sit alone,
Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy,
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too,
And made a gap in nature.
_Antony and Cleopatra_, Act i. Scene 2.

The parallel passage in Dryden runs thus:

The tackling silk, the streamers waved with gold,
The gentle winds were lodged in purple sails:
Her nymphs, like Nereids, round her couch were placed;
Where she, another sea-born Venus, lay,

_Dola._ No more: I would not hear it,

_Ant._ O, you must!
She lay, and leant her cheek upon her hand,
And cast a look so languishingly sweet,
As if secure of all beholders hearts,
Neglecting she could take them: Boys, like Cupids,
Stood fanning, with their painted wings, the winds
That played about her face! But if she smiled,
A darting glory secured to blaze abroad:
That men's desiring eyes were never wearied,
But hung upon the object: To soft flutes
The silver oars kept time; and while they played,
The hearing gave new pleasure to the sight;
And both to thought. 'Twas heaven, or somewhat more;
For she so charmed all hearts, that gazing crowds
Stood panting on the shore, and wanted breath
To give their welcome voice.
Then, Dolabella, where was then thy soul?
Was not thy fury quite disarmed with murder?
Didst thou not shrink behind me from those eyes,
And whisper in my ear, Oh, tell her not
That I accused her of my brother's death?

In judging betwixt these celebrated passages, we feel almost afraid to
avow a preference of Dryden, founded partly upon the easy flow of the
verse, which seems to soften with the subject, but chiefly upon the
beauty of the language and imagery, which is flowery without
diffusiveness, and rapturous without hyperbole. I fear Shakespeare
cannot be exculpated from the latter fault; yet I am sensible, it is
by sifting his beauties from his conceits that his imitator has been
enabled to excel him.

It is impossible to bestow too much praise on the beautiful passages
which occur so frequently in "All for Love." Having already given
several examples of happy expression of melancholy and tender
feelings, I content myself with extracting the sublime and terrific
description of an omen presaging the downfall of Egypt.

_Serap._ Last night, between the hours of twelve and one,
In a lone isle of the temple while I walked,
A whirlwind rose, that, with a violent blast,
Shook all the dome: The doors around