Ant. What woman was it, whom you heard and saw
So playful with my friend! 
Not Cleopatra?

Vent. Even she, my lord.

Ant. My Cleopatra?

Vent. Your Cleopatra;
Dolabella’s Cleopatra;
Every man’s Cleopatra[3].

Ant. Thou liest.

Vent. I do not lie, my lord. 
Is this so strange?  Should mistresses be left,
And not provide against a time of change? 
You know she’s not much used to lonely nights.

Ant. I’ll think no more on’t. 
I know ’tis false, and see the plot betwixt you.—­
You needed not have gone this way, Octavia. 
What harms it you that Cleopatra’s just? 
She’s mine no more.  I see, and I forgive: 
Urge it no farther, love.

Octav. Are you concerned, That she’s found false?

Ant. I should be, were it so;
For, though ’tis past, I would not that the world
Should tax my former choice, that I loved one
Of so light note; but I forgive you both.

Vent. What has my age deserved, that you should think
I would abuse your ears with perjury? 
If heaven be true, she’s false.

Ant. Though heaven and earth Should witness it, I’ll not believe her tainted.

Vent. I’ll bring you, then, a witness
From hell, to prove her so.—­Nay, go not back;
                  [Seeing ALEXAS just entering, and starting back.
For stay you must and shall.

Alex. What means my lord?

Vent. To make you do what most you hate,—­speak truth. 
You are of Cleopatra’s private counsel,
Of her bed-counsel, her lascivious hours;
Are conscious of each nightly change she makes,
And watch her, as Chaldaeans do the moon,
Can tell what signs she passes through, what day.

Alex. My noble lord!

Vent. My most illustrious pandar,
No fine set speech, no cadence, no turned periods,
But a plain home-spun truth, is what I ask: 
I did, myself, o’erhear your queen make love
To Dolabella.  Speak; for I will know,
By your confession, what more past betwixt them;
How near the business draws to your employment;
And when the happy hour.

Ant. Speak truth, Alexas; whether it offend
Or please Ventidius, care not:  Justify
Thy injured queen from malice:  Dare his worst.

Octav. [Aside.]
See, how he gives him courage! how he fears
To find her false! and shuts his eyes to truth,
Willing to be misled!

Alex. As far as love may plead for woman’s frailty,
Urged by desert and greatness of the lover,
So far, divine Octavia, may my queen
Stand even excused to you, for loving him,
Who is your lord:  so far, from brave Ventidius,
May her past actions hope a fair report.

Ant. ’Tis well, and truly spoken:  mark, Ventidius.