That men's desiring eyes were never wearied.
But hung upon the object: To soft flutes
The silver oars kept time ; and while they played.
The hearing gave new pleasure to the sight ;
And both to thought. "Twas heaven, or somewhat more;
For she so charmed all hearts, that gazing crowds
Stood panting on the shore, and wanted breath
To give their welcome voice.
Then, Dolabella, where was then thy soul ?
Was not thy fury quite disarmed with wonder?
Didst thou not shrink behind me from those eyes
And whisper in my ear — Oh, tell her not
That I accused her with my brother's death?

DoLA. And should my weakness be a plea for yours ?
Mine was an age when love might be excused,
When kindly warmth, and when my springing youth
Made it a debt to nature. Yours —

Vent. Speak boldly.
Yours, he would say, in your declining age,
When no more heat was left but what you forced.
56 JOHN DRYDEN

When all the sap was needful for the trunk,
When it went down, then you constrained the course
And robbed from nature, to supply desire;
In you (I would not use so harsh a word)
Tis but plain dotage.
Ant. Ha!

DoLA. Twas urged too home. —
But yet the loss was private, that I made ;
'Twas but myself I lost: I lost no legions;
I had no world to lose, no people's love.
Ant. This from a friend?

DoLA. Yes, Antony, a true one;
A friend so tender, that each word I speak
Stabs my own heart, before it reach your ear.
Oh, judge me not less kind, because I chide I
To Caesar I excuse you.
