Philo.
Lost! lost! all lost! I can behold no longer:
The Antoniad, the Ægyptian Admiral,
With all their sixty, fly, and turn the rudder;
Now, Enobarbus? Enter Enobarbus.

Eno.
Gods and goddesses!
The greater portion of the world is lost,
With very ignorance; we have kiss'd away
Provinces, kingdoms!

Philo.
How appears the fight?

Eno.
On our side like the spotted pestilence,
Where death is sure. Yon ribald hag of Ægypt,
Whom leprosy o'ertake! i'the midst o'the sight,
When 'vantage like a pair of twins appear'd,
Both as the same, or rather our's the elder,
Hoists sail, and flies:—and she, once being looft,
The noble ruin of her magick, Antony,
Claps on his sea wing, like a doting mallard,
Leaving the battle, and flies after her.
I never saw an action of such shame;
Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before
Did violate so itself. Enter Canidius.

Can.
Our fortune on the sea is out of breath,
And sinks most lamentably. Had our General
Been what he knew himself, it had gone well:
Oh, he has given example for our flight,
Most grossly by his own.

Eno.
Ay, are you thereabouts? Why then, good night
Indeed!

Can.
Towards Peloponnesus are they fled.

Philo.
And thence, no doubt, to Ægypt.

Can.
Doubtless so.
To the all conquering Cæsar I will render
My legions and my horse; six kings already
Shew me the way of yielding. [Shouts.

Eno.
Hark! the enemy!
I'll follow yet the wounded chance of Antony,
Although my reason sits i'the wind against me. [Shouts again. Exeunt, severally.

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