rs him forward,
With ardour too heroic, on his foes,
Fall down, as she would do, before his feet;
Lie in his way, and stop the paths of death;
Tell him, this god is not invulnerable;
That absent Cleopatra bleeds in him;
And, that you may remember her petition,
She begs you wear these trifles, as a pawn,
Which, at your wisht return, she will redeem
[_Gives jewels to the Commanders._
With all the wealth of Egypt:
This to the great Ventidius she presents,
Whom she can never count her enemy,
Because he loves her lord.

_Vent._ Tell her, I'll none on't;
I'm not ashamed of honest poverty;
Not all the diamonds of the east can bribe
Ventidius from his faith. I hope to see
These, and the rest of all her sparkling store,
Where they shall more deservingly be placed.

_Ant._ And who must wear them then?

_Vent._ The wronged Octavia.

_Ant._ You might have spared that word.

_Vent._ And he that bribe.

_Ant._ But have I no remembrance?

_Alex._ Yes, a dear one;
Your slave, the queen--

_Ant._ My mistress.

_Alex._ Then your mistress;
Your mistress would, she says, have sent her soul,
But that you had long since; she humbly begs
This ruby bracelet, set with bleeding hearts,
The emblems of her own, may bind your arm. [_Presenting a bracelet._

_Vent._ Now, my best lord,--in honour's name, I ask you,
For manhood's sake, and for your own dear safety,--
Touch not these poisoned gifts,
Infected by the sender; touch them not;
Myriads of bluest plagues lie underneath them,
And more than aconite has dipt the silk.

_Ant._ Nay, now you grow too cynical, Ventidius:
A lady's favours may be worn with honour.
What, to refuse her bracelet! on my soul,
When I lie pensive in my tent alone,
'Twill pass the wakeful hours of winter nights,
To tell these pretty beads upon my arm,
To count for every one a soft embrace,
A melting kiss at such and such a time;
And now and then the fury of her love,
When--And what harm's in this?

_Alex._ None, none, my lord,
But what's to her, that now 'tis past for ever.

_Ant._ [_Going to tie it._]
We soldiers are so awkward--help me tie it.

_Alex._ In faith, my lord, we courtiers too are awkward
In these affairs: so are all men indeed:
Even I, who am not one. But shall I speak?

_Ant._ Yes, freely.

_Alex._ Then, my lord, fair hands alone
Are fit to tie it; she, who sent it, can.

_Vent._ Hell, death! this eunuch pandar ruins you.
You will no