Page:All for love- or, The world well lost. A tragedy as it is acted at the Theatre-Royal; and written in imitation of Shakespeare's stile. By John Dryden, servant to His Majesty (IA allforloveorworl00indryd).pdf/45

But holds from Virtue nothing.

Ven.Has he courage?

Ant.But just enough to season him from Coward.
O, 'tis the coldest youth upon a Charge,
The most deliberate fighter! if he ventures
(As in Illyria once they say he did
To storm a Town) 'tis when he cannot chuse,
When all the World have fixt their Eyes upon him;
And then he lives on that for seven years after,
But, at a close revenge he never fails.

Ven.I heard, you challeng'd him.

Ant.I did, Ventidius.
What think'st thou was his answer? 'twas so tame,———
He said he had more wayes than one to dye;
I had not.

Ven.Poor!

Ant.He has more wayes than one;
But he would chuse 'em all before that one.

Ven.He first would chuse an Ague, or a Fever:

Ant.No: it must be an Ague, not a Fever;
He has not warmth enough to dye by that.

Ven.Or old Age, and a Bed.

Ant.I, there's his choice.
He would live, like a Lamp, to the last wink,
And crawl upon the utmost verge of life:
O Hercules! Why should a Man like this,
Who dares not trust his fate for one great action,
Be all the care of Heav'n? Why should he Lord it
O're Fourscore thousand Men, of whom, each one
Is braver than himself?

Ven.You conquer'd for him:
Philippi knows it: there you shar'd with him
That Empire, which your Sword made all your own.

Ant.Fool that I was, upon my Eagles Wings
I bore this Wren, till I was tir'd with soaring,
And now he mounts above me.
Good Heav'ns, Is this, is this the Man who braves me?
Who bids my age make way: drives me before him,
To the World's ridge, and sweeps me off like rubbish?

Ven.Sir, we lose time; the Troops are mounted all.

Ant.