_Dola._ Madam, to both;
For you must mourn, and I must grieve to cause it.

_Cleo._ You, Charmion, and your fellow, stand at distance.--
Hold up my spirits. [_Aside._]--Well, now your mournful matter;
For I'm prepared, perhaps can guess it too.

_Dola._ I wish you would; for 'tis a thankless office,
To tell ill news: And I, of all your sex,
Most fear displeasing you.

_Cleo._ Of all your sex,
I soonest could forgive you, if you should.

_Vent._ Most delicate advances! woman! woman!
Dear, damned, inconstant sex!

_Cleo._ In the first place,
I am to be forsaken; is't not so?

_Dola._ I wish I could not answer to that question.

_Cleo._ Then pass it o'er, because it troubles you:
I should have been more grieved another time.
Next, I'm to lose my kingdom--farewell, Egypt.
Yet, is there any more?

_Dola._ Madam, I fear
Your too deep sense of grief has turned your reason.

_Cleo._ No, no, I'm not run mad; I can bear fortune:
And love may be expelled by other love,
As poisons are by poisons.

_Dola._ You o'erjoy me, madam,
To find your griefs so moderately borne.
You've heard the worst; all are not false like him.

_Cleo._ No; heaven forbid they should.

_Dola._ Some men are constant.

_Cleo._ And constancy deserves reward, that's certain.

_Dola._ Deserves it not; but give it leave to hope.

_Vent._ I'll swear thou hast my leave. I have enough:
But how to manage this! Well, I'll consider. [_Exit._

_Dola._ I came prepared
To tell you heavy news; news, which I thought
Would fright the blood from your pale cheeks to hear:
But you have met it with a cheerfulness,
That makes my task more easy; and my tongue,
Which on another's message was employed,
Would gladly speak its own.

_Cleo._ Hold, Dolabella.
First tell me, were you chosen by my lord?
Or sought you this employment?

_Dola._ He picked me out; and, as his bosom-friend,
He charged me with his words.

_Cleo._ The message then
I know was tender, and each accent smooth,
To mollify that rugged word, _depart_.

_Dola._ Oh, you mistake: He chose the harshest words;
With fiery eyes, and with contracted brows,
He coined his face in the severest stamp;
And fury shook his fabric, like an earthquake;
He heaved for vent, and burst like bellowing AEtna,
In sounds scarce human,--Hence away for ever!
Let her begone, the blot of my renown,
And bane of all my hopes!
[_All the time of this speech,_ CLEOPATRA _