Phi.
'Nay, but this dotage of our general's ^note
O'erflows ^note 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, ^note
The office and devotion of their view
Upon a tawny front: his captain's ^note heart,
Which in the scuffles of great fights ^note hath burst
The buckles on his breast, reneges ^note all temper,
And is become the bellows and the fan
To cool ^note a gipsy's lust. Flourish. ^note Enter Antony, Cleopatra, her Ladies, the Train, with Eunuchs fanning her. ^note
Look, where they come: ^note

Take but good note, and you shall see in him
The triple pillar of the world ^note transform'd
Into a strumpet's fool ^note: 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 bourn how far to be beloved.

Ant.
Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth. Enter an Attendant. ^note

Att. ^note
News, my good lord, from Rome. ^note

Ant.
Grates me: ^note the sum. ^note

Cleo.
Nay, hear them, ^note Antony:
Fulvia perchance is angry; or, who knows
If the scarce-bearded Cæsar have not sent
His powerful mandate to you, ‘Do ^note this, or this;
Take in that kingdom, and enfranchise that;
Perform't, or else we damn ^note 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 would say? both? ^{note note}
Call in the messengers. As I am ^note Egypt's queen,
Thou blushest, Antony, and that blood of thine
Is Cæsar's homager: else ^note so thy cheek pays ^note shame

When shrill-tongued Fulvia scolds. The messengers! ^note

Ant.
Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch
Of the ranged ^note 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. ^note
And such a twain can do't, in which I bind,
On ^note pain of punishment, the world to weet
We stand up peerless.

Cleo. ^note
Excellent ^note falsehood!
Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her?
I'll ^note seem the fool I am not; Antony
Will be himself. ^note

Ant.
But stirr'd by Cleopatra.
Now, ^note for the love of Love and her ^note 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 ^note sport to-night?

Cleo.
Hear the ambassadors.

Ant.
Fie, wrangling queen!
Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh,
To weep; whose ^note every passion fully ^note strives
To make itself, in thee, fair and admired!
No messenger but thine; ^note and all alone
To-night ^note 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 ^note Ant. and Cleo. with their train.

Dem.
Is Cæsar with Antonius prized so slight ^note?

Phi.
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 ^note
That he approves the common liar, who
Thus speaks of him ^note at Rome: but I will hope
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy! ^note [Exeunt. ^note Scene II. [Footnote: The same. Another room. ^note Enter Charmian, Iras, Alexas, and a Soothsayer. ^note

Char.

Lord ^note Alexas, sweet ^note Alexas, most any thing Alexas, almost most ^note absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer that you praised so ^note to the queen? O, that I knew this husband, which, you say, must charge ^note his horns with ^note garlands! ^{note note}

Alex.

Soothsayer! ^note

Sooth.

Your will?

Char.
Is this the man? Is't you, sir, that know things?

Sooth.
In nature's infinite book of secrecy
A little I can read. ^note

Alex.
Show him your hand. Enter Enobarbus. ^note

Eno. ^note

Bring in the banquet quickly; wine enough Cleopatra's health to drink.

Char.

Good sir, give me good fortune.

Sooth.

I ^note make not, but foresee.

Char.

Pray then, foresee me one.

Sooth.

You shall be yet far fairer than you are.

Char.

He means in flesh. ^note

Iras.

No, you shall paint when you are old ^note.

Char.

Wrinkles forbid!

Alex.

Vex not his prescience ^note; be attentive.

Char.

Hush!

Sooth.

You shall be more beloving than beloved.

Char.

I had rather heat my liver with drinking. ^note

Alex.

Nay, hear him.

Char.

Good now, some excellent fortune! Let me be married to three kings in a forenoon, and widow them all: let me have a child at fifty, to whom Herod of Jewry may do homage: find me to marry me with ^note Octavius Cæsar, and companion me with my mistress.

Sooth.
You shall outlive the lady whom you serve.

Char.
O excellent! I love long life better than figs.

Sooth.
You have seen and proved a fairer former fortune
Than that which is to approach. ^note

Char.

Then belike my children shall have no names: prithee, how many boys and wenches must I have? ^note

Sooth.
If every of your wishes had a womb,
And fertile ^note every wish, a million. ^note

Char.

Out ^note, fool! I forgive thee for a witch.

Alex.

You think none but your sheets are privy to your wishes.

Char.

Nay, come, tell ^note Iras hers. ^note

Alex.

We'll know all our fortunes.

Eno.

Mine and most of our fortunes to-night shall be— ^notedrunk to bed.

Iras.

There's ^note a palm presages chastity, if nothing else.

Char.

E'en as the o'erflowing Nilus ^note presageth famine.

Iras.

Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay.

Char.

Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prognostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. Prithee, tell her but a worky-day fortune.

Sooth.

Your fortunes are alike.

Iras.

But how, but how? ^note give me particulars.

Sooth.

I have said.

Iras.

Am I not an inch of fortune better than she?

Char.

Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than I, where would you choose it?

Iras.

Not in my husband's nose.

Char.

Our worser thoughts heavens mend! Alexas,—

come, ^note his fortune, his fortune! O, let him marry a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis, I beseech thee! and let her die too, and give him a worse! and let worse follow worse, till the worst of all follow him laughing to his grave, fifty-fold a cuckold! Good Isis, hear me this prayer, though thou deny me a matter of more weight; good Isis, I beseech thee!

Iras.

Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the ^note people! for, as it is a heart-breaking to see a handsome man loose-wived, so it is a deadly sorrow to behold a foul knave uncuckolded: therefore, dear Isis, keep decorum ^note, and fortune him accordingly!

Char. ^note

Amen.

Alex.

Lo, now, if it lay in their hands to make me a cuckold, they would make themselves whores, but they'ld do't!

Eno.
Hush! here comes Antony.

Char.
Not he; the queen. Enter Cleopatra. ^note

Cleo.
Saw you my lord? ^note

Eno.
No, lady.

Cleo.
Was he not here?

Char.
No, madam.

Cleo.
He was disposed to mirth; but on the sudden
A Roman ^note thought hath ^note struck him. Enobarbus! ^{note note}

Eno.
Madam?

Cleo.
Seek him, and bring him hither. Where's Alexas ^note?

Alex.
Here, ^note at your service. My ^note lord approaches. ^note

Cleo.
We will not look upon him: go with us. ^note [Exeunt. ^note Enter Antony with a Messenger and Attendants. ^note

Mess.
Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. ^note

Ant.
Against my brother Lucius? ^note

Mess.
Ay: ^note
But soon that war had end, and the time's state
Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainst ^note Cæsar, ^note
Whose better issue in the war from Italy ^note
Upon the first encounter drave them.

Ant.
Well, what worst? ^note

Mess.
The nature of bad news infects the teller.

Ant.
When it concerns the fool or coward. On:
Things that are past are done with me. 'Tis thus;
Who tells me true, though in his tale ^note lie death,
I hear him as ^note he flatter'd.

Mess.
Labienus—
This is stiff news—hath with his Parthian force
Extended Asia from Euphrates,
His conquering banner shook from Syria
To Lydia and to Ionia,

Whilst— ^note

Ant.
Antony, thou wouldst say,— ^note

Mess.
O, ^note my lord!

Ant.
Speak to me home, mince not the general tongue:
Name Cleopatra as she is ^note call'd in Rome; ^note
Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase, and taunt my faults
With such full license as both truth and malice
Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds
When our quick minds ^note lie still, and our ills ^note told us
Is as our earing ^note. Fare thee well awhile. ^note

Mess.
At your noble pleasure. [Exit. ^note

Ant.
From Sicyon ^note, ho, the ^note news! Speak there!

First Att. ^note
The man from Sicyon ^note, is there such an ^note one? ^note

Sec. Att. ^note
He stays upon your will.

Ant.
Let him appear.
These strong Egyptian fetters I must break,
Or lose myself in dotage. Enter ^note another Messenger.
What are you?

Sec. Mess. ^note
Fulvia thy wife is dead.

Ant.
Where died she?

Sec. Mess.
In Sicyon:

Her length of sickness, with what else more serious
Importeth thee to know, this bears. ^note [Gives a letter. ^note

Ant.
Forbear me. [Exit Sec. Messenger. ^note
There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire ^note it:
What our contempts do ^{note note} often hurl from us, ^note
We wish it ours again; the present pleasure,
By revolution lowering ^note, does become
The opposite of itself: she's good, being gone;
The hand could pluck her back that shoved her on.
I must from this enchanting ^note queen break off:
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,
My idleness doth hatch. How now! ^note Enobarbus! Re-enter ^note Enobarbus.

Eno.

What's your pleasure, sir?

Ant.

I must with haste from hence.

Eno.

Why then we kill all our women. We see how mortal an unkindness is to them; if they suffer our departure, death's the word.

Ant.

I must be gone.

Eno.

Under a compelling occasion ^note let women die: it were pity to cast them away for nothing; though, between them and a great cause, they should be esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, dies instantly; I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment: I do think there is mettle in death, which commits some loving act upon her, she hath such a celerity ^note in dying.

Ant.

She is cunning past man's thought.

Eno.

Alack, sir, no; her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love: we cannot call her winds and waters sighs and tears ^note; they are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can report: this cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she makes a shower of rain as well as Jove.

Ant.

Would I had never seen her!

Eno.

O, sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work; which not to have been blest withal would have discredited your travel ^note.

Ant.

Fulvia is dead.

Eno.

Sir? ^note

Ant.

Fulvia is dead.

Eno.

Fulvia! ^note

Ant.

Dead.

Eno.

Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. When it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a man from him, it shows ^note to man ^note the tailors ^note of the earth, comforting ^note therein ^note, that when old robes are worn out there are members ^note to make new. If there were no more women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut, and the case ^note to be lamented: this grief is crowned with consolation; your old smock brings forth ^note a new petticoat: and indeed the tears live ^note in an onion that should water this sorrow.

Ant.
The business she hath broached in the state
Cannot endure my absence.

Eno.

And the business you have broached here cannot be ^note without you; especially that of Cleopatra's ^note, which wholly depends on your abode.

Ant.
No more light ^note answers. Let our officers ^note
Have notice what we purpose. I shall break
The cause of our expedience to the queen
And get her leave ^note to part. For not alone
The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches,
Do ^note strongly speak to us, but the letters too
Of many our contriving friends in Rome
Petition us at home: Sextus Pompeius
Hath ^note given the dare to Cæsar and commands
The empire of the sea: our slippery people,
Whose love is never link'd to the deserver
Till his deserts are past, begin to throw
Pompey the Great and all his dignities
Upon his son; who, high in name and power,
Higher than both in blood and life, stands up
For the main soldier: whose quality, going on,
The sides o' the world may danger. Much is breeding,
Which, like the courser's hair ^note, hath yet but life
And not a serpent's poison. Say, our pleasure,
To such whose place is under us, requires ^note
Our ^note quick remove from hence.

Eno.
I shall ^note do't. ^note [Exeunt.

^note Scene III. [Footnote: The same. Another room. ^note Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas. ^note

Cleo.
Where is he? ^note

Char.
I ^note did not see him since.

Cleo.
See where he is, who's ^note with him, what he does: ^note
I did not send you: if ^note you find him sad,
Say I am dancing; if in mirth, report
That I am sudden sick: quick ^note, and return. [Exit Alexas. ^note

Char.
Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly,
You do not hold the method to enforce
The like from him.

Cleo.
What should I do, I do not?

Char.
In each thing give him way, cross him in nothing.

Cleo.
Thou teachest like a fool: the ^note way to lose him.

Char.
Tempt him not so too far; I wish, ^note forbear:
In time we hate that which we often fear.
But here comes Antony. Enter Antony. ^note

Cleo.
I am ^note sick and sullen.

Ant.
I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose,— ^note

Cleo.
Help me away, dear Charmian; I shall fall: ^note
It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature
Will not sustain it.

Ant.
Now, my dearest queen,— ^note

Cleo.
Pray you, stand farther ^note from me.

Ant.
What's the matter?

Cleo.
I know, by that same eye, there's some good news.
What says the married woman? You may go: ^note
Would she had never given you leave to come!
Let her not say 'tis I that keep you here,
I have no power upon you; hers you are.

Ant.
The gods best know— ^note

Cleo.
O, never was there queen
So mightily betray'd ^note! yet at the first
I saw the treasons ^note planted.

Ant.
Cleopatra,— ^note

Cleo.
Why should I think you can be mine and true,
Though you in ^note swearing shake the throned gods,
Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness, ^note
To be entangled with those mouth-made vows,
Which break themselves in swearing!

Ant.
Most sweet queen,— ^{note note}

Cleo.
Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going,
But bid farewell, and go: when you sued staying, ^note
Then was the time for words: no going then;
Eternity was in our lips and eyes,
Bliss in our brows' bent, none our parts ^note so poor
But was a race ^note of heaven: they are so still,
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world,
Art turn'd the greatest ^note liar.

Ant.
How now, lady!

Cleo.
I would I had thy inches; thou shouldst know
There were a heart in Egypt.

Ant.
Hear me, queen:
The strong necessity of time commands
Our services ^note awhile; but my full heart
Remains in use with you. Our Italy
Shines o'er with civil swords: Sextus Pompeius
Makes his approaches to the port of Rome:
Equality of two domestic powers
Breed ^note scrupulous faction: the hated, grown to strength,
Are newly grown to love: the condemn'd Pompey,
Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace
Into the hearts of such as have not thrived ^note
Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten;
And quietness grown sick of rest ^note would purge
By any desperate change. My more particular,
And that which most with you should safe ^note my going,
Is Fulvia's death.

Cleo.
Though age from folly could not give me freedom,
It does from childishness: can Fulvia die?

Ant.
She's dead, my queen:
Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure read
The garboils she awaked: at the last, best;
See when and where she died.

Cleo.
O most false love!
Where be the sacred vials ^note thou shouldst fill
With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see,
In Fulvia's death, how mine received shall be ^note.

Ant.
Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know
The purposes I bear, which are, or cease,
As you shall give the advice ^note. By ^note the fire
That quickens Nilus' slime ^note, I go from hence

Thy soldier, servant, making peace or war
As thou affect'st ^note.

Cleo.
Cut my lace, Charmian, come;
But let it be: I am quickly ill and well,
So Antony ^note loves.

Ant.
My precious queen, forbear;
And give true evidence ^note to his love, which stands
An honourable trial.

Cleo.
So Fulvia told me.
I prithee, turn aside and weep for her;
Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears
Belong to Egypt: good now, play one scene
Of excellent dissembling, and let it look
Like perfect honour.

Ant.
You'll heat my blood: no more. ^note

Cleo.
You can do better yet; but this is meetly.

Ant.
Now, by my ^note sword,— ^note

Cleo.
And target. Still he mends;
But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Charmian,
How this Herculean Roman does become
The carriage of his chafe ^note.

Ant.
I'll leave you, lady.

Cleo.
Courteous lord, one word.
Sir, you and I must part, but that's not it:
Sir, you and I have loved, but there's not it:
That you know well: something it is I would,—
O, my ^note oblivion is ^note a very Antony,
And I am all forgotten ^note.

Ant.
But that your royalty
Holds idleness your subject, I should take you
For idleness itself.

Cleo.
'Tis sweating labour
To bear such idleness so near the heart
As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me,
Since my becomings kill me when they do not
Eye well to you. Your honour calls you hence;
Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly,
And all the gods go with you! Upon ^note your sword
Sit laurel ^note victory! and smooth success
Be strew'd before your feet!

Ant.
Let us go. Come;
Our separation so abides and flies, ^note
That thou residing ^note here go'st ^note yet with me,
And I hence fleeting here remain with thee.
Away! [Exeunt. ^note Scene IV. [Footnote: Rome. Cæsar's house. ^note Enter Octavius Cæsar ^note, reading a letter, Lepidus, and their Train.

Cæs.
You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know,
It is not Cæsar's natural vice ^note to hate
Our ^note great competitor: from Alexandria
This is the news: he fishes, drinks and wastes
The lamps of night in revel ^note: is not more manlike ^note
Than Cleopatra, nor the queen of Ptolemy ^note
More womanly than he: hardly gave audience, or

Vouchsafed ^note to ^note think he had ^note partners: you shall find there
A man who is ^note the abstract ^note of all faults
That ^note all men follow. ^note

Lep.
I must not think there are ^note
Evils enow ^note to darken all his goodness: ^note
His faults in him seem as the spots of heaven,
More fiery ^note by night's blackness, ^note hereditary
Rather than purchased, what he cannot change
Than ^note what he chooses.

Cæs.
You are ^note too indulgent. Let us grant it is ^note not ^note
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy ^note,
To give a kingdom for a mirth, to sit
And keep the turn of tippling with a slave,
To reel the streets at noon and stand the buffet
With knaves that smell ^note of sweat: say this becomes him,—
As ^note his composure must be rare indeed
Whom these things cannot blemish,—yet must Antony
No way excuse his soils ^note, when we do bear
So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd
His vacancy with his voluptuousness,
Full surfeits and the dryness of his bones
Call ^note on him for't: but to confound such time
That drums him from his sport and speaks as loud

As his own state and ours, 'tis to be chid ^note
As we rate ^note boys, who, being mature ^note in knowledge,
Pawn their experience to their present pleasure,
And so rebel to judgement. Enter a Messenger.

Lep.
Here's more news.

Mess.
Thy biddings have been done; and every hour,
Most noble Cæsar, shalt thou have report
How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea;
And it appears he is beloved of those
That only have fear'd Cæsar: to the ports ^note
The discontents repair, and men's reports
Give him much wrong'd.

Cæs.
I should have known no less:
It hath been taught us from the primal state,
That he which is was wish'd until he were;
And the ebb'd man, ne'er loved till ne'er worth ^note love, ^note
Comes dear'd ^note by being lack'd. This ^note common body,
Like to ^note a vagabond flag upon the stream,
Goes to and back, lackeying ^note the varying ^{note note} tide, ^note
To rot itself with motion.

Mess.
Cæsar, I bring thee word,
Menecrates ^note and Menas, famous pirates,
Make ^note the sea serve them, which they ear ^note and wound
With keels of every kind: many hot inroads
They make in Italy; the borders maritime

Lack blood to think on't, and flush youth revolt ^note:
No vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon
Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes more
Than could his war resisted.

Cæs.
Antony,
Leave thy lascivious wassails ^note. When thou once
Wast ^note beaten from Modena ^{note note}, where thou slew'st
Hirtius ^note and Pansa ^note, consuls, at thy heel
Did famine follow; whom ^note thou fought'st against,
Though daintily brought up, with patience more
Than savages could suffer: thou didst drink
The stale of horses and the gilded puddle
Which beasts would cough at: thy palate then did deign ^note
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge;
Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets,
The barks of trees thou browsedst ^note. On the Alps
It is reported thou didst eat strange flesh,
Which some did die to look on: and all this—
It wounds thine honour that I speak it now—
Was borne so like a soldier that thy cheek
So much as ^note lank'd ^note not.

Lep.
'Tis ^note pity of him.

Cæs.
Let his shames quickly
Drive him to Rome ^note: 'tis time ^note we twain
Did show ourselves i' the field; and to that end
Assemble we ^note immediate ^note council ^note: Pompey

Thrives in our idleness.

Lep.
To-morrow, Cæsar,
I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly
Both what ^note by sea and land I can be able ^note
To front ^note this present time.

Cæs.
Till which encounter,
It is my business too. Farewell. ^{note note}

Lep.
Farewell, my lord: what you shall know meantime
Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir,
To let ^note me be partaker. ^{note note}

Cæs.
Doubt ^note not, sir; ^note
I knew ^note it for my bond. ^{note note} [Exeunt. ^note Scene V. [Footnote: Alexandria. Cleopatra's palace. ^note Enter ^note Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian.

Cleo.
Charmian! ^note

Char.
Madam?

Cleo.
Ha, ha!
Give me to drink mandragora ^note. ^note

Char.
Why, madam?

Cleo.
That I might sleep out this great gap of time
My ^note Antony is away.

Char.
You think of him too much.

Cleo.
O, 'tis treason! ^note

Char.
Madam, I trust, not so.

Cleo.
Thou, eunuch ^note Mardian!

Mar.
What's your highness' pleasure?

Cleo.
Not now to hear thee sing; I take no pleasure
In aught an eunuch has: 'tis well for thee,
That, being unseminar'd ^note, thy freer thoughts
May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections?

Mar.
Yes, gracious madam.

Cleo.
Indeed!

Mar.
Not in deed ^note, madam; for I can do nothing
But what indeed is honest to be done:
Yet have I fierce affections, and think
What Venus did with Mars.

Cleo.
O Charmian ^note,
Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he, or sits he?
Or does he walk? or is he on his horse?
O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!
Do bravely, horse! for wot'st thou whom thou movest?
The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm
And burgonet ^note of men ^note. He's speaking now,
Or murmuring ‘Where's my serpent of old Nile?’
For so he calls me: now I feed myself
With most delicious poison. Think ^note on me,
That am with Phœbus' amorous pinches black
And wrinkled deep in time? ^{note note} Broad-fronted ^note Cæsar,
When thou wast here above the ground, I was

A morsel for a monarch: and great Pompey
Would stand and make his eyes grow in my brow;
There would he anchor his aspect and die
With looking on his life. Enter Alexas. ^note

Alex.
Sovereign of Egypt, hail!

Cleo.
How much unlike art thou ^note Mark Antony!
Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath
With his tinct gilded thee.
How goes it with ^note my brave Mark Antony?

Alex.
Last thing he did, dear queen,
He kiss'd—the last of many doubled kisses— ^note
This orient pearl. His speech sticks in my heart.

Cleo.
Mine ear must pluck it thence.

Alex.
‘Good friend ^note,’ quoth he,
‘Say, the firm ^note Roman to great Egypt sends
This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot,
To mend the petty present, I will piece ^note
Her opulent throne with kingdoms; all the east,
Say thou, shall call her mistress.’ So he nodded,
And soberly did mount an arm-gaunt ^note steed,
Who ^note neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke
Was beastly ^note dumb'd ^note by him.

Cleo.
What, was he sad or merry?

Alex.
Like to the time o' the year between the extremes

Of hot and cold, he was nor sad ^note nor merry. ^note

Cleo.
O well divided disposition! Note him, ^note
Note him, good Charmian, 'tis the man; but note him:
He was not sad, for he would shine on those
That make their looks by his; he was not merry,
Which seem'd to tell them his remembrance lay
In Egypt with his joy; but between both.
O heavenly mingle! Be'st thou sad or merry,
The violence of either thee becomes,
So does it no man ^note else. Met'st thou my posts?

Alex.
Ay, madam, twenty several messengers:
Why do you send so thick?

Cleo.
Who's born that day
When I forget to send to Antony,
Shall die a beggar. Ink and paper, Charmian.
Welcome, my good Alexas. Did I, Charmian,
Ever love Cæsar so? ^note

Char.
O that brave Cæsar!

Cleo.
Be choked with such another emphasis!
Say, the brave Antony.

Char.
The valiant Cæsar!

Cleo.
By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth,
If thou with Cæsar paragon again
My man of men.

Char.
By your most gracious pardon,
I sing but after you.

Cleo.
My salad ^note days,
When I was green in judgement: cold ^note in blood,
To say as I said then! But come, away;
Get me ink and paper:
He shall have every day a several greeting ^note,
Or I'll unpeople Egypt. ^note [Exeunt.

Previous section

Next section