Vent. Emperor!

Ant. ’Tis the old argument; I pr’ythee, spare me. [Looking back.

Vent. But this one hearing, emperor.

Ant. Let go My robe; or, by my father Hercules—­

Vent. By Hercules’ father, that’s yet greater, I bring you somewhat you would wish to know.

Ant. Thou see’st we are observed; attend me here, And I’ll return. [Exit.

Vent. I am waning in his favour, yet I love him;
I love this man, who runs to meet his ruin;
And sure the gods, like me, are fond of him;
His virtues lie so mingled with his crimes,
As would confound their choice to punish one,
And not reward the other.

  Enter ANTONY.

Ant. We can conquer,
You see, without your aid. 
We have dislodged their troops;
They look on us at distance, and, like curs
’Scaped from the lion’s paws, they bay far off,
And lick their wounds, and faintly threaten war. 
Five thousand Romans, with their faces upward,
Lie breathless on the plain.

Vent. ’Tis well; and he,
Who lost them, could have spared ten thousand more. 
Yet if, by this advantage, you could gain
An easier peace, while Caesar doubts the chance
Of arms—­

Ant. O think not on’t, Ventidius! 
The boy pursues my ruin, he’ll no peace;
His malice is considerate in advantage. 
O, he’s the coolest murderer! so staunch,
He kills, and keeps his temper.

Vent. Have you no friend In all his army, who has power to move him?  Mecaenas, or Agrippa, might do much.

Ant. They’re both too deep in Caesar’s interests.  We’ll work it out by dint of sword, or perish.

Vent. Fain I would find some other.

Ant. Thank thy love. 
Some four or five such victories as this
Will save thy farther pains.

Vent. Expect no more; Caesar is on his guard: 
I know, sir, you have conquered against odds;
But still you draw supplies from one poor town,
And of Egyptians:  he has all the world,
And, at his beck, nations come pouring in,
To fill the gaps you make.  Pray, think again.

Ant. Why dost thou drive me from myself, to search
For foreign aids? to hunt my memory,
And range all o’er a waste and barren place,
To find a friend? the wretched have no friends. 
Yet I had one, the bravest youth of Rome,
Whom Caesar loves beyond the love of women: 
He could resolve his mind, as fire does wax,
From that hard rugged image melt him down,
And mould him in what softer form he pleased.

Vent. Him would I see; that man, of all the world; Just such a one we want.

Ant. He loved me too;
I was his soul; he lived not but in me: 
We were so closed within each others breasts,
The rivets were not found, that joined us first. 
That does not reach us yet:  we were so mixt,
As meeting streams, both to ourselves were lost;
We were one mass; we could not give or take,
But from the same; for he was I, I he.