_Cleo._ Vain promiser! Lead me, my Charmion; nay, your hand too, Iras. My grief has weight enough to sink you both. Conduct me to some solitary chamber, And draw the curtains round; Then leave me to myself, to take alone My fill of grief: There I till death will his unkindness weep; As harmless infants moan themselves asleep. [_Exeunt._ ACT IV. SCENE I. _Enter_ ANTONY _and_ DOLABELLA. _Dola._ Why would you shift it from yourself, on me? Can you not tell her, you must part? _Ant._ I cannot. I could pull out an eye, and bid it go, And t'other should not weep. Oh, Dolabella, How many deaths are in this word, _depart_! I dare not trust my tongue to tell her so: One look of hers would thaw me into tears, And I should melt, till I were lost again. _Dola._ Then let Ventidius; He's rough by nature. _Ant._ Oh, he'll speak too harshly; He'll kill her with the news: Thou, only thou. _Dola._ Nature has cast me in so soft a mould, That but to hear a story, feigned for pleasure, Of some sad lover's death, moistens my eyes, And robs me of my manhood. I should speak So faintly, with such fear to grieve her heart, She'd not believe it earnest. _Ant._ Therefore,--therefore Thou only, thou art fit: Think thyself me; And when thou speak'st, (but let it first be long) Take off the edge from every sharper sound, And let our parting he as gently made, As other loves begin: Wilt thou do this? _Dola._ What you have said, so sinks into my soul, That, if I must speak, I shall speak just so. _Ant._ I leave you then to your sad task: Farewell. I sent her word to meet you. [_Goes to the door, and comes back._ I forgot; Let her be told, I'll make her peace with mine: Her crown and dignity shall be preserved, If I have power with Caesar.--O, be sure To think on that. _Dola._ Fear not, I will remember. [ANTONY _goes again to the door, and comes back._ _Ant._ And tell her, too, how much I was constrained; I did not this, but with extremest force: Desire her not to hate my memory, For I still cherish hers;--insist on that. _Dola._ Trust me, I'll not forget it. _Ant._ Then that's all. [_Goes out, and returns again._ Wilt thou forgive my fondness this once more? Tell her, though we shall never meet again, If I should hear she took another love, The news would break my heart.--Now I must go; For every time I have returned, I feel My soul more tender; and my next command Would be, to bid her stay, and ruin both. [_Exit._ _Dola._ Men are but children of a larger growth; Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain; And yet the soul, shut up in her dark room, Viewing so clear abroad, at home sees nothing; But, like a mole in earth, busy and blind, Works all her folly up, and casts it outward To the world's open view: Thus I discovered, And blamed the love of ruined Antony; Yet wish that I were he, to be so ruined. _Enter_ VENTIDIUS _above._