Can.
NAY, but this dotage of our General
O'erflows 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 of his breast, disowns all temper,
And is become the bellows and the fan,
To cool a gipsy's passions. Look, they come. (Flourish) Enter Antony, Cleopatra, and their Train. Eunuchs fanning her.
Take but good note, and you shall see in him
The triple pillar of the world transform'd
Into a wanton's fool. Behold!

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.

Ant.
Then must thou needs find out new Heaven, new earth. Enter an Attendant.

Attend.
News, my good lord, from Rome.

Ant.
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 Ægypt'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! (Calling.)

Ant.
Let Rome in Tyber melt, and the wide arch
Of the rang'd empire fall! Here is my space:
Kingdoms are clay; the nobleness of life
Is, to do thus. (kisses her hand.)

Cle.
Excellent falsehood!
Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her?
I seem the fool I am not; Antony
Will be himself.

Ant.
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 ambassadors.

Ant
Fy, 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. Come, come, my queen!—
Speak not to us. (To the Attendant.) [Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra, and Train.

Philo.
Triumphant lady!—But, since messengers
From many his contriving friends, in Rome,
Petition his return, now Antony
Must leave her utterly.

Can.
Never; he will not.
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety: Other women cloy
The appetites they feed; but she makes hungry,
Where most she satisfies.

Philo.
I am full sorry that he so approves
The common liar, who, we oft have heard,
Thus speaks of him at Rome. But I will hope
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy! [Exeunt, severally. Scene 2 SCENE—Alexandria. A Room in Cleopatra's Palace. Enter Antony, with a Messenger; Attendants following.

Mess.
Fulvia, thy wife, first came into the field.

Ant.
Against my brother Lucius?

Mess.
Ay:
But soon that war had end; and the time's state
Made friends of them, joining their force 'gainst Cæsar;

Whose better issue in the war from Italy,
Upon the first encounter, drave them.

Ant.
Well,
What worst?

Mess.
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, tho' in his tale lie death,
I hear him, as he flatter'd.

Mess.
Labienus
Hath, with his Parthian force, extended Asia.
His conquering banner from Euphrates shook,
From Syria to Lydia, and Ionia;
Whilst—

Ant.
Antony, thou would'st say,—

Mess.
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.
From Sicyon how the news? Speak there.

Mess.
The man from Sicyon.—Is there such a one?

Attend.
He stays upon your will. (Looking out.)

Ant.
Let him appear:—And fare thee well awhile. (To Messenger.)

Mess.
At your noble pleasure. [Exit.

Ant.
These strong Æyptian fetters I must break.
Or lose myself in dotage. Enter a Second Messenger.
What are you?

Mes.
Fulvia, thy wife, is dead.

Ant.
Where died she?

Mes.
In Sicyon:

Her length of sickness, with what else, more serious,
Importeth thee to know, this tells. (Gives a letter.)

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: She's good, being lost:
The hand could pluck her back, that forc'd her on.
I must from this enchanting queen break off;
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,
My idleness doth hatch. How now! Enobarbus! Enter Enobarbus.

Eno.

What's your pleasue, Sir?

Ant.

I must hence; hence with haste.

Eno.

Why, then, we kill all our women. 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. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, dies instantly. I have seen her die twenty times, upon a far poorer occasion.

Ant.

She is cunning, past man's thought. Fulvia is dead.

Eno.

Fulvia!

Ant.

Dead.

Eno.

Why, Sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. If there were no more women but Fulvia, then were the case to be lamented:—the tears live in an onion that should water this sorrow.

Ant.
No more light answers. Let our officers
Have notice what we purpose: I shall break
The cause of our expedience to the queen.
Say, our pleasure,
To such whose place is under us, requires
Our quick removal hence.

Eno.
I shall do't. [Exeunt.

Scene 3 SCENE—A Room in Cleopatra's Palace. Cleopatra, Charmion, Iras, and Alexas, discover'd.

Cle.
Where is he?

Char.
I did not see him since.

Cle. (To Alexas.)
See where he is, who's with him, what he does.—
I did not send you. If you find him sad,
Say, I am dancing; if in mirth, report
That I am sudden sick. Quick, and return. [Exit Alexas.

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

Cle
What should I do I do not?

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

Cle.
Thou teachest like a fool;—the way to lose him

Char.
Tempt him not so too far. Enter Antony.
But here comes Antony.

Cle.
I am sick, and sullen. (to Charmion aside.)

Ant
I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose.

Cle.
Help me away, dear Charmion, I shall fall;
It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature
Will not sustain it.

Ant.
Now, my dearest queen,—

Cle.
Pray you, stand farther from me.

Ant.
What's the matter?

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

Ant.
The gods best know,—

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

Ant.
Cleopatra,—

Cle.
Why should I think you can be mine, and true,
Though you, in swearing, shake the throned gods,
Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness,
To be entangl'd with those mouth-made vows,
Which break themselves in swearing!

Ant
Most sweet queen!

Cle.
Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going;
But, bid farewel, and go; when you su'd staying,
Then was the time for words. No going then;
Eternity was in our lips and eyes;
Bliss in our brows, and none our parts so poor,
But was a race of Heaven.

Ant.
Hear me, queen;
The strong necessity of time commands
Our services awhile; but my full heart
Remains in use with you. Our Italy
Shines o'er with civil swords; my more particular,
And that which most with you should safe my going,
Is Fulvia's death.

Cle.
Her death!—Can Fulvia die?

Ant.
She's dead, my queen.

Cle.
O, most false love!
Where be the sacred vials thou should'st fill

With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see,
In Fulvia's death, how mine shall be receiv'd.

Ant.
Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know
The purposes I bear; which are, or cease,
As you shall give advice. Now, by the fire
That quickens Nilus' slime, I go out hence
Thy soldier, servant; making peace, or war,
As thou affect'st.

Cle.
Cut my lace, Charmion; come;
But let it be; I am quickly ill, and well,
So Antony loves.

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

Cle
So was Fulvia told:—
I pr'ythee, turn aside, and weep for her,
Then bid adieu to me, and say, the tears
Belong to Ægypt. Good now, play one scene
Of excellent dissembling: and let it look
Like perfect honour.

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

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

Ant.
Now, by my sword,—

Cle.
And target,—still he mends;
But this is not the best. Look, pr'ythee, Charmion,
How this Herculean Roman does become
The carriage of his chafe.

Ant.
I'll leave you, lady.

Cle.
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.

Ant.
But that your majesty
Holds idleness your subject, I should take you
For idleness itself.

Cle.
Your honour calls you hence:
Therefore be deaf to my unpity'd folly,
And all the gods go with you! On your sword
Sit laurell'd victory; and smooth success
Be strew'd before your feet!

Ant.
Let us go:—Come on;
Our separation so abides, and flies,
That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me,
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. [Exeunt severally. Scene 4 SCENE—Rome. A Room in Cæsar's Palace. Enter Octavius Cæsar, Lepidus, and their Trains.

Cæs.
You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know,
It is not Cæsar's natural vice to hate
Our great competitor. From Alexandria
This is the news; He fishes, drinks, and wastes
The lamps of night in revel; is not more man-like
Than Cleopatra; nor the queen of Ptolemy
More womanly than he; hardly gave audience, or
Vouchaf'd to think he had partners. You shall find there
A man, who is the abstract of all faults,
That all men follow.

Lep.
I must not think there are
Evils enough to darken all his goodness.
His faults, in him, seem as hereditary
Rather than purchased; what he cannot change,
Than what he chooses.

Cæs.
You are too indulgent. Grant it not amiss
To give a kingdom for a mirth, to sit
And keep the turn of tipling with a slave;
To reel the streets at noon; say this becomes him;
(As his composure must be rare, indeed,

Whom these things cannot blemish;) Yet is Antony
No way excused; for to confound such time,
That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud
As our state, with his own,—'tis to be chid
As we rate boys, who, ripening into knowledge,
Pawn their experience to their present pleasure,
And so rebel to judgment. Enter a Messenger.

Lep.
Here's more news.

Mess.
Pompey is strong at sea;
And, it appears, he is belov'd of those
That only have fear'd Cæsar: to the ports
The discontents repair, and men's opinions
Give him much wrong'd. Enter another Messenger.

Mess.
Cæsar, I bring thee word,
Menacrates and Menas, famous pirates,
Make the sea serve them:
No vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon
Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes more
Than could his war resisted.

Cæs.
Antony,
Leave thy lascivious wassels: when thou once
From Mutina wert beaten, at thy heel
Did Famine follow; whom thou fought'st against,
Though daintily brought up, with patience more
Than savages could suffer; nor disdain'd
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge;
Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets,
The bark of trees thou browsed'st—and all this
Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek
So much as lank'd not.

Lep.
It is pity of him.

Cæs.
Let his shames quickly
Drive him to Rome. Time is it that we twain
Did shew ourselves i'the field; and, to that end,
Assemble we immediate council: Pompey
Thrives in our idleness.

Lep.
To-morrow, Cæsar,
I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly,
Both what by sea and land I can be able,
To front this present time.

Cæs.
Till which encounter
It is my business too. Farewel.

Lep.
Farewel, my Lord. What you shall know, meantime,
Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, Sir,
To let me be partaker.

Cæs.
Doubt not, Sir;
I knew it for my bond. [Exeunt. Scene 5 SCENE.—Alexandria.—A Room in the Palace. Enter Cleopatra, supporting herself on Iras; Charmion and Mardion following.

Cle.
Charmion,—

Char.
Madam.

Cle.
That I might sleep out this great gap of time
My Antony is away!

Char.
You think of him
Too much.

Cle.
O, Charmion!
Where think'st thou he is now?
Or does he walk, or is he on his horse?
O, happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!
Do bravely, horse! for wot'st thou whom thou mov'st?
The demi-Atlas of the earth, the arm,
And burgonet of man.—He's speaking now,
Or murmuring,—‘Where's my serpent of old Nile?’

Enter Alexas.

Alex.
Sovereign of Ægypt, hail!

Cle.
How much art thou unlike Mark Antony!
Yet, coming from him, that great med'cine hath
With its tinct gilded thee.
What tidings of my brave Mark Antony?

Alex.
Last thing he did, dear queen,
He kiss'd, the last of many double kisses,
This orient pearl;—his speech sticks in my heart.

Cle.
Mine ear must pluck it thence.

Alex.
Good friend, quoth he,
Say—the firm Roman to great Ægypt sends
This—[giving a pearl.]
To mend the petty present, I will piece
Her opulent throne with kingdoms: All the East,
Say thou, shall call her mistress.—So he nodded,
And soberly did mount an arm-gaunt steed,
That neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoken
Was dumb'd by him.

Cle.
What, was he sad, or merry?

Alex.
Like to the time o' the year, between the extremes
Of hot and cold; he was nor sad, nor merry.

Cle.
O, well directed disposition! note him,
Note him, good Charmion, 'tis the man; but note him:
He was not sad, for he would shine on those
That make their looks by his; he was not merry,
Which seeem'd to tell them his remembrance lay
In Ægypt, with his joy; but between both.
O, heavenly mingle! Be'st thou sad, or merry,
The violence of either thee becomes,
So does it no man else. Met'st thou my posts?

Alex.
Ay, Madam, twenty several messengers.
Why do you send so thick?

Cle.
Who's born that day
When I forget to send to Antony,
Shall die a beggar. Ink and paper, Charmion;—
He shall have every day a several greeting,
Or I'll unpeople Ægypt. [Exeunt.

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