Cleo.
What shall we do, Enobarbus?

Eno.
Think, and dye.

Cleo.
Is Antony, or we in fault for this?

Eno.
Antony only, that would make his will
Lord of his Reason. What though you fled,
From that great face of War, whose several ranges
Frighted each other? Why should he follow?
The itch of his Affection should not then
Have nickt his Captainship, at such a point,
When half to half the World oppos'd, he being
The meer question. 'Tis a shame no less
Than was his loss, to course your flying Flags,
And leave his Navy gazing.

Cleo.
Prithee peace. Enter Antony, with the Ambassador.

Ant.
Is this his Answer?

Amb.
Ay, my Lord.

Ant.
The Queen shall then have courtesie,
So she will yield us up.

Amb.
He says so.

Ant.
Let her know't.
To the Boy Cæsar send this grizled Head,
And he will fill thy wishes to the brim,
With Principalities.

Cleo.
That Head, my Lord?

Ant.
To him again, tell him he wears the Rose
Of youth upon him; from which, the World should note
Something particular; his Coyn, Ships, Legions,

May be a Coward's, whose Ministers would prevail
Under the service of a Child, as soon
As i'th' Command of Cæsar. I dare him therefore
To lay his gay comparisons apart,
And answer me declin'd, Sword against Sword,
Our selves alone; I'll write it, follow me. [Exit Antony.

Eno.
Yes, like enough: hye-battel'd Cæsar will
Unstate his happiness, and be Stag'd to th' shew
Against a Sworder. I see Mens judgments are
A parcel of their Fortunes, and things outward
Do draw the inward quality after them
To suffer all alike. That he should dream,
Knowing all measures, the full Cæsar will
Answer his emptiness; Cæsar thou hast subdu'd
His judgment too. Enter a Servant.

Ser.
A Messenger from Cæsar.

Cleo.
What no more Ceremony? See my Women,
Against the blown Rose may they stop their Nose,
That kneel'd unto the Buds. Admit him, Sir.

Eno.
Mine honesty, and I, begin to square;
The Loyalty well held to Fools, does make
Our Faith meer Folly: yet he that can endure
To follow with Allegiance a fall'n Lord,
Do's conquer him that did his Master conquer,
And earns a place i'th' Story. Enter Thidias.

Cleo.
Cæsar's Will.

Thid.
Hear it apart.

Cleo.
None but Friends; say boldly.

Thid.
So haply are they Friends to Antony.

Eno.
He needs as many, Sir, as Cæsar has;
Or needs not us. If Cæsar please, our Master
Will leap to be his Friend: For as you know,
Whose he is, we are, and that is Cæsar's.

Thid.
So. Thus then thou most renown'd, Cæsar intreats
Not to consider in what case thou stand'st
Further than he is Cæsar.

Cleo.
Go on, right Royal.

Thid.
He knows that you embrace not Antony
As you did love, but as you feared him.

Cleo.
Oh! [Aside.

Thid.
The scars upon your Honour, therefore he
Do's pity, as constrained blemishes,
Not as deserved.

Cleo.
He is a god, and knows what is most right.
Mine Honour was not yielded, but conquer'd meerly.

Eno.
To be sure of that, I will ask Antony.
Sir, Sir, thou art so leaky
That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for
Thy dearest quit thee. [Exit Eno.

Thid.
Shall I 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 your self under his Shrowd, the universal Landlord.

Cleo.
What's your Name?

Thid.
My Name is Thidias.

Cleo.
Most kind Messenger;
Say to great Cæsar this in disputation,
I kiss his conqu'ring Hand: Tell him, I am prompt
To lay my Crown at's Feet, and there to kneel.
Tell him that from his all-obeying breath,
I hear the doom of Ægypt.

Thid.
'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.

Cleo.
Your Cæsar's Father oft,
When he hath mus'd of taking Kingdoms in,
Bestow'd his Lips on that unworthy place,
As it rain'd Kisses. Enter Antony, and Enobarbus.

Ant.
Favours! by Jove that thunders, [Seeing Thidias kiss her Hand.
What art thou Fellow?

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

Eno.
You will be whipp'd.

Ant.
Approach there—ah you Kite! Now gods and devils!
Authority melts from me of late. When I cry'd hoa!
Like Boys unto a muss, Kings would start forth,
And cry your will. Have you no Ears?
I am Antony yet. Take hence this Jack and whip him. Enter a Servant.

Eno.
'Tis better playing with a Lion's Whelp,
Than with an old one dying.

Ant.
Moon and Stars!
Whip him: were twenty of the greatest tributaries
That do acknowledge Cæsar, should I find them
So sawcy with the hand of she here, what's her Name
Since she was Cleopatra—Whip him, Fellows—
'Till like a Boy you see him crindge his Face,
And whine aloud for mercy. Take him hence.

Thid.
Mark Antony—

Ant.
Tug him away; being whipt,
Bring him again, the Jack of Cæsar's shall
Bear us an Errand to him. [Exeunt with Thidias.
You were half blasted e'er I knew you: Ha!
Have I my Pillow left unprest in Rome,
Forborn the getting of a lawful Race,
And by a Jem of Women, to be abus'd
By one that looks on Feeders?

Cleo.
Good, my Lord—

Ant.
You have been a Boggler ever,
But when we in our viciousness grew hard,
Oh misery on't, the wise gods seal our Eyes
In our own filth, drop our clear judgments, make us
Adore our errors, laugh at's while we strut
To our confusion.

Cleo.
Oh, is't come to this?

Ant.
I found you as a Morsel, cold upon
Dead Cæsar's Trencher: Nay, you were a Fragment
Of Cneius Pompey's, besides what hotter hours
Unregistred in vulgar Fame, you have
Luxuriously pickt out. For I am sure,
Though you can guess what Temperance should be,
You know not what it is.

Cleo.
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!—O that I were
Upon the Hill of Basan, to out-roar
The horned Herd, for I have Savage cause,
And to proclaim it civilly, were like
A halter'd Neck, which do's the Hangman thank,
For being yare about him. Is he whip'd? Enter a Servant with Thidias.

Ser.
Soundly, my Lord.

Ant.
Cry'd he? and begg'd a pardon?

Ser.
He did ask favour.

Ant.
If that thy Father live, let him repent
Thou wast not made his Daughter; and be thou sorry
To follow Cæsar in his triumph, since
Thou hast been whipp'd, for following him. Henceforth
The white Hand of a Lady Fever thee,
Shake to look on't. Go get thee back to Cæsar,
Tell him thy entertainment: look thou say
He makes me angry with him. For he seems
Proud and disdainful, harping on what I am,
Not what he knew I was. He makes me angry,
And at this time most easie 'tis to do't:
When my good Stars, that were my former guides
Have empty left their Orbs, and shot their Fires,
Into the Abism of Hell. If he mislike
My Speech, and what is done, tell him he has
Hiparchus, my enfranched Bondman, whom
He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture,
As he shall like to quit me. Urge it thou:
Hence with thy stripes, be gone [Exit Thid.

Cleo.
Have you done yet?

Ant.
Alack, our Terrene Moon is now Eclips'd,
And it portends alone the fall of Antony.

Cleo.
I must stay his time.

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

Cleo.
Not know me yet?

Ant.
Cold-hearted toward me?

Cleo.
Ah, Dear, if I be so,
From my cold Heart, let Heav'n ingender Hail,

And Poison it in the source, and the first Stone
Drop in my Neck; as it determines, so
Dissolve my Life; the next Cæsario smite,
'Till by degrees the memory of my Womb,
Together with my brave Ægyptians all,
By the discattering of this pelletted storm,
Lie Graveless, 'till the Flies and Gnats of Nile
Have buried them for prey.

Ant.
I am satisfied:
Cæsar sets down in Alexandria, where
I will oppose his Fate. Our Force by Land,
Hath nobly held, and sever'd Navy too
Have knit again, and Float, threatning most Sea-like.
Where hast thou been my Heart? Dost thou hear, Lady?
If from the Field I shall return once more
To kiss these Lips, I will appear in Blood,
I, and my Sword, will earn my Chronicle,
There's hope in't yet.

Cleo.
That's my brave Lord.

Ant.
I will be treble-sinewed, hearted, breath'd,
And fight maliciously: for when mine hours
Were nice and lucky, Men did ransome 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 gawdy Night: Call to me
All my sad Captains, fill our Bowls; once more
Let's mock the Midnight Bell.

Cleo.
It is my Birth-day,
I had thought t'have held it poor. But since my Lord
Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.

Ant.
We will yet do well.

Cleo.
Call all his noble Captains to my Lord.

Ant.
Do so, we'll speak to them, and 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.

Eno.
Now he'll out-stare the Lightning, to be furious
Is to be frighted out of fear, and in that mood
The Dove will peck the Estridge; and I see still
A diminution in our Captain's Brain,

Restores his Heart; when Valour preys on Reason,
It eats the Sword it fights with: I will seek
Some way to leave him. [Exit.

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