Agr.
Retire, we have engag'd ourselves too far:
Cæsar himself has work, ^{8 note}

Exceeds what we expected. [Exit. Alarm. Enter Antony, and Scarus wounded.

Scar.
O my brave Emperor! this is fought indeed;
Had we done so at first, we had droven them home
With clouts about their heads.

Ant.
Thou bleed'st apace.

Scar.
I had a wound here that was like a T,
But now 'tis made an H.

Ant.
They do retire.

Scar.
We'll beat 'em into bench-holes; I have yet
Room for six scotches more. Enter Eros.

Eros.
They're beaten, Sir, and our advantage serves
For a fair victory.

Scar.
Let us score their backs,
And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind;
'Tis sport to maul a runner.

Ant.
I will reward thee
Once for thy sprightly comfort, and ten-fold
For thy good valour. Come thee on.

Scar.
I'll halt after. [Exeunt. Alarm. Enter Antony again in a March, Scarus with others.

Ant.
We've beat him to his camp; ^{9 note}

Before the sun shall see's, we'll spill the blood
That has to-day escap'd. I thank you all;
For doughty-handed are you, and have fought
Not as you serv'd the cause, but as 't had been
Each man's like mine; you have shewn all Hectors.
Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends,
Tell them your feats, whilst they with joyful tears
Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss
The honour'd gashes whole. Give me thy hand, [To Scarus. Enter Cleopatra.
^{1 note}To this great Fairy I'll commend thy acts,
Make her thanks bless thee. O thou day o' th' world,
Chain mine arm'd neck; leap thou, attire and all,
Through proof of harness, to my heart, and there
Ride on the pants triumphing.

Cleo.
Lord of Lords!
Oh, infinite virtue! com'st thou smiling from
The world's great snare uncaught?

Ant.
My nightingale!
We've beat them to their beds. What! Girl, though gray
Do something mingle with our younger brown,
Yet ha' we a brain that nourishes our nerves,
And can ^{2 note}get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man,

Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand.
Kiss it, my warrior. He hath fought to-day,
As if a God in hate of mankind had
Destroyed in such a shape.

Cleo.
I'll give thee, friend,
An armour all of gold; it was a King's.

Ant.
He has deserv'd it, were it carbuncled
Like holy Phœbus' Car.—Give me thy hand;
Through Alexandria make a jolly march;
^{3 note}