Ant.
Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that,
That were excusable, that and thousands more
Of semblable import, but he hath waged
New wars 'gainst Pompey; made his will, and read it
To public ear:
Spoke scantly ^note of me: when perforce ^note he could not ^note
But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly
He vented them; most narrow measure lent me; ^note
When the best hint was given him, ^note he not took't ^note,
Or did it from his teeth.

Octa.
O my good lord,
Believe not all; or, if you must believe,
Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady,
If this division chance, ne'er stood between,
Praying for both parts:
The ^note good ^note gods will mock me presently ^note,
When I shall pray ^note, ‘O, bless my lord and husband! ^note’
Undo ^note that prayer, by crying out as loud,
‘O, bless my brother!’ Husband win, win brother,
Prays, and destroys the prayer; no midway
'Twixt these extremes at all.

Ant.
Gentle Octavia,
Let your best love draw to that point, which seeks
Best to preserve it: if I lose mine honour,
I lose myself: better I were not yours
Than yours ^note so branchless. But, as you requested,
Yourself shall go between's: the mean time, lady,
I'll raise the preparation of a war ^note
Shall stain ^{note note} your brother ^note: make your soonest haste;
So your desires are yours.

Octa.
Thanks to my lord.
The Jove of power make me most weak, most weak, ^note
Your ^note reconciler! Wars 'twixt you twain would be
As if the world should cleave, and that slain men
Should solder ^note up the rift.

Ant.
When it appears to you where this begins,
Turn your displeasure that way; for our faults
Can never be so equal, that your love
Can equally move with them. Provide your going;
Choose your own company, and command what cost
Your heart has ^note mind to. [Exeunt. ^note

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