_Vent._ Was ever such a strife of sullen honour! } Both scorn to be obliged. } } _Dola._ O, she has touched him in the tenderest part; } See how he reddens with despite and shame, } _Apart._ To be out-done in generosity! } } _Vent._ See, how he winks! how he dries up a tear, } That fain would fall! } _Ant._ Octavia, I have heard you, and must praise The greatness of your soul; But cannot yield to what you have proposed: For I can ne'er be conquered but by love; And you do all for duty. You would free me, And would be dropt at Athens; was't not so? _Octav._ It was, my lord. _Ant._ Then I must be obliged To one who loves me not; who, to herself, May call me thankless and ungrateful man:-- I'll not endure it; no. _Vent._ I am glad it pinches there. [_Aside._ _Octav._ Would you triumph o'er poor Octavia's virtue? That pride was all I had to bear me up; That you might think you owed me for your life, And owed it to my duty, not my love. I have been injured, and my haughty soul Could brook but ill the man, who slights my bed. _Ant._ Therefore you love me not. _Octav._ Therefore, my lord, I should not love you. _Ant._ Therefore you would leave me? _Octav._ And therefore I should leave you--if I could. _Dola._ Her soul's too great, after such injuries, To say she loves; and yet she lets you see it. Her modesty and silence plead her cause. _Ant._ O, Dolabella, which way shall I turn? I find a secret yielding in my soul; But Cleopatra, who would die with me, Must she be left? pity pleads for Octavia; But does it not plead more for Cleopatra? _Vent._ Justice and pity both plead for Octavia; For Cleopatra, neither. One would be ruined with you; but she first Had ruined you: The other, you have ruined, And yet she would preserve you. In every thing their merits are unequal. _Ant._ O, my distracted soul! _Octav._ Sweet heaven compose it!-- Come, come, my lord, if I can pardon you, Methinks you should accept it. Look on these; Are they not yours? or stand they thus neglected, As they are mine? go to him, children, go; Kneel to him, take him by the hand, speak to him; For you may speak, and he may own you too, Without a blush; and so he cannot all His children: go, I say, and pull him to me, And pull him to yourselves, from that bad woman. You, Agrippina, hang upon his arms; And you, Antonia, clasp about his waist: If he will shake you off, if he will dash you Against the pavement, you must bear it, children; For you are mine, and I was born to suffer. [_Here the Children go to him, &c._ _Vent._ Was ever sight so moving?--Emperor! _Dola._ Friend! _Octav._ Husband! _Both Child._ Father!