I. ANTOïfT

Caesar's slster.

OCTAVIA.

That's unkind.

Had I been nolhing more than Caesar's sister,

Know, I bad still remain'd in Cssar's camp.

But your Oclavia, yoar much injured wife,

ThougU banish'd from your bed, driv'n from your bouse.

In spite of Caesar's sister, still is yours.

Tis true, I bave a beart disdains your coolness,

And prompts me net le seek wbat you should offer;

But a wife's virtuo stiU surmounts tbat pride.

I come to claim you as my own; to show

My duty first, to ask, nay, to beg your kindness;

Your band, my Lord; 'lis mine, and 1 willhave it ^

ANTONY

I fear, Octavia, you bave begg'd my life....

Poorly and basely begg'd it of your brother.

OCTAVU.

Poorly and basely I could never beg, Nor could my brotbergrant....

My bard fortune Subjects me still to your unkind mistakes.

Eut tbe conditions! bave brought are sucb, You need not blush to take. 1 love your bonouf Because 'tis mine. It never sball be said, Octavia's busband was ber brother's slave.

Sir, you are free ; free e'en from ber you loath ;