Cleo. Vanquished?

Serap. No; They fought not.

Cleo. Then they fled.

Serap. Nor that.  I saw,
With Antony, your well-appointed fleet
Row out; and thrice he waved his hand on high,
And thrice with cheerful cries they shouted back: 
’Twas then false Fortune, like a fawning strumpet,
About to leave the bankrupt prodigal,
With a dissembled smile would kiss at parting,
And flatter to the last; the well-timed oars
Now dipt from every bank, now smoothly run
To meet the foe; and soon indeed they met,
But not as foes.  In few, we saw their caps
On either side thrown up; the Egyptian gallies,
Received like friends, past through, and fell behind
The Roman rear:  And now, they all come forward,
And ride within the port,

Cleo. Enough, Serapion: 
I’ve heard my doom.—­This needed not, you gods: 
When I lost Antony, your work was done;
’Tis but superfluous malice.—­Where’s my lord? 
How bears he this last blow?

Serap. His fury cannot be expressed by words: 
Thrice he attempted headlong to have fallen
Full on his foes, and aimed at Caesar’s galley: 
With-held, he raves on you; cries,—­He’s betrayed. 
Should he now find you—­

Alex. Shun him; seek your safety, Till you can clear your innocence.

Cleo. I’ll stay.

Alex. You must not; haste you to your monument, While I make speed to Caesar.

Cleo. Caesar!  No, I have no business with him.

Alex. I can work him To spare your life, and let this madman perish.

Cleo. Base fawning wretch! would’st thou betray him too? 
Hence from my sight!  I will not hear a traitor;
’Twas thy design brought all this ruin on us.—­
Serapion, thou art honest; counsel me: 
But haste, each moment’s precious.

Serap. Retire; you must not yet see Antony. 
He who began this mischief,
’Tis just he tempt the danger; let him clear you: 
And, since he offered you his servile tongue,
To gain a poor precarious life from Caesar,
Let him expose that fawning eloquence,
And speak to Antony.

Alex. O heavens!  I dare not; I meet my certain death.

Cleo. Slave, thou deservest it,—­
Not that I fear my lord, will I avoid him;
I know him noble:  when he banished me,
And thought me false, he scorned to take my life;
But I’ll be justified, and then die with him.

Alex. O pity me, and let me follow you.

Cleo. To death, if thou stir hence.  Speak, if thou canst,
Now for thy life, which basely thou wouldst save;
While mine I prize at this.  Come, good Serapion.
                              [Exeunt CLEO.  SERAP.  CHAR. and IRAS.

Alex. O that I less could fear to lose this being,
Which, like a snow-ball in my coward hand,
The more ’tis grasped, the faster melts away. 
Poor reason! what a wretched aid art thou! 
For still, in spite of thee,
These two long lovers, soul and body, dread
Their final separation.  Let me think: 
What can I say, to save myself from death? 
No matter what becomes of Cleopatra.