Cleo.
Where is he^{9 note}

Char.
I did not see him since.

Cleo.
See where he is, who's with him, what he does:
I did not send you^{1 note}

Char.
Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly,
You do not hold the method to enforce
The like from him.

Cleo.
What should I do, I do not?

Char.
In each thing give him way, cross him in nothing.

Cleo.
Thou teachest like a fool: the way to lose him.

Char.
Tempt him not so too far: I wish, forbear;
In time we hate that which we often fear. Enter Antony.
But here comes Antony.

Cleo.
I am sick, and sullen.

Ant.
I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose,—

Cleo.
Help me away, dear Charmian, I shall fall;
It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature
Will not sustain it^{2 note}


.

Ant.
Now, my dearest queen,—

Cleo.
Pray you, stand further from me.

Ant.
What's the matter?

Cleo.
I know, by that same eye, there's some good news.
What says the married woman?—You may go;
'Would, she had never given you leave to come!
Let her not say, 'tis I that keep you here,
I have no power upon you; hers you are.

Ant.
The gods best know,—

Cleo.
O, never was there queen
So mightily betray'd! Yet, at the first,
I saw the treasons planted.

Ant.
Cleopatra,—

Cleo.
Why should I think, you can be mine, and true,
Though you in swearing shake the throned gods^{3 note}


,
Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness,
To be entangled with those mouth-made vows,
Which break themselves in swearing!

Ant.
Most sweet queen,—

Cleo.
Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going.

But bid farewell, and go: when you sued staying,
Then was the time for words: No going then;—
Eternity was in our lips, and eyes;
Bliss in our brows' bent^{4 note}
; none our parts so poor,
But was a race of heaven^{5 note}

Ant.
How now, lady!

Cleo.
I would, I had thy inches; thou should'st know,
There were a heart in Egypt.

Ant.
Hear me, queen:
The strong necessity of time commands
Our services a while; but my full heart
Remains in use^{6 note}

And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge
By any desperate change: My more particular,
And that which most with you should safe my going^{7 note}

Cleo.
Though age from folly could not give me freedom,
It does from childishness:—Can Fulvia die^{8 note}

Ant.
She's dead, my queen:
Look here, and, at thy sovereign leisure, read
The garboils she awak'd^{9 note}

Cleo.
O most false love!
Where be the sacred vials thou should'st fill
With sorrowful water^{2 note}

Ant.
Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know
The purposes I bear; which are, or cease,
As you shall give the advice: By the fire^{3 note}

,
That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence,
Thy soldier, servant; making peace, or war,
As thou affect'st.

Cleo.
Cut my lace, Charmian, come;—
But let it be.—I am quickly ill, and well:
So Antony loves^{4 note}

Ant.
My precious queen, forbear;
And give true evidence to his love, which stands
An honourable trial.

Cleo.
So Fulvia told me.
I pr'ythee, turn aside, and weep for her;
Then bid adieu to me, and say, the tears
Belong to Egypt^{5 note}: Good now, play one scene
Of excellent dissembling; and let it look
Like perfect honour.

Ant.
You'll heat my blood: no more.

Cleo.
You can do better yet; but this is meetly.

Ant.
Now, by my sword* ^note,—

Cleo.
And target,—Still he mends;
But this is not the best: Look, pr'ythee, Charmian,
How this Herculean Roman^{6 note} does become
The carriage of his chafe.

Ant.
I'll leave you, lady.

Cleo.
Courteous lord, one word.
Sir, you and I must part,—but that's not it:
Sir, you and I have lov'd,—but there's not it;
That you know well: Something it is I would,—
O, my oblivion is a very Antony,
And I am all forgotten^{7 note}

Ant.
But that your royalty
Holds idleness your subject, I should take you
For idleness itself^{8 note}

Cleo.
'Tis sweating labour,
To bear such idleness so near the heart,
As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me;
Since my becomings kill me^{9 note}

Ant.
Let us go. Come;
Our separation so abides, and flies,
That thou, residing here^{2 note}

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