[John Dryden, a celebrated English poet, was born in 1631, and died in 1700. He was a voluminous writer, his works comprising tragedies, comedies, satires, didactic poems, narrative poems, odes, and occasional pieces. His is an eminent name in English literature. No writer is a greater master in the use of the heroic measure, and no one possesses in so high a degree the power of reasoning in verse. He was also a forcible and animated prose writer. The following scene is from the tragedy of " All for Love." Mark Antony, a distinguished Roman, despairing of further success in the field, after his defeat at Actium, gives himself up to inglorious ease. Ventidius is one of his generals. Octavius Cæsar (afterwards the Emperor Augustus) has taken up arms against Antony. Cleopatra is the Queen of Egypt, for whom Antony has abandoned his wife Octavia, the sister of Octavius Cæsar.] Antony. Art thou Ventidius? Ventidius. Are you Antony? I'm liker what I was, than you to him Where have you learnt that answer? Who am I? Ven. My Emperor: the man I love next Heaven. If I said more, I think 'twere scarce a sin; You're all that's good and noble. Ant. You will not leave me, then? Ven. All that's wretched. "Twas too presuming То say I would not but I dare not leave you; So soon, when I so far have come to see you. Ant. Now thou hast seen me, art thou satisfied? For, if a friend, thou hast beheld enough; And, if a foe, too much. Ven. Look, Emperor, this is no common dew: I have not wept these forty years; but now My mother comes afresh into my eyes; I cannot help her softness. Ant. Sure there's contagion' in the tears of friends; See, I have caught it too. Believe me, 'tis not For my own griefs, but thine Ven. Emperor. - nay, father Ant. Emperor! why that's the style of victory. The conquering soldier, red with unfelt wounds, Salutes his general so: but never more Shall that sound reach my ears. Ant. Thou favor'st me, and speak'st not half thou think'st; For Julius fought it out, and lost it fairly: But Antony Ven. Ant. Nay, stop not. Antony (Well, thou wilt have it) - like a coward fled, Fled while his soldiers fought; fled first, Ventidius. I did. Ventidius. I know thy meaning. Ven. 2 * Julius Cæsar. Fortune came smiling to my youth, and wooed it, Fate could not ruin me; till I took pains, And worked against my fortune, chid her from me, Ven. You are too sensible already Of what you've done, too conscious of your failings; And learnt to scorn it here; which now I do The cost of keeping. Ven. Cæsar thinks not so; He'll thank you for the gift he could not take. You would be killed like Tully,* would you? Do Ant. No, I can kill myself; and so resolve. Ven. I can die with you, too, when time shall serve ; But fortune calls upon us now to live, To fight, to conquer. Ant. Sure thou dream'st, Ventidius. Ven. No, 'tis you dream; you sleep away your hours In desperate sloth, miscalled philosophy. Up, up, for honor's sake; twelve legions wait you, Marcus Tullius Cicero, a distinguished Roman orator, was born 106 B. C He was slain by a party of soldiers, agents of Antony, B. C. 43. And long to call you Chief. By painful journeys Ant. Why didst thou mock my hopes with promised aids, To double my despair? They're mutinous? Ven. There's but one way shut up - how came I hither! Ant. I will not stir. Ven. A better reason. Ant. They would perhaps desire I have never used My soldiers to demand a reason of My actions. Why did they refuse to march? Ven. They said they would not fight for Cleopatra. Ven. They said they would not fight for Cleopatra. Ant. You grow presumptuous. Ven. I take the privilege of plain love to speak. Ant. Plain love! Plain arrogance, plain insolence! Thy men are cowards; thou an envious traitor; Who, under seeming honesty, hast vented Which none else durst have done. But had I been, That name, which I disdain to speak again, I needed not have sought your abject fortunes, A traitor then-a glorious, happy traitor! Ant. I've been too passionate. Ven. Forgive me, soldier; You thought me false; Thought my old age betrayed you. Kill me, sir; Pray kill me; yet you need not Has left your sword no work. Ant. your unkindness I did not think so; I said it in my rage: pr'ythee, forgive me. Of what I could not hear? Ven. No prince but you Could merit that sincerity I used; Nor durst another man have ventured it. Ant. Thou shalt behold me once again in iron; And, at the head of our old troops, that beat The Parthians, cry aloud, Come, follow me! Ven. O, now I hear my Emperor! In that word Octavius fell. Methinks you breathe |