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.

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