Ant. Then that’s all. [Goes out, and returns again.
Wilt thou forgive my fondness this once more? 
Tell her, though we shall never meet again,
If I should hear she took another love,
The news would break my heart.—­Now I must go;
For every time I have returned, I feel
My soul more tender; and my next command
Would be, to bid her stay, and ruin both. [Exit.

Dola. Men are but children of a larger growth;
Our appetites as apt to change as theirs,
And full as craving too, and full as vain;
And yet the soul, shut up in her dark room,
Viewing so clear abroad, at home sees nothing;
But, like a mole in earth, busy and blind,
Works all her folly up, and casts it outward
To the world’s open view:  Thus I discovered,
And blamed the love of ruined Antony;
Yet wish that I were he, to be so ruined.

  Enter VENTIDIUS above.

Vent. Alone, and talking to himself? concerned too?  Perhaps my guess is right; he loved her once, And may pursue it still.

Dola. O friendship! friendship! 
Ill canst thou answer this; and reason, worse: 
Unfaithful in the attempt; hopeless to win;
And, if I win, undone:  mere madness all. 
And yet the occasion’s fair.  What injury
To him, to wear the robe which he throws by?

Vent. None, none at all.  This happens as I wish, To ruin her yet more with Antony.

  Enter CLEOPATRA, talking with ALEXAS; CHARMION, IRAS on the
  other side.

Dola. She comes!  What charms have sorrow on that face! 
Sorrow seems pleased to dwell with so much sweetness;
Yet, now and then, a melancholy smile
Breaks loose, like lightning in a winter’s night,
And shows a moment’s day.

Vent. If she should love him too! her eunuch there!  That porc’pisce bodes ill weather.  Draw, draw nearer, Sweet devil, that I may hear.

Alex. Believe me; try.
                        [DOLABELLA goes over to CHARMION and IRAS;
                         seems to talk with them.
To make him jealous; jealousy is like
A polished glass held to the lips when life’s in doubt;
If there be breath, ’twill catch the damp, and show it.

Cleo. I grant you, jealousy’s a proof of love,
But ’tis a weak and unavailing medicine;
It puts out the disease, and makes it show,
But has no power to cure.

Alex. ’Tis your last remedy, and strongest too: 
And then this Dolabella, who so fit
To practise on?  He’s handsome, valiant, young,
And looks as he were laid for nature’s bait,
To catch weak woman’s eyes. 
He stands already more than half suspected
Of loving you:  the least kind word or glance,
You give this youth, will kindle him with love: 
Then, like a burning vessel set adrift,
You’ll send him down amain before the wind,
To fire the heart of jealous Antony.