ther. Draw, draw nearer,
Sweet devil, that I may hear.

_Alex._ Believe me; try.
[DOLABELLA _goes over to_ CHARMION _and_ IRAS;
_seems to talk with them._
To make him jealous; jealousy is like
A polished glass held to the lips when life's in doubt;
If there be breath, 'twill catch the damp, and show it.

_Cleo._ I grant you, jealousy's a proof of love,
But 'tis a weak and unavailing medicine;
It puts out the disease, and makes it show,
But has no power to cure.

_Alex._ 'Tis your last remedy, and strongest too:
And then this Dolabella, who so fit
To practise on? He's handsome, valiant, young,
And looks as he were laid for nature's bait,
To catch weak woman's eyes.
He stands already more than half suspected
Of loving you: the least kind word or glance,
You give this youth, will kindle him with love:
Then, like a burning vessel set adrift,
You'll send him down amain before the wind,
To fire the heart of jealous Antony.

_Cleo._ Can I do this? Ah, no; my love's so true,
That I can neither hide it where it is,
Nor show it where it is not. Nature meant me
A wife; a silly, harmless, household dove,
Fond without art, and kind without deceit;
But Fortune, that has made a mistress of me,
Has thrust me out to the wide world, unfurnished
Of falsehood to be happy.

_Alex._ Force yourself.
The event will be, your lover will return,
Doubly desirous to possess the good,
Which once he feared to lose.

_Cleo._ I must attempt it;
But oh with what regret! [_Exit_ ALEX. _She comes up to_ DOLABELLA.

_Vent._ So, now the scene draws near; they're in my reach.

_Cleo._ [_To_ DOL.]
Discoursing with my women! might not I
Share in your entertainment?

_Char._ You have been
The subject of it, madam.

_Cleo._ How! and how?

_Iras._ Such praises of your beauty!

_Cleo._ Mere poetry.
Your Roman wits, your Gallus and Tibullus,
Have taught you this from Cytheris and Delia.

_Dola._ Those Roman wits have never been in Egypt;
Cytheris and Delia else had been unsung:
I, who have seen--had I been born a poet,
Should choose a nobler name.

_Cleo._ You flatter me.
But, 'tis your nation's vice: All of your country
Are flatterers, and all false. Your friend's like you.
I'm sure, he sent you not to speak these words.

_Dola._ No, madam; yet he sent me--

_Cleo._ Well, he sent you--

_Dola._ Of a less pleasing errand.

_Cleo._ How less pleasing?
Less to yourself, or me?