_Cleo._ You flatter me. But, 'tis your nation's vice: All of your country Are flatterers, and all false. Your friend's like you. I'm sure, he sent you not to speak these words. _Dola._ No, madam; yet he sent me-- _Cleo._ Well, he sent you-- _Dola._ Of a less pleasing errand. _Cleo._ How less pleasing? Less to yourself, or me? _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 _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!