Ant.
This land of Ægypt bids me tread no more on't.
It is asham'd to bear me.—Friends, come hither:

I am so lated in the world, that I
Have lost my way for ever:—I have one ship,
Laden with gold:—take that, divide it;—fly,—
And make your peace with Cæsar.

All.
Fly? not we!

Ant.
I fled myself; and have instructed others
To run and shew their shoulders.

Atten.
Sir, the Queen. Enter Cleopatra, and Attendants.

Cle.
O, my Lord! my Lord!
Forgive my fearful sails! I little thought
You would have follow'd

Ant.
Ægypt, thou knew'st too well
My heart was to thy rudder ty'd by the strings,
And thou should'st tow me after.

Cle.
Pardon, pardon!

Ant.
Fall not a tear, I say; one of them rates
All that is won and lost!—Now, kiss me, sweet!
Even this repays—Oh, I am full of lead.
Some wine there, and our viands. Thou wilt follow;
Wilt thou not, soon?—Oh! [Exit. Enter a Male Attendant.

Atten.
A messenger from Cæsar.

Cle.
What, no more ceremony!—See, my women,
They treat with negligence the rose, when blown,
That kneel'd unto the buds—Admit him, Sir. Enter Thyreus.
Cæsar's will?

Thyr.
Hear it apart.

Cle.
None but friends; say on boldly.

Thyr.
Thus then;—the most renown'd Cæsar intreats
Not to consider in what case thou stand'st,

(For soon his forces will set foot on Ægypt)
Further than he is Cæsar.

Cle.
On—right royal.

Thyr.
He knows that you embrace not Antony
As you did love, but as you fear'd him.

Cle.
O!—

Thyr.
The scars upon your honour, therefore, he
Does pity, as constrained blemishes,
Not as deserv'd.

Cle.
He is a god; and knows
What is most right.

Thyr.
Shall I, then, say to Cæsar,
What you require of him? for he partly begs
To be desir'd to give. It much would please him,
That of his fortunes you should make a staff
To lean upon: but it would warm his spirits
To hear from me you had left Antony,
And put yourself under his shroud, the great,
The universal landlord.

Cle.
What's your name?

Thyr.
My name is Thyreus.

Cle.
Most kind messenger,
Say to great Cæsar this. By deputation
I kiss his conquering hand: tell him, I am prompt
To lay my crown at his feet, and there to kneel;
And from his all-obeying breath to hear
The doom of Ægypt.

Thyr.
'Tis your noblest course.
Wisdom and fortune combating together,
If that the former dare but what it can,
No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay
My duty on your hand.

Cle.
Your Cæsar's father, oft, (giving her hand.)
When he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in,
Bestow'd his lip on that unworthy place,
As it rain'd kisses.

Re-enter Antony.

Ant.
Why tarries thus my Cleopatra?—Ha?
Favours, by Jove that thunders!
What art thou, fellow?

Thyr.
One that but performs
The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest
To have command obey'd.

Ant.
Approach there: What, have you no ears?
I am Enter Attendants.
Antony yet—Take hence this Jack, and whip him,
Till, like a boy, you see him cringe his face,
And whine aloud for mercy: Take him hence.

Thyr.
Mark Antony,—

Ant.
Tug him away. This Jack of Cæsar's shall
Bear us an errand to him. [Exeunt Attendants with Thyreus.

Cle.
O, is it come to this? Wherefore is this?

Ant.
To let a fellow that will take rewards,
And say, “God quit you,” be familiar with
My play-fellow, your hand: this kingly seal,
And plighter of high hearts! Re-enter Attendants with Thyreus.
Henceforth,
The white hand of a lady fever thee,
Shake thou to look on't! Get thee back to Cæsar,
Tell him thy entertainment; look thou say,
He makes me angry; harping on what I am,
Not what he knew I was: He makes me angry;
And at this time, most easy 'tis to do't;

When my good stars, that were my former guides,
Have empty left their orbs, and shot their fires,
Into the abyss of hell.
Hence with thy stripes, begone! [Exit Thyreus.

Cle.
Have you done yet?

Ant.
Alack! our terrene moon
Is now eclips'd, and it portends alone
The fall of Antony.

Cle.
I must stay his time.

Ant.
To flatter Cæsar, would you mingle eyes
With one that ties his points?

Cle.
Not know me yet?

Ant.
Cold-hearted toward me?

Cle.
Ah, dear! if it be so,
From my cold heart let Heaven engender hail,
And poison it in the source, and the first stone
Drop in my neck; as it determines, so
Dissolve my life!

Ant.
I am satisfi'd.
Cæsar will soon sit down in Alexandria;
I will oppose his fate. Our force by land
Will nobly hold; our sever'd navy, too,
May knit again, our fleet, threat'ning most sea-like.
Where hast thou been, my heart? Dost thou hear, Lady?
When in the field I enter, and return
To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood;
I and my sword will earn our chronicle;
There is hope in it yet.

Cle.
That's my brave Lord!

Ant.
I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd,
And fight maliciously; for when mine hours
Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives
Of me for jests; but now, I'll set my teeth,
And send to darkness all that stop me Come,
Let's have one other gaudy night; call to me

All my sad captains; fill our bowls; once more,
Let's mock the midnight bell.

Cle.
It is my birth-day:
I had thought to have held it poor; but since my Lord
Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.

Ant.
We'll yet do well.

Cle.
Call all his noble captains to my Lord.

Ant.
Do so; we'll speak to them; to-night I'll force
The wine peep through their scars. Come on, my queen;
There's sap in't yet:—the next time I do fight,
I'll make death love me; for I will contend
Even with his pestilent scythe. [Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra, and Attendants.

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