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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