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.

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