Alex. O spare me, spare me!

Ant. Hold; he’s not worth your killing.—­On thy life,
Which thou may’st keep, because I scorn to take it,
No syllable to justify thy queen;
Save thy base tongue its office.

Alex. Sir, she is gone,
Where she shall never be molested more
By love, or you.

Ant. Fled to her Dolabella!  Die, traitor!  I revoke my promise; die! [Going to kill him.

Alex. O hold! she is not fled.

Ant. She is:  my eyes
Are open to her falsehood; my whole life
Has been a golden dream of love and friendship;
But, now I wake, I’m like a merchant, roused
From soft repose, to see his vessel sinking,
And all his wealth cast over.  Ungrateful woman! 
Who followed me, but as the swallow summer,
Hatching her young ones in my kindly beams,
Singing her flatteries to my morning wake: 
But, now my winter comes, she spreads her wings
And seeks the spring of Caesar.

Alex. Think not so: 
Her fortunes have, in all things, mixt with yours. 
Had she betrayed her naval force to Rome,
How easily might she have gone to Caesar,
Secure by such a bribe!

Vent. She sent it first, To be more welcome after.

Ant. ’Tis too plain; Else would she have appeared, to clear herself.

Alex. Too fatally she has:  she could not bear
To be accused by you; but shut herself
Within her monument; looked down and sighed;
While, from her unchanged face, the silent tears
Dropt, as they had not leave, but stole their parting. 
Some undistinguished words she inly murmured;
At last, she rais’d her eyes; and, with such looks
As dying Lucrece cast—­

Ant. My heart forebodes—­

Vent. All for the best:—­Go on.

Alex. She snatched her poniard,
And, ere we could prevent the fatal blow,
Plunged it within her breast; then turned to me: 
Go, bear my lord, said she, my last farewell;
And ask him, if he yet suspect my faith. 
More she was saying, but death rushed betwixt. 
She half pronounced your name with her last breath,
And buried half within her.

Vent. Heaven be praised!

Ant. Then art thou innocent, my poor dear love? 
And art thou dead? 
O those two words! their sound should be divided: 
Hadst thou been false, and died; or hadst thou lived,
And hadst been true—­But innocence and death! 
This shows not well above.  Then what am I,
The murderer of this truth, this innocence! 
Thoughts cannot form themselves in words so horrid
As can express my guilt!

Vent. Is’t come to this? the gods have been too gracious; And thus you thank them for it!

Ant. [To ALEX.] Why stayest thou here? 
Is it for thee to spy upon my soul,
And see its inward mourning?  Get thee hence;
Thou art not worthy to behold, what now
Becomes a Roman emperor to perform.