Philo.
Philo.
Nay, but this dotage of our General
O'erflows the measure; those his goodly eyes,
That o'er the files and musters of the war
Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn,
The office and devotion of their view
Upon a tawny front. His Captain's heart,
Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst
The buckles on his breast, 1 notereneges all temper;
-- 106 --
2 note
And is become the bellows, and the fan,
To cool a 3 noteGypsy's lust. Look, where they come!
Flourish. Enter Antony, and Cleopatra, her Ladies in the train, Eunuchs fanning her.
Take but good note, and you shall see in him
4 note
The triple pillar of the world transform'd
Into a Strumpet's fool. Behold, and see.
Cleo.
If it be love, indeed, tell me, how much?
Ant.
There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd.
Cleo.
I'll set a 5 notebourn how far to be belov'd.
Ant.
6 noteThen must thou needs find out new heav'n, new earth.
-- 107 --
Enter a Messenger.
Mes.
News, my good Lord, from Rome.
Ant.
Grates me. 7 noteThe sum.
Cleo.
Nay, hear it, Antony.
Fulvia, perchance, is angry; or who knows,
If the scarce bearded Cæsar have not sent
His powerful Mandate to you, “Do this, or this;
“Take in that Kingdom, and infranchise that;
“Perform't, or else we damn thee.—
Ant.
How, my love?
Cleo.
Perchance, nay and most like,
You must not stay here longer, your dismission
Is come from Cæsar; therefore hear it, Antony.
Where's Fulvia's Process? Cæsar's, I'd say—Both?
—Call in the Messengers—As I'm Ægypt's Queen,
Thou blushest, Antony, and that blood of thine
Is Cæsar's homager; else so thy cheek pays shame
When shrill-tongu'd Fulvia scolds. The Messengers—
Ant.
Let Rome in Tyber melt, 8 note
and the wide arch
Of the rang'd Empire fall! Here is my space;
Kingdoms are clay; our dungy earth alike
Feeds beast as man; the nobleness of life
Is to do thus, when such a mutual Pair,
[Embracing.
And such a Twain can do't; in which, I bind,
-- 108 --
On pain of punishment, the world 9 noteto weet,
We stand up peerless.
Cleo. [Aside]
Excellent falshood!
Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her?
I'll seem the fool, I am not. 1 note
Antony
Will be himself.
Ant.
But stirr'd by Cleopatra.
Now for the love of love, and his soft hours,
Let's not confound the time with conference harsh;
There's not a minute of our lives should stretch
Without some pleasure. Now, what sport to-night?
Cleo.
Hear the Ambassadors.
Ant.
Fy, wrangling Queen!
Whom every thing becomes; to chide, to laugh,
To weep: whose every passion fully strives
To make itself in thee fair and admir'd.
No Messenger, but thine—And all alone,
To-night we'll wander through the streets, and note
The qualities of People. Come, my Queen,
Last night you did desire it.—Speak not to us.
[Exeunt, with their Train.
Dem.
Is Cæsar with Antonius priz'd so slight?
Phil.
Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony,
He comes too short of that great property
Which still should go with Antony.
Dem.
I am full sorry,
That he approves the common liar, who
Thus speaks of him at Rome; but I will hope
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy!
[Exeunt.
-- 109 --
Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
