Philo.
Philo.
Nay, but this dotage of our general's
O'er-flows the measure: those his goodly eyes,
That o'er the files and musters of the war
Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn,
The office and devotion of their view
Upon a tawny front: his captain's heart,
Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst
The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper;
And is become the bellows, and the fan,
-- 264 --
To cool a gipsy's lust.—Look, where they come:
Flourish. Enter Antony, Cleopatra, and their Trains; Eunuchs fanning her.
Take but good note, and you shall see in him
The triple pillar of the world transform'd
Into a strumpet's fool: behold and see.
Cle.
If it be love indeed, tell me how much.
Ant.
There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd.
Cle.
I'll set a bourn how far to be belov'd.
* noteAnt.
Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth.
Enter an Attendant.
Att.
News, my good lord, from Rome.
Ant.
'T grates me:—The sum.
Cle.
Nay, hear them Antony:
Fulvia, perchance, is angry; or, who knows
If the scarce-bearded Cæsar have not sent
His powerful mandate to you, Do this, or this;
Take in that kingdom, and enfranchise that;
Perform't, or else we damn thee.
Ant.
How, my love!
Cle.
Perchance? Nay, and most like:—
You must not stay here longer, your dismission
Is come from Cæsar; therefore hear it, Antony—
Where's Fulvia's process?—Cæsar's, I would say?—Both?
Call in the messengers.—As I am Egypt's queen,
Thou blushest, Antony; and that blood of thine
Is Cæsar's homager: so thy cheek pays shame,
When shrill-tongu'd Fulvia scolds.—The messengers.
Ant.
Let Rome in Tyber melt! and the wide arch
Of the rang'd empire fall! Here is my space;
Kingdoms are clay: our dungy earth alike
Feeds beast as man: the nobleness of life
Is, to do thus; when such a mutual pair,
-- 265 --
And such a twain can do't; in which, I bind,
On pain of punishment, the world to weet
We stand up peerless.
Cle.
Excellent falshood!
Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her?—
I seem the fool I am not; Antony
Will be himself.
Ant.
But, stir'd by Cleopatra,—
Now, for the love of love, and his soft hours,
Let's not confound the time with conference harsh:
There's not a minute of our lives should stretch
Without some pleasure now: what sport to-night?
Cle.
Hear the embassadors.
Ant.
Fie, wrangling queen!
Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh,
To weep; whose every passion fully strives
To make itself, in thee, fair and admir'd!
No messenger, but thine; and all alone,
To-night, we'll wander through the streets, and note
The qualities of people. Come, my queen;
Last night you did desire it: Speak not to us.
[Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra, and Train.
Dem.
Is Cæsar with Antonius priz'd so slight?
Phi.
Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony,
He comes too short of that great property
Which still should go with Antony.
Dem.
I am full sorry,
That he approves the common liar, who
Thus speaks of him at Rome: but I will hope
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy!
[Exeunt.
note&blquo;SCENE II.
† [Footnote:
The same. Another Room.
&blquo;Enter Alexas, Iras, Charmian, Soothsayer, and others.
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;—Alexas, sweet Alexas,
&blquo;Most any thing Alexas, nay, almost
&blquo;Most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer
&blquo;That you prais'd so to the queen?
-- 266 --
&blquo;O, that I knew this husband, which, you say,
&blquo;Must charge his horns with garlands!
&blquo;Ale.
&blquo;Soothsayer,—
&blquo;Soo.
&blquo;Your will!
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;Is this the man?—Is't you, sir, that know things?
&blquo;Soo.
&blquo;In nature's infinite book of secrecy
&blquo;A little I can read.
&blquo;Ale.
&blquo;Shew him your hand.
&blquo;Enter Enobarbus.
&blquo;Eno.
&blquo;Bring in the banquet quickly; wine enough,
&blquo;Cleopatra's health to drink.
[To some within.
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;Good sir, give me good fortune.
&blquo;Soo.
&blquo;I make not, but foresee.
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;Pray then, foresee me one.
&blquo;Soo.
&blquo;You shall be yet far fairer than you are.
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;He means, in flesh.
&blquo;Ira.
&blquo;No, you shall paint when you are old.
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;Wrinkles forbid!
&blquo;Ale.
&blquo;Vex not his prescience, be attentive.
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;Hush!
[To Iras.
&blquo;Soo.
&blquo;You shall be more beloving, than belov'd.
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;I had rather heat my liver with drinking.
&blquo;Ale.
&blquo;Nay, hear him.
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;Good now, some excellent fortune: Let me
be marry'd to three kings in a forenoon, and widow
them all: let me have a child at fifty, to whom Herod
of Jewry may do homage: find me to marry with
Octavius Cæsar, and companion me with my mistress.&brquo;
&blquo;Soo.
&blquo;You shall outlive the lady whom you serve.
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;O excellent! I love long life better than figs.&brquo;
&blquo;Soo.
&blquo;You have seen and prov'd a fairer former fortune
&blquo;Than that which is to approach.
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;Then, belike, my children shall have no
names: Pr'ythee, how many boys and wenches must
I have?&brquo;
&blquo;Soo.
&blquo;If every of your wishes had a womb,
&blquo;And fertile every wish, a million.
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch.
-- 267 --
&blquo;Ale.
&blquo;You think, none but your sheets are privy to
your wishes.&brquo;
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;Nay, come, tell Iras hers.&brquo;
&blquo;Ale.
&blquo;We'll know all our fortunes.&brquo;
&blquo;Eno.
&blquo;Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night,
shall be—drunk to bed.&brquo;
&blquo;Ira.
&blquo;There's a palm presages chastity, if nothing
else.&brquo;
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;E'en as the o'er-flowing Nilus presageth famine.&brquo;
&blquo;Ira.
&blquo;Go, you wild bed-fellow, you cannot soothsay.&brquo;
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prognostication,
I cannot scratch mine ear.—Pr'ythee, tell
her but a worky-day fortune.&brquo;
&blquo;Soo.
&blquo;Your fortunes are alike.&brquo;
&blquo;Ira.
&blquo;But how, but how? give me particulars.&brquo;
&blquo;Soo.
&blquo;I have said.&brquo;
&blquo;Ira.
&blquo;Am I not an inch of fortune better than she?&brquo;
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better
than I, where would you choose it?&brquo;
&blquo;Ira.
&blquo;Not in my husband's nose.&brquo;
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;Our worser thoughts heavens mend!—Alexas
—come, his fortune, his fortune.—O, let him marry
a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis, I beseech thee!
And let her die too, and give him a worse! and let
worse follow worse, till the worst of all follow him
laughing to his grave, fifty-fold a cuckold! Good Isis,
hear me this prayer, though thou deny me a matter of
more weight; good Isis, I beseech thee!&brquo;
&blquo;Ira.
&blquo;Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the
people! for, as it is a heart-breaking to see a handsome
man loose-wiv'd, so it is a deadly sorrow to behold
a foul knave uncuckolded; therefore, dear Isis,
keep decorum, and fortune him accordingly!&brquo;
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;Amen.&brquo;
&blquo;Ale.
&blquo;Lo, now! if it lay in their hands to make
me a cuckold, they would make themselves whores,
but they'd do't.&brquo;
&blquo;Eno.
&blquo;Hush! here comes Antony.&brquo;
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;Not he, the queen.&brquo;
-- 268 --
Enter Cleopatra, attended.
&blquo;Cle.
&blquo;Saw you my lord?&brquo;
&blquo;Eno.
&blquo;No, lady.&brquo;
&blquo;Cle.
&blquo;Was he not here?&brquo;
&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;No, madam.&brquo;
&blquo;Cle.
&blquo;He was dispos'd to mirth; but on the sudden
A Roman thought hath strook him.—Enobarbus,—&brquo;
&blquo;Eno.
&blquo;Madam.&brquo;
&blquo;Cle.
&blquo;Seek him, and bring him hither.—Where's
Alexas?&brquo;
&blquo;Ale.
&blquo;Here, lady, at your service.—My lord approaches.&brquo;
Enter Antony, with a Messenger; Attendants following.
&blquo;Cle.
&blquo;We will not look upon him; go with us.
&blquo;[Exeunt Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Alexas, Iras,
Charmian, Soothsayer, and the rest.
Mes.
Fulvia thy wife first came into the field.
Ant.
Against my brother Lucius?
Mes.
Ay: but soon
That war had end, and the time's state made friends
Of them, jointing their forces against Cæsar;
Whose better issue in the war from Italy,
Upon the first encounter, drave them.
Ant.
Well,
What worst?
Mes.
The nature of bad news infects the teller.
Ant.
When it concerns the fool, or coward. On:
Things, that are past, are done with me: 'Tis thus;
Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death,
I hear him as he flatter'd* note
Mes.
Labienus
(This is stiff news)
Hath with his Parthian force, through extended Asia,
From Eúphrates his conquering banner shook,
From Syria, to Lydia, and Ionia;
Whilst—
-- 269 --
Ant.
Antony, thou would'st say,—
Mes.
O my lord!
Ant.
Speak to me home, mince not the general tongue;
Name Cleopatra as she's call'd in Rome:
Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase; and taunt my faults
With such full licence, as both truth and malice
Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds,
When our quick winds lie still; and our ills told us,
Is as our earing. Fare thee well a while.
Mes.
At your noble pleasure.
[Exit.
Ant.
From Sicyon how the news? Speak there.
1. A.
The man from Sicyon,—Is there such a one?
2. A.
He stays upon your will.
Ant.
Let him appear.—
These strong Egyptian fetters I must break,
Enter another Messenger.
Or lose myself in dotage.—What are you?
Mes.
Fulvia thy wife is dead.
Ant.
Where dy'd she?
Mes.
In Sicyon:
Her length of sickness, with what else more serious
Importeth thee to know, this bears.
Ant.
Forbear me.
[Exit Messenger.
There's a great spirit gone: thus did I desire it:
What our contempts do often hurl from us,
We wish it ours again; the present pleasure,
By revolution lowering, does become
The opposite of itself: she's good, being gone† note;
The hand could pluck her back, that shov'd her on.
I must from this enchanting queen break off;
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,
My idleness doth hatch—Ho! Enobarbus!
Enter Enobarbus.
Ene.
What's your pleasure, sir?
Ant.
I must with haste from hence.
-- 270 --
Eno.
Why, then we kill all our women: we see how
mortal an unkindness is to them; if they suffer our departure,
death's the word.
Ant.
I must be gone.
Eno.
Under a compelling occasion, let women die:
it were pity to cast them away for nothing; though,
between them and a great cause, they should be esteem'd
nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this,
dies instantly; I have seen her die twenty times upon
far poorer moment: I do think, there is mettle in death,
which commits some loving act upon her, she hath such
a celerity in dying.
Ant.
She is cunning past man's thought.
Eno.
Alack, sir, no; her passions are made of nothing
but the finest part of pure love: we cannot call her winds
and waters, sighs and tears; they are greater storms and
tempest than almanacs can report: this cannot be cunning
in her; if it be, she makes a shower of rain as well
as Jove.
Ant.
Would I had never seen her!
Eno.
O, sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece
of work; which not to have been blest withal, would
have discredited your travel.
Ant.
Fulvia is dead.
Eno.
Sir?
Ant.
Fulvia is dead.
Eno.
Fulvia?
Ant.
Dead.
&blquo;Eno.
&blquo;Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice* note.
When it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a
man from him, it shews to man the tailors of the earth;
comforting therein; that, when old robes are worn
out, there are members to make new. If there were
no more women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a
cut, and the case to be lamented: this grief is crown'd
with consolation; your old smock brings forth a new
petticoat: and, indeed, the tears live in an onion,
that should water this sorrow.&brquo;
-- 271 --
Ant.
The business she hath broached in the state
Cannot endure my absence.
&blquo;Eno.
&blquo;And the business you have broached here cannot† note
be without you; especially that of Cleopatra's,
which wholly depends on your abode.&brquo;
Ant.
&blquo;No more light answers.&brquo; Let our officers
Have notice what we purpose: I shall break
The cause of our expedience to the queen,
And get her love to part. For not alone
The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches,
Do strongly speak to us; but the letters too
Of many our contriving friends in Rome.
Petition us at home: Sextus Pompeius
Hath given the dare to Cæsar, and commands
The empire of the sea: our slippery people
(Whose love is never link'd to the deserver,
‡ note'Till his deserts are past) begin to throw
Pompey the great, and all his dignities,
Upon his son; who, high in name and power,
Higher than both in blood and life, stands up
For the main soldier; whose quality, going on,
The sides o'the world may danger: much is breeding,
Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life,
And not a serpent's poison. Say, our pleasure,
To such whose place is under us, requires
Our quick remove from hence.
Eno.
I shall do't.
[Exeunt.
John Bell [1774], Bell's Edition of Shakespeare's Plays, As they are now performed at the Theatres Royal in London; Regulated from the Prompt Books of each House By Permission; with Notes Critical and Illustrative; By the Authors of the Dramatic Censor (Printed for John Bell... and C. Etherington [etc.], York) [word count] [S10401].
