ALL FOR LOVE.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.

The Temple of Isis.

SERAPION, MYRIS, Priests of Isis, discovered.

Ser. Portents and prodigies are grown so frequent That they have lost their name.

Our fruitful Nile

Flow'd, ere the wonted season, with a torrent

So unexpected, and so wond'rous fierce,

That the wild deluge overtook the haste

Ev'n of the hinds that watch'd it.

Then with so swift an ebb the flood drove backward,

It slipt from underneath the scaly herd:

Here monstrous phocæ panted on the shore,
Forsaken dolphins there, with their broad tails,
Lay lashing the departing waves; hard by them,
Sea-horses flound'ring in the slimy mud,

Toss'd up their heads, and dash'd the ooze about them.

Enter ALEXAS behind them.

Myr. Avert these omens, Heav'n!

Ser. Last night, between the hours of twelve and

one,

In a lone aisle o'the temple while I walk'd,

A whirlwind rose, that with a violent blast

Shook all the dome; the doors around me clapt;
The iron wicket, that defends the vault,
Where the long race of Ptolemies is laid,
Burst open, and disclos'd the mighty dead:
A peal of groans

Then follow'd, and a lamentable voice

Cry'd, "Egypt is no more."-My blood ran back,
My shaking knees against each other knock'd;
On the cold pavement down I fell entranc'd,
And so unfinish'd left the horrid scene.

Alex. And dreamt you this, or did invent the story

[Showing himself. To frighten our Egyptian boys withal,

And train them up betimes to fear of priesthood?
Ser. My lord, I saw you not,

Nor meant my words should reach your ears; but what

I utter'd was most true.

Alex. A foolish dream,

Bred from the fumes of indigested feasts,

And holy luxury.

Ser. I know my duty:

This goes no farther.

Alex. "Tis not fit it should,

Nor would the times now bear it, were it true.
All southern from yon' hills, the Roman camp
Hangs o'er us black and threat'ning, like a storm
Just breaking on our heads.

Ser. "Tis strange, that Antony, for some days past, Has not beheld the face of Cleopatra ;

But here in Isis' temple lives retir'd,

And makes his heart a prey to black despair.

How stands the Queen affected?

Alex. O, she dotes,

She dotes, Serapion, on this vanquish'd man;
And winds herself about his mighty ruins,
Whom, would she yet forsake, yet yield him up,

This hunted prey, to his pursuer's hands,
She might preserve us all: but 'tis in vain—
This changes my designs, this blasts my counsels,
And makes me use all means to keep him here,
Whom I could wish divided from her arms,
Far as the earth's deep centre.—Well, you know
The state of things: no more of your
ill omens
And black prognostics; labour to confirm
The people's hearts.

Enter VENTIDIUS, talking aside with a GENTLEMAN of ANTONY'S.

Ser. These Romans will o'erhear us.
But who's that stranger? By his warlike port,
His fierce demeanour, and erected look,

He's of no vulgar note.

Alex. O, 'tis Ventidius,

Our Emperor's great lieutenant in the cast,

Who first show'd Rome, that Parthia could be conquer'd.
When Antony return'd from Syria last,

He left this man to guard the Roman frontiers.
Ser. You seem to know him well.

Alex. Too well. I saw him in Cilicia first,
When Cleopatra there met Antony:
A mortal foe he was to us and Egypt.
But let me witness to the worth I hate :
A braver Roman never drew a sword:
Firm to his prince, but as a friend, not slave:
He ne'er was of his pleasures, but presides
O'er all his cooler hours, and morning counsels;
In short, the plainness, fierceness, rugged virtue
Of an old true stampt Roman lives in him.
His coming bodes, I know not what, of ill
To our affairs. Withdraw, to mark him better,
And I'll acquaint you why I sought you here,
And what's our present work.

[They withdraw to a Corner of the Stage, and VEN-
TIDIUS, with the Other, comes forward to the
Front.

Vent. Not see him, say you?

I

say, I must and will.

Gent. He has commanded,

On pain of death, none should approach his pre

sence.

Vent. I bring him news will raise his drooping spirits,

Give him new life.

Gent. He sees not Cleopatra.

Vent. Would he had never seen her!

Gent. He eats not, drinks not, sleeps not, has no

use

Of any thing but thought; or, if he talks,
"Tis to himself, and then 'tis perfect raving:
Then he defies the world, and bids it pass.
Sometimes he gnaws his lips, and curses loud
The boy Octavius; then he draws his mouth
Into a scornful smile, and cries, Take all;
The world's not worth my care!

Vent. Just, just his nature.

Virtue's his path, but sometimes 'tis too narrow
For his vast soul, and then he starts out wide,
And bounds into a vice, that bears him far
From his first course, and plunges him in ills:
He must not thus be lost.

[ALEXAS and the PRIESTS come forward. Alex. You have your full instructions; now ad

vance;

Proclaim your orders loudly.

Ser. Romans! Egyptians! hear the queen's com

mand.

Thus Cleopatra bids: Let labour cease;

To pomp and triumphs give this happy day,
That gave the world a lord; 'tis Antony's.
Live Antony, and Cleopatra live!

Be this the general voice sent up to heav'n,
And ev'ry public place repeat this echo.
Vent. Fine pageantry!

[Aside.