Vent. Thank your kindness. 
You said I loved you; and, in recompence,
You bid me turn a traitor:—­Did I think
You would have used me thus? that I should die
With a hard thought of you?

Ant. Forgive me, Roman. 
Since I have heard of Cleopatra’s death,
My reason bears no rule upon my tongue,
But lets my thoughts break all at random out. 
I’ve thought better; do not deny me twice.

Vent. By heaven I will not.  Let it not be to out-live you.

Ant. Kill me first, And then die thou; for ’tis but just thou serve Thy friend, before thyself.

Vent. Give me your hand. 
We soon shall meet again.  Now, farewell, emperor!—­ [Embrace.
Methinks that word’s too cold to be my last: 
Since death sweeps all distinctions, farewell, friend! 
That’s all—­
I will not make a business of a trifle: 
And yet I cannot look on you, and kill you;
Pray turn your face.

Ant. I do:  strike home, be sure.

Vent. Home, as my sword will reach. [Kills himself.

Ant. O thou mistak’st; That wound was none of thine:  give it me back:  Thou robb’st me of my death.

Vent. I do indeed;
But think ’tis the first time I e’er deceived you,
If that may plead my pardon.—­And you, gods,
Forgive me, if you will; for I die perjured,
Rather than kill my friend. [Dies.

Ant. Farewell!  Ever my leader, even in death! 
My queen and thou have got the start of me,
And I’m the lag of honour.—­Gone so soon? 
Is death no more? he used him carelessly,
With a familiar kindness:  ere he knocked,
Ran to the door, and took him in his arms,
As who should say—­You’re welcome at all hours,
A friend need give no warning.  Books had spoiled him;
For all the learned are cowards by profession. 
’Tis not worth
My farther thought; for death, for aught I know,
Is but to think no more.  Here’s to be satisfied.
                                                [Falls on his sword.
I’ve mist my heart.  O unperforming hand! 
Thou never could’st have erred in a worse time. 
My fortune jades me to the last; and death,
Like a great man, takes state, and makes me wait
For my admittance.—­ [Trampling within.
Some, perhaps, from Caesar: 
If he should find me living, and suspect
That I played booty with my life!  I’ll mend
My work, ere they can reach me. [Rises upon his knees.

  Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, and IRAS.

Cleo. Where is my lord? where is he?

Char. There he lies, And dead Ventidius by him.

Cleo. My fears were prophets; I am come too late.  O that accursed Alexas! [Runs to him.