,
And sullenly gave place:  I told my message,
Just as you gave it, broken and disordered;
I numbered in it all your sighs and tears,
And while I moved your pitiful request,
That you but only begged a last farewell,
He fetched an inward groan; and every time
I named you, sighed, as if his heart were breaking. 
But, shunned my eyes, and guiltily looked down: 
He seemed not now that awful Antony,
Who shook an armed assembly with his nod;
But, making show as he would rub his eyes,
Disguised and blotted out a falling tear.

Cleo. Did he then weep?  And was I worth a tear?  If what thou hast to say be not as pleasing, Tell me no more, but let me die contented.