seems
more and more concerned, till she sinks quite
down._
Let her be driven, as far as men can think,
From man's commerce! she'll poison to the center.

_Cleo._ Oh, I can bear no more!

_Dola._ Help, help:--Oh wretch! O cursed, cursed wretch!
What have I done!

_Char._ Help, chafe her temples, Iras.

_Iras._ Bend, bend her forward quickly.

_Char._ Heaven be praised,
She comes again.

_Cleo._ O let him not approach me.
Why have you brought me back to this loathed being,
The abode of falsehood, violated vows,
And injured love? For pity, let me go;
For, if there be a place of long repose,
I'm sure I want it. My disdainful lord
Can never break that quiet; nor awake
The sleeping soul, with hollowing in my tomb
Such words as fright her hence.--Unkind, unkind!

_Dola._ Believe me, 'tis against myself I speak; [_Kneeling._
That sure desires belief; I injured him:
My friend ne'er spoke those words. Oh, had you seen
How often he came back, and every time
With something more obliging and more kind,
To add to what he said; what dear farewells;
How almost vanquished by his love he parted,
And leaned to what unwillingly he left!
I, traitor as I was, for love of you,
(But what can you not do, who made me false!)
I forged that lie; for whose forgiveness kneels
This self-accused, self-punished criminal.

_Cleo._ With how much ease believe we what we wish!
Rise, Dolabella; if you have been guilty,
I have contributed, and too much love
Has made me guilty too.
The advance of kindness, which I made, was feigned,
To call back fleeting love by jealousy;
But 'twould not last. Oh, rather let me lose,
Than so ignobly trifle with his heart.

_Dola._ I find your breast fenced round from human reach,
Transparent as a rock of solid crystal;
Seen through, but never pierced. My friend, my friend!
What endless treasure hast thou thrown away;
And scattered, like an infant, in the ocean,
Vain sums of wealth, which none can gather thence!

_Cleo._ Could you not beg
An hour's admittance to his private ear?
Like one, who wanders through long barren wilds;
And yet foreknows no hospitable inn
Is near to succour hunger,
Eats his fill, before his painful march:
So would I feed a while my famished eyes
Before we part; for I have far to go,
If death be far, and never must return.

VENTIDIUS, _with_ OCTAVIA, _behind._

_Vent._ From hence you may discover--Oh, sweet, sweet!