Dola. A perjured villain!

Ant. [To CLEO.] Your Alexas; yours.

Cleo. O ’twas his plot; his ruinous design,
To engage you in my love by jealousy. 
Hear him; confront him with me; let him speak.

Ant. I have; I have.

Cleo. And if he clear me not—­

Ant. Your creature! one, who hangs upon your smiles! 
Watches your eye, to say or to unsay,
Whate’er you please!  I am not to be moved.

Cleo. Then must we part?  Farewell, my cruel lord! 
The appearance is against me; and I go,
Unjustified, for ever from your sight. 
How I have loved, you know; how yet I love,
My only comfort is, I know myself: 
I love you more, even now you are unkind,
Than when you loved me most; so well, so truly,
I’ll never strive against it; but die pleased,
To think you once were mine.

Ant. Good heaven, they weep at parting. 
Must I weep too? that calls them innocent. 
I must not weep; and yet I must, to think
That I must not forgive.—­
Live, but live wretched; ’tis but just you should,
Who made me so:  Live from each other’s sight: 
Let me not hear you meet.  Set all the earth,
And all the seas, betwixt your sundered loves: 
View nothing common but the sun and skies. 
Now, all take several ways;
  And each your own sad fate, with mine, deplore;
  That you were false, and I could trust no more. [Exeunt severally.

ACT V. SCENE I.

  Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, and IRAS.

Char. Be juster, heaven; such virtue punished thus,
Will make us think that chance rules all above,
And shuffles, with a random hand, the lots,
Which man is forced to draw.

Cleo. I could tear out these eyes, that gained his heart,
And had not power to keep it.  O the curse
Of doting on, even when I find it dotage! 
Bear witness, gods, you heard him bid me go;
You, whom he mocked with imprecating vows
Of promised faith!—­I’ll die; I will not bear it. 
You may hold me—­ [She pulls out her Dagger, and they hold her.
But I can keep my breath; I can die inward,
And choke this love.

  Enter ALEXAS.

Iras. Help, O Alexas, help! 
The queen grows desperate; her soul struggles in her,
With all the agonies of love and rage,
And strives to force its passage.

Cleo. Let me go. 
Art thou there, traitor!—­O,
O for a little breath, to vent my rage! 
Give, give me way, and let me loose upon him.

Alex. Yes, I deserve it, for my ill-timed truth. 
Was it for me to prop
The ruins of a falling majesty? 
To place myself beneath the mighty flaw,
Thus to be crushed, and pounded into atoms,
By its o’erwhelming weight?  ’Tis too presuming
For subjects to preserve that wilful power,
Which courts its own destruction.