Ant. Octavia, I have heard you, and must praise
The greatness of your soul;
But cannot yield to what you have proposed: 
For I can ne’er be conquered but by love;
And you do all for duty.  You would free me,
And would be dropt at Athens; was’t not so?

Octav. It was, my lord.

Ant. Then I must be obliged
To one who loves me not; who, to herself,
May call me thankless and ungrateful man:—­
I’ll not endure it; no.

Vent. I am glad it pinches there. [Aside.

Octav. Would you triumph o’er poor Octavia’s virtue? 
That pride was all I had to bear me up;
That you might think you owed me for your life,
And owed it to my duty, not my love. 
I have been injured, and my haughty soul
Could brook but ill the man, who slights my bed.

Ant. Therefore you love me not.

Octav. Therefore, my lord, I should not love you.

Ant. Therefore you would leave me?

Octav. And therefore I should leave you—­if I could.

Dola. Her soul’s too great, after such injuries, To say she loves; and yet she lets you see it.  Her modesty and silence plead her cause.

Ant. O, Dolabella, which way shall I turn? 
I find a secret yielding in my soul;
But Cleopatra, who would die with me,
Must she be left? pity pleads for Octavia;
But does it not plead more for Cleopatra?

Vent. Justice and pity both plead for Octavia;
For Cleopatra, neither. 
One would be ruined with you; but she first
Had ruined you:  The other, you have ruined,
And yet she would preserve you. 
In every thing their merits are unequal.

Ant. O, my distracted soul!

Octav. Sweet heaven compose it!—­
Come, come, my lord, if I can pardon you,
Methinks you should accept it.  Look on these;
Are they not yours? or stand they thus neglected,
As they are mine? go to him, children, go;
Kneel to him, take him by the hand, speak to him;
For you may speak, and he may own you too,
Without a blush; and so he cannot all
His children:  go, I say, and pull him to me,
And pull him to yourselves, from that bad woman. 
You, Agrippina, hang upon his arms;
And you, Antonia, clasp about his waist: 
If he will shake you off, if he will dash you
Against the pavement, you must bear it, children;
For you are mine, and I was born to suffer.
                                   [Here the Children go to him, &c.

Vent. Was ever sight so moving?—­Emperor!

Dola. Friend!

Octav. Husband!

Both Child. Father!

Ant. I am vanquished:  take me,
Octavia; take me, children; share me all. [Embracing them.
I’ve been a thriftless debtor to your loves,
And run out much, in riot, from your stock;
But all shall be amended.