Lep.
GOOD Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed,
And shall become you well, to entreat your Captain
To soft, and gentle speech.

Eno.
I shall entreat him
To answer like himself; if Cæsar move him,
Let Antony look over Cæsar's head,
And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter,
Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard,
I would not shave't to-day.

Lep.
'Tis not a time
For private stomaching.

Eno.
Every time
Serves for the matter that is then born in't.

Lep.
But small to greater matters must give way.

Eno.
Not if the small come first.

Lep.
Your speech is passion:
But, 'pray you, stir no embers up. Here comes
The noble Antony.

Enter Antony, and Canidius.

Eno.
And yonder Cæsar. Enter Cæsar, Agrippa, and Mæcenas.

Ant.
If we compose well here, to Parthia:
Hark you, Canidius! [Speaking aside to Canidius.

Cæs.
I do not know, Mæcenas; ask Agrippa.
Welcome to Rome.

Ant.
Thank you.

Cæs.
Sit.

Ant.
Sit, Sir!

Cæs.
Nay, then—

Lep.
Noble friends,
That which conven'd us, was most great; and let not
A leaner action rend us. What's amiss,
May it be gently heard: When we debate
Our trivial difference loud, we do commit
Murther in healing wounds: Then, noble partners,
(The rather, for I earnestly beseech)
Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms,
Nor curstness grow to the matter.

Ant.
'Tis spoken well:
Were we before our armies, and to fight,
I should do thus.— [They sit—Lepidus in the middle—Antony, Enobarbus, and Canidius on one side—Cæsar, Mæcenas and Agrippa on the other.] (To Cæsar.)
I learn you take things ill, which are not so;
Or being, concern you not.

Cæs.
I must be laugh'd at,
If, or for nothing, or a little, I
Should say myself offended; and with you
Chiefly i'the world; more laugh'd at, that I should

Once name you derogately, when, to sound your name,
It not concern'd me.

Ant.
My being in Ægypt, Cæsar,
What was't to you?

Cæs.
No more than my residing here at Rome
Might be to you in Ægypt: Yet, if you there
Did practise on my state, your being in Ægypt
Might be my question.

Ant.
How intend you, practis'd?

Cæs
You may be pleas'd to catch at mine intent,
By what did here befall: Your wife, and brother,
Made wars upon me; and their contestation
Was theme for you; You were the word of war.

Ant.
You do mistake your business: my brother never
Did urge me in this act;—of this my letters
Before did satisfy you. If you'll patch a quarrel,
(As matter whole you have not to make it with)
It must not be with this.

Cæs.
You praise yourself,
By laying defects of judgment to me; but
You patch'd up your excuses.

Ant.
Not so, not so:
I know you could not lack, I'm certain on't,
Very necessity of this thought that I,
Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he fought,
Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars,
Which fronted mine own peace. As for my wife,
I would you had her spirit in such another:
The third o'the world is yours; which, with a snaffle,
You may pace easy, but not such a wise.

Cæs.
I wrote to you,
When, rioting in Alexandria; you
Did pocket up my letters; and, with taunts,
Did gibe my missive out of audience.

Ant.
Sir,
He fell upon me, 'ere admitted; then
Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want
Of what I was i'the morning; but, next day,
I told him of myself; which was as much
As to have ask'd him pardon: Let this fellow
Be nothing of our strife; if we contend,
Out of our question wipe him.

Cæs.
You have broken
The article of your oath; which you shall never
Have tongue to charge me with.

Lep.
Soft, Cæsar.

Ant.
No,
Lepidus, let him speak:
The honour is sacred which he talks on now,
Supposing that I lack'd it; but, on, Cæsar;—
The article of my oath,—

Cæs.
To lend me arms, and aid, when I requir'd them;
The which you both refus'd.

Ant.
Neglected, rather;
And then, when poison'd hours had bound me up
From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may,
I'll play the penitent to you; but mine honesty
Shall not make poor my greatness: Truth is,—Fulvia,
To have me out of Ægypt, made wars here;
For which myself, the ignorant motive, do
So far ask pardon, as befits mine honour
To stoop in such a case.

Lep.
'Tis nobly spoken,

Cæs.
I do not much mislike the matter, but
The manner of his speech; for't cannot be,
We shall remain in friendship, our conditions
So differing in their acts. Yet, if I knew
What hoop should hold us staunch, from edge to edge
O'the world I would pursue it.

Agr
Give me leave, Cæsar,—

Cæs.
Speak, Agrippa.

Agr.
Thou hast a sister by the mother's side,
Admir'd Octavia: great Mark Antony
Is now a widower.

Cæs.
Say not so, Agrippa.
If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof
Were well deserv'd of rashness.

Ant.
I am not marry'd, Cæsar: let me hear
Agrippa further speak.

Agr.
To hold you in perpetual amity,
With an unslipping knot, take Antony
Octavia to his wife; whose beauty claims
No worse a husband than the best of men:
Whose virtue, and whose general graces, speak
That which none else can utter. By this marriage,
Her love to both
Would each to other, and all loves to both,
Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke;
For 'tis a studied, not a present thought,
By duty ruminated.

Ant.
Will Cæsar speak?

Cæs.
Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd
With what is spoke already.

Ant.
What power is in Agrippa,
If I would say, Agrippa, be it so,
To make this good?

Cæs
The power of Cæsar, and
His power unto Octavia.

Ant.
May I never
To this good purpose, that so fairly shews,
Dream of impediment. [They rise.
Let me have thy hand:
Further this act of grace; and from this hour,
The hearts of brothers govern in our loves,
And sway our great designs!

Cæs.
A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother
Did ever love so dearly: Let her live
To join our kingdoms, and our hearts; and never
Fly off our loves again!

Ant.
I did not think to draw my sword 'gainst Pompey;
For he hath laid strange courtesies, and great,
Of late upon me: I must thank him only,
Lest my remembrance suffer ill report;
At heel of that, defy him.

Lep.
Time calls upon us:
Of us must Pompey presently be sought,
Or else he seeks out us.

Ant.
Where lies he?

Cæs.
About the Mount Misenum.

Ant.
What's his strength
By land?

Cæs.
Great, and encreasing; but, by sea,
He is an absolute master.

Ant.
So is the fame.
Yet, 'ere we put ourselves in arms, dispatch we
The business we have talk'd of.

Cæs.
With most gladness;
And do invite you to my sister's view,
Whither straight I'll lead you.

Ant.
Let us, Lepidus,
Not lack your company.

Lep.
Noble Antony,
Not sickness shall detain me. [Exeunt. Scene 2 SCENE.—Alexandria—A Room in the Palace. Enter Cleopatra, Charmion, Iras, and Alexas.

Cle.
Give me some musick; musick, moody food
Of us that trade in love.—No, let it be.
We'l to the river;—there I will betray

Tawny-finn'd fishes: as I draw them up,
I'll think them every one an Antony,
And say, “Ah! Ha! you're caught.”

Char.
'Twas merry, when
You wager'd on your angling; when your diver
Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, which he
With fervency drew up.

Cle.
That time!—O times!—
I laugh'd him out of patience; and, that night,
I laugh'd him into patience; and, next morn,
Ere the ninth hour, I laugh'd him to his bed;—
Then put my ties and mantles on him, whilst
I wore his sword Phillippan.—O! from Italy;— Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
Madam, Madam,—

Cle.
Antony's dead?—If thou say so,
Villain, thou kill'st thy mistress:—but well, and free,
If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here,
My bluest veins to kiss; a hand that kings
Have lipp'd, and trembl'd, kissing.

Mess.
First, Madam, he is well.

Cle.
Why, there's more gold. But, sirrah, mark; we use
To say, the dead are well; if he be dead,
(And I perceive no goodness in thy face)
Thou should'st come like a fury crown'd with snakes,
Not like a formal man.

Mess.
Wil't please you hear me.

Cle.
I have a mind to spurn thee, 'ere thou speak'st:
Yet, if thou say, Antony lives, is well,
Or friends with Cæsar, or not captive to him,
I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail
Rich pearls upon thee.

Mess.
Madam, he's well.

Cle.
Well said.

Mess.
And friends with Cæsar.

Cle.
Thou art an honest man.

Mess.
Cæsar and he, are greater friends than ever.

Cle.
Make thee a fortune from me.

Mess.
But yet, Madam,—

Cle.
I do not like, but yet; it does allay
The good precedence. 'Pr'ythee, pr'ythee friend,
Pour out thy pack of matter to mine ear,
The good and bad together: He's friends with Cæsar;
In state of health, thou say'st; and, thou say'st, free.

Mess.
Free, Madam? No; I made no such report:
He's—married to Octavia.

Cle.
The most infectious pestilence upon thee!

Mess.
Good Madam, have patience!

Cle.
What say you? hence!

Mess.
Gracious Madam,
I, that do bring the news, made not the match.

Cle.
Say, 'tis not so, a province I will give thee,
And make thy fortunes proud:
And I will boot thee with what gift beside,
Thy modesty can beg.—Come hither, Sir.

Mess.
I have done my duty.

Cle.
Is he married?
I cannot hate thee worse than now I do,
If thou again say, yes.

Mess.
Too sure he is; and, 'ere I quitted Rome,
He and Octavia had embark'd for Athens. [Exit Messenger.

Char.
Good, your Highness, patience.

Cle.
Lead me hence,
I faint: O, Iras, Charmion!—'Tis no matter—
Go to the fellow, good Alexas; bid him
Report the feature of Octavia, her years,

Her Inclination; let him not leave out
The colour of her hair: bring me word quickly. [Exit Alexas.
Let him for ever go! Pity me, Charmion,
But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber. [Exeunt. Scene 3 SCENE—Athens. A Room in Antony's House. Enter Antony, and Octavia.

Ant.
Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that,
That were excusable; that, and thousands more
Of semblable import;—but since we married,
And have dwelt here, in Athens, he hath waged
New wars 'gainst Pompey, made his will, and read it
To public ear;
Spoke scantily of me; when, perforce he could not
But pay me terms of honour, cold, and sickly,
He vented them; most narrow measure lent me:
When the best hint was given him, he not took't,
Or did it from his teeth.

Oct.
O, my good Lord,
Believe not all; or, if you must believe,
Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady,
If this division chance, ne'er stood between,
Praying for both parts:—Husband win, win brother,
Prays, and destroys the prayer; no midway
'Twixt these extremes at all.

Ant.
Gentle Octavia,
Let your best love draw to that point which seeks
Best to preserve it: if I lose mine honour,
I lose myself: better I were not yours,
Than yours so branchless. But, as you requested,
Yourself shall go between us. Meantime, Lady,

I'll raise the preparation of a war
Shall stain your brother; speed you then to Rome,—
So your desires are yours.

Oct.
Thanks to my Lord.
The Jove of power make me most weak, most weak,
Your reconciler! Wars 'twixt you twain would be
As if the world should cleave, and that slain men
Should solder up the rift.

Ant.
Well, well, the ship awaits you in the harbour:
Choose your own company, and command what cost
Your heart has mind to.

Oct.
Oh, my Lord—farewel!

Ant.
The April's in thy eyes;
Thy tongue will not obey thy heart, nor will
Thy heart inform thy tongue: the swan's down feather
Thus stands upon the swell, at full of tide,
And neither way inclines.—Come on, Octavia;
I'll lead thee to the shore. [Exeunt. Scene 4 SCENE—Alexandria. A Room in Cleopatria's Palace. Cleopatra, and Iras, discover'd. Cleopatra pensively reclined on a Couch.

Cle.
Athens may well be proud! it circles, now,
Within its walls, Bellona's paragon;
The man of men;—ay me! the married man.
Would that Mark Antony could see me thus!
Sure he would sigh, for he is noble natur'd,
And bears a tender heart. I know him well—
Ah, no, I know him not; I knew him once,
But, now, 'tis past

Iras.
Let it be past with you—
Forget him, Madam.

Cle.
Never, never, Iras.
Faithless, ungrateful, cruel though he be,
I still must love him. Enter Charmion.
Now, what news, my Charmion?

Char
The man, whom you dispatch'd in trust, to Athens,
Newly return'd, now waits upon your will.

Cle. (Starting up.)
Will Antony be kind?—or, quite forsake me?
Is't life or death? for when he gave his answer,
Fate took the word, and then I died or lived.

Char.
Madam, the Messenger. Enter Messenger.

Cle.
Say,—had'st thou audience
Of great Mark Antony?

Mess.
I found him, Madam,
Encompass'd by a throng that shouted round him:—
When he beheld me struggling through the crowd,
He blush'd, and bade make way.

Cle.
There's comfort yet! (Apart from the Messenger.
Proceed.

Mess.
I told my message,
Just as you gave it, broken and dishearted;
Told him, you only begg'd a last farewel;—
Presented next your letter; which he read,
Then fetch'd an inward groan, and only sigh'd,
As if his heart was breaking. Thus we parted.

Cle. (Apart)
That inward groan gives hopes he may be here,
If but to say farewel. Saw'st thou Octavia?

Mess.
Madam, I did; for, as I reach'd the land,

I view'd her standing at her vessel's prow,
To sail for Italy: our barks approach'd
Almost to contact.

Cle.
Italy! why thither?

Mess.
To reconcile, at Rome, (so rumour spake)
Divisions which, of late, forebode a war
Between her Lord and Cæsar.

Cle.
Blest forebodings!
Long may divisions last, that can divide
That mate, ill-mated, from Mark Antony. (apart.)
Is she as tall as I?

Mess.
She is not, Madam.

Cle.
Dwarfish! he ne'er will like her long.

Char.
O, Isis!
Like her? it is impossible.

Cle.
I think so.
What majesty is in her air? Remember,
If e'er thou look'd'st on majesty.

Mess.
She stoops.
She shews a body, rather than a life:
A statue, than a breather.

Cle.
Is this certain?

Mess.
Or I have no observance.

Cle
There's nothing in her yet:
The fellow has good judgment.

Char.
Excellent.

Cle.
Bear'st thou her face in mind? Is't long, or round?

Mess.
Round, even to faultiness.

Cle.
For the most part too,
They are foolish that are so. Her hair, what colour?

Mess.
Brown, Madam; and her forehead is as low
As she would wish it.

Cle.
There is gold for thee. [Exit Messenger.

Char.
A proper man.

Cle.
Indeed, he is so; why, methinks, by him,
This creature's no such thing.

Char.
O, nothing, Madam.

Cle.
The man hath seen some majesty, and should know.

Char.
Hath he seen majesty? Isis else defend,
And serving you so long!

Cle.
I have one thing more to ask him yet, good Charmion:
But, 'tis no matter; thou shalt bring him to me
Where I will write: All may be well enough.

Char.
I warrant you, Madam. [Grand flourish. [Shouting, without.]
Antony! Antony! Enter Antony, and Enobarbus.

Cle.
Oh, this I prophecied! (Rushes forward to meet Antony.)
My love! my Lord!
So quick to follow thus my messenger!—

Ant.
Well, Madam, we are met. (coldly.)

Cle.
Is this a meeting?
Then, meet we but to part?

Ant.
We must;—for ever.

Cle.
Who says we must?

Ant.
Our own hard fates.

Cle.
We make those fates ourselves.

Ant.
Yes, we have made 'em; we have lov'd each other
Into our mutual ruin.

Cle.
The gods have seen my joys with envious eyes;
I have no friends in Heav'n, and all the world
Is arm'd against my love: Ev'n you yourself
Join with the rest; you, you are arm'd against me.

Ant.
I will be justify'd in all I do,

To late posterity; and therefore hear me.
If I mix a lie
With any truth, reproach me freely with it;
Else favour me with silence.

Cle.
You command me,
And I am dumb.

Eno.
I like this well. He shows authority.

Ant.
That I derive my ruin
From you alone,—

Cle.
O, Heav'ns! I ruin you!

Ant.
You promis'd me your silence, and you break it,
Ere I have scarce begun.

Cle
Well, I obey you.

Ant.
When I beheld you first, it was in Ægypt.
Ere Cæsar saw your eyes: You gave me love,
And were too young to know it; that I settled
Your father on his throne, was for your sake;
I left th' acknowledgement for time to ripen:
Cæsar stept in, and with a greedy hand
Pluck'd the green fruit, ere the first blush of red,
Yet cleaving to the bough. He was my Lord,
And was, beside, too great for me to rival.
When, after, I beheld you in Cilicia,
An enemy to Rome, I pardon'd you.

Cle.
I clear'd myself.

Ant.
Again you break your promise.
I lov'd you still, and took your weak excuses:
Took you into my bosom, stain'd by Cæsar,
And not half mine. I went to Ægypt with you,
And hid me from the bus'ness of the world;
Shut out enquiring nations from my sight,
To give whole years to you.

Eno.
'Tis all too true.

Ant.
Fulvia, my wife, grew jealous,
As she, indeed, had reason; rais'd a war
To call me back.—While in your arms I lay,

The world fell mould'ring from my hands each hour,
And left me scarce a grasp.

Cle
Yet may I speak?

Ant.
If I have urg'd a falsehood, yes; else not.—
Your silence says, I have not. Fulvia died;
(Pardon, ye gods! with my unkindness died,)
To set the world at peace, I took Octavia,
This Cæsar's sister; in her pride of youth,
And slow'r of beauty, did I wed that lady;
Whom, blushing, I must praise, for I have left her.
You call'd; my love has now obey'd the summons,
But, if I stay, 'twill raise the Roman arms.
If you have ought to answer,
Now speak—you have free leave.

Eno.
Now lay a sigh i' th' way, to stop his passage
Prepare a tear, and bid it for his legions;
'Tis like they shall be sold.

Cle.
How shall I plead my cause, when you, my judge,
Already have condemn'd me? Shall I bring
The love you bore me for my advocate?
That, now, is turn'd against me; that destroys me;
For, love once past is, at the best, forgotten;
But oft'ner sours to hate: 'twill please my Lord
To ruin me, and therefore I'll be guilty.
Here then I end. Though I deserve this usage,
Was it like you to give it?

Ant.
O, you wrong me,
To think I sought this parting, or desir'd
T' accuse you more than what will clear myself,
And justify this breach. We're both unhappy.
If nothing else, yet our ill fortune parts us.
Speak, would you have me perish by my stay?

Cle.
If, as a friend, you ask my judgment, go;
If, as a lover, stay. If you must perish,

'Tis a hard word, but stay.
Now, judge my love by this. (Giving Antony a writing.)
Could I have borne
A life, or death, a happiness, or woe,
From your's divided, this had giv'n me means.

Ant.
By Hercules, the writing of Octavius!
I know it well.
See, Enobarbus! here he offers Ægypt,
And joins all Syria to it as a present;
So, in requital, she forsake my fortunes,
And join her arms with his.

Cle.
And yet you leave me!
You leave me, Antony, and yet I love you,
Indeed I do; I have refus'd a kingdom,
That's a trifle,
For I would part with life, with any thing,
But only you. O, let me die with you!
Is that a hard request?

Ant.
Next living with you
'Tis all that Heav'n can give.

Char. (Aside.)
He melts! we conquer!

Cle.
No, you shall go. Your int'rest calls you hence;
Yes, your dear int'rest pulls too strong for these
Weak arms to hold you here. (Takes his hand.)
Go; leave me, soldier,
(For you're no more a lover) leave me dying;
Push me, all pale, and panting, from your bosom;
And, when your march begins, let one run after,
Breathless almost for joy, and cry, she's dead:
The soldiers shout: you, then, perhaps, may sigh,
And muster all your Roman gravity;
Octavia chides; and straight your brow clears up,
As I had never been.

Ant.
Dead! rather let me perish:
My life, my soul, my all! (Embraces her.)

Eno.
And what's this toy,
In balance with your fortune, honour, fame!—

Ant.
What, Enobarbus? it outweighs 'em all.
Down on thy knees, blasphemer as thou art,
And ask forgiveness of wrong'd innocence.

Eno.
I'll rather die, than take it.—Will you go?

Ant.
Go! whither? Go from all that's excellent!
Faith, honour, virtue, all good things forbid,
That I should go from her, who sets my love
Above the price of kingdoms. Give, you gods!
Give to your boy, your Cæsar,
This rattle of a globe, to play withal,
This gew-gaw world, and put him cheaply off;
I'll not be pleas'd with less than Cleopatra.

Cle.
She's wholly yours. My heart's so full of joy
That I shall do some wild extravagance
And cause the plodders of our foolish world,
Who know not tenderness, to think me mad. (March.) [Exeunt Antony and Cleopatra.

Eno.
O women! women! women! all the gods
Have not such pow'r of doing good to man,
As you, of doing harm! [Exit.

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