[Note]

The SONG at p. 39. being thought too short, an Addition was made to it while the Play was in Rehearsal, and it is perform'd as follows:

^note

Introductory matter

Persons represented.

[Attendant], [Messenger], [Attendant 1], [Attendant 2], [Officer 1], [Officer 2], [Officer], [Soldier], [Sentinel 1], [Sentinel 2], [Sentinel 3], [Guard 1], [Guard 2], [Guard 3], [Clown]

ANTONY and CLEOPATRA. ACT I. SCENE I. Alexandria. A Room in Cleopatra's Palace. Enter Thyreus, and Dolabella; sent from Cæsar.

Thy.
Nay, but this dotage of our general's
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, reneges all temper;
And is become the bellows, and the fan,
To cool a gipsy's lust. Look, where they come: Flourish. Enter Antony, Cleopatra, and their Trains; Eunuchs fanning her.
Take but good note, and you shall see in him
The triple pillar of the world transform'd
Into a strumpet's fool: behold, and see.

Cle.
If it be love indeed, tell me how much.

Ant.
There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd.

Cle.
I'll set a bourn how far to be belov'd.

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

Att.
News, my good lord, from Rome.

Ant.
—'T grates me:—The sum.

Cle.
Nay, hear them, 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!

Cle.
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?
Call in the messengers.—As I am Egypt's Queen,
Thou blushest, Antony; and that blood of thine
Is Cæsar's homager: so thy cheek pays shame,
When shrill-tongu'd Fulvia scolds.—The messengers.

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

Cle.
—Excellent falshood!
Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her?—
I seem the fool I am not; Antony

Will be himself.

Ant.
—But, stir'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?

Cle.
Hear the embassadors.

Ant.
—Fie, 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 Antony, Cleopatra, and Trains.

Dol.
Triumphant lady!—Fame, I see, is true.

Thy.
Too true: Since she first met Mark Antony
Upon the river Cydnus, he has been hers.

Dol.
There she appear'd indeed; or my reporter
Devis'd well for her.

Thy.
—I will tell you, sir.
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burnt on the water: the poop was beaten gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that
The winds were love-sick with them: the oars were silver;
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water, which they beat, to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
It beggar'd all description: she did lye
In her pavilion, (cloth of gold, of tissue)
O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see

The fancy out-work nature; on each side her
Stood pretty dimpl'd boys, like smiling Cupids,
With diverse-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,
And what they undid, did.

Dol.
—O, rare for Antony!

Thy.
Her gentlewomen, like the Nereids,
So many mermaids, tended her i'the eyes,
And made their bends adornings: ^note at the helm
A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackle
Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands,
That yarely frame the office. From the barge,
A strange invisible perfume hits the sense
Of the adjacent wharfs: The city cast
Her people out upon her: and Antony,
Enthron'd i'the market place, did sit alone,
Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy,
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too,
And made a gap in nature.

Dol.
—Rare Egyptian!

Thy.
Upon her landing, Antony sent to her,
Invited her to supper: she reply'd,
It should be better, he became her guest;
Which she intreated: Our courteous Antony,
(Whom never the word, no, woman heard speak)
Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast;
And, for his ordinary, pays his heart,
For what his eyes eat only.

Dol.
—Royal wench!
She made great Julius lay his sword to bed;
He plough'd her, and she crop'd. Now Antony
Must leave her utterly.

Thy.
—Never; he will not:
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety: Other women cloy
The appetites they feed; but she makes hungry,
Where most she satisfies.

Dol.
—Well; I am sorry,
He too approves the common lyar, who
Thus speaks of him at Rome: But I will hope
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy! [Exeunt severally. SCENE II. The same. Another Room. Enter Alexas, Iras, Charmian, a Soothsayer, and Others.

Cha.

Alexas, sweet Alexas, most anything Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer that you prais'd so to the Queen? O, that I knew this husband which, you say, must charge his horns with garlands!

Ale.

Soothsayer,—

Soo.

Your will?

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

Soo.
In nature's infinite book of secresy
A little I can read.

Ale.
—Shew him your hand. Enter Enobarbus.

Eno.

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

Cha.

Good sir, give me good fortune.

Soo.

I make not, but foresee

Cha.

Pray then, foresee me one. Let me be marry'd 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 with Octavius Cæsar, and companion me with my mistress.

Soo.

You shall out-live the lady whom you serve.

Cha.

O excellent! I love long life better than figs.

Soo.

You have seen and prov'd a fairer former fortune Than that which is to approach.

Cha.

Then, belike, my children shall have no names.— Nay, come, tell Iras hers.

Ale.

We'll know all our fortunes.

Eno.

Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, shall be—drunk to bed.

Ira.

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

Cha.

E'en as the o'er-flowing Nilus presageth famine.

Ira.

Go, you wild bed-fellow; you cannot soothsay.

Cha.

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

Soo.

Your fortunes are alike.

Ira.

But how, but how? give me particulars.

Soo.

I have said.

Ira.

Am I not an inch of fortune better than she?

Cha.

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

Ira.

Not in my husband's nose.

Cha.

Our worser thoughts heavens mend!—Alexas— come 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!

Ira.

Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the people! for, as it is a heart-breaking to see a handsom man loose-wiv'd, so it is a deadly sorrow to behold a foul knave uncuckolded; Therefore, dear Isis, keep decorum, and fortune him accordingly!

Cha.

Amen.

Ale.

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

Eno.

Hush! here comes Antony.

Cha.

—Not he, the Queen.

Cle.

Saw you my lord?

Eno.

—No, lady.

Cle.

Was he not here?

Cha.

—No, madam.

Cle.
He was dispos'd to mirth; but, on the sudden,
A Roman thought hath strook him.—Enobarbus,—

Eno.
Madam.

Cle.
Seek him, and bring him hither.—Where's Alexas?

Ale.
Here, lady, at your service. My lord approaches. Enter Antony, with a Messenger; Attendants following.

Cle.
We will not look upon him; Go with us. [Exeunt Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Alexas, Iras, Charmian, Soothsayer, and the rest.

Mes.
Fulvia thy wife first came into the field.

Ant.
Against my brother Lucius?

Mes.
—Ay: but soon
That war had end; and the time's state made friends
Of them, jointing their forces against Cæsar;
Whose better issue in the war from Italy,
Upon the first encounter, drave them.

Ant.
—Well,
What worst?

Mes.
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 lie death,
I hear him as he flatter'd.

Mes.
—Labienus,
Hath with his Parthian force, through extended Asia,
From Eúphrates his conquering banner shook,
From Syria, to Lydia, and Ionia;
Whilst—

Ant.
—Antony, thou would'st say,—

Mes.
—O, my lord,—

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

Mes.
At your noble pleasure. [Exit.

Ant.
From Sicyon how the news? Speak there.

1. A.
The man from Sicyon,—Is there such a one?

2. A.
He stays upon your will.

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

Mes.
Fulvia thy wife is dead.

Ant.
—Where dy'd she?

Mes.
—In Sicyon:

Her length of sickness, with what else more serious
Importeth thee to know, this &dagger2; bears.

Ant.
—Forbear me.— [Exit Messenger.
There's a great spirit gone: Thus did I desire it:
What our contempts do often hurl from us,
We wish it ours again; the present pleasure,
By revolution lowering, does become
The opposite of itself: she's good, being gone;
The hand could pluck her back, that shov'd her on.
I must from this enchanting Queen break off;
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,
My idleness doth hatch.—Ho, Enobarbus! Enter 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, let women die: It were pity, to cast them away for nothing; though, between them and a great cause, they should be esteem'd nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, dies instantly; I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment.

Ant.

She is cunning past man's thought. Fulvia is dead.

Eno.

Sir?

Ant.

Fulvia is dead.

Eno.

Fulvia?

Ant.

Dead.

Eno.

Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. If there were no more women but Fulvia, then had you

indeed a cut, and the case to be lamented: this grief is crown'd with consolation; your old smock brings forth a new petticoat: and, indeed, the tears live 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 without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholy depends on your abode.

Ant.
No more light answers. Let our officers
Have notice what we purpose: I shall break
The cause of our expedience to the Queen,
And get her love to ^note part. For not alone
The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches,
Do strongly speak to us; but the letters too
Of many our contriving friends in Rome
Petition us at home: Sextus Pompeius
Hath giv'n 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, hath yet but life,
And not a serpent's poison. Say, our pleasure,
To such whose place is under us, requires
Our quick remove from hence.

Eno.
I shall do't. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. The same. Another Room. Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas.

Cle.
Where is he?

Cha.
I did not see him since.

Cle.
See where he is, who's with him, what he does,—
I did not send you;—[to Iras.] If you find him sad,
Say, I am dancing; if in mirth, report
That I am sudden sick: Quick, and return. [Exit Alexas.

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

Cle.
—What should I do, I do not?

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

Cle.
Thou teachest like a fool: the way to lose him.

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

Cle.
—I am sick, and sullen.

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

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

Ant.
—Now, my dearest Queen,—

Cle.
Pray you, stand farther from me.

Ant.
—What's the matter?

Cle.
I know, by that same eye, there's some good news:
What says the marry'd woman? You may go;
'Would, she had never giv'n 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,—

Cle.
—O, never was there Queen
So mightily betray'd! Yet, at the first,
I saw the treasons planted.

Ant.
—Cleopatra,—

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

Ant.
—Most sweet Queen,—

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

Ant.
—How now, lady?

Cle.
I would, I had thy inches; thou should'st know,
There were a heart in Egypt.

Ant.
—Hear me, Queen:
The strong necessity of time commands
Our services a while; 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
Breeds 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 thriv'd
Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten;
And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge
By any desperate change: My more particular,
And that which most with you should safe my ^note going,
Is Fulvia's death.

Cle.
Though age from folly could not give me freedom,
Is does from childishness; Can Fulvia die?

Ant.
She's dead, my Queen:
Look &dagger2; here, and, at thy sovereign leisure, read
The garboils she awak'd; at the last, best:
See, when, and where she dy'd.

Cle.
—O most false love!
Where be the sacred vials thou should'st fill
With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see,
In Fulvia's death, how mine shall be receiv'd.

Ant.
Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know
The purposes I bear; which are, or cease,
As you shall give the advices: By the fire
That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence
Thy soldier, servant; making peace, or war,
As thou affect'st.

Cle.
—Cut my lace, Charmian, come;—
But let it be; I am quickly ill, and well,
So Antony loves.

Ant.
—My precious Queen, forbear;
And give true evidence to his love, which stands
An honourable trial.

Cle.
—So Fulvia told me.
I prythee, 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.

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

Ant.
—Now, by my sword,—

Cle.
—and target,—Still he mends;
But this is not the best:—Look, prythee, Charmian,
How this Herculean Roman does become
The carriage of his chafe.

Ant.
I'll leave you, lady.

Cle.
—Courteous lord, one word.
Sir, you and I must part,—but that's not it:
Sir, you and I have lov'd,—but there's not it;
That you know well: Something it is I would,—
O, my oblivion is a very Antony,
And I am all-forgotten.

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

Cle.
—'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 unpity'd folly,
And all the gods go with you! Upon your sword
Sit laurel'd victory! and smooth success
Be strew'd before your feet!

Ant.
—Let us go. Come;
Our separation so abides, and flies,
That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me,
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee.

Away. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Rome. A Room in Cæsar's House. Enter Octavius Cæsar, Lepidus, and their Trains.

Cæs.
You may &dagger2; see, Lepidus, and henceforth know,
It is not Cæsar's natural vice to hate
One great ^note competitor: From Alexandria
This is the news, He fishes, drinks, and wastes
The lamps of night in revel: is not more manlike
Than Cleopatra; nor the Queen of Ptolemy
More womanly than he: hardly gave audience, or
Vouchsaf'd to think he had partners: You shall find there
A man, who is the abstract of all faults
That all men follow.

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

Cæs.
You are too indulgent: Let us grant, it is not
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy;
To give a kingdom for a mirth; to sit
And keep the turn of tipling with a slave;
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet
With knaves that smell of sweat: say, this becomes him,
(As his composure must be rare indeed,
Whom these things cannot blemish) yet must Antony
No way excuse his foils, 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 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
As we rate boys; who, being mature in knowledge,
Pawn their experience to their present pleasure,
And so rebel to judgment. Enter a Messenger.

Lep.
—Here's more news.

Mes.
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 belov'd of those
That only have fear'd Cæsar: to the ports
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 lov'd, 'till ne'er worth love,
Comes dear'd, by being lack'd. This common body,
Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream,
Goes to, and back, lacquying the varying tide,
To rot itself with motion. Enter another Messenger.

Mes.
—Cæsar, I bring thee word,
Menecrates, and Menas, famous pirates,
Make the sea serve them which they ear 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:
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: When thou once
Wert beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st
Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel
Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st against,
Though daintily brought up, with patience more
Than savages could suffer: thou did'st drink
The stale of horses, and the gilded puddle
Which beasts would cough at: thy palate then did deign
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge;
Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets,
The barks of trees thou browsed'st: on the Alps,
It is reported, thou did'st eat strange flesh,
Which some did die to look on: And all this
(It wounds thine honour, that I speak it now)
Was born so like a soldier, that thy cheek
So much as lank'd not.

Lep.
'Tis pity of him.

Cæs.
Let his shames quickly
Drive him to Rome: Time is it, that we twain
Did shew ourselves i'the field; and, to that end,
Assemble we immediate council: Pompey
Thrives in our idlenes.

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

Cæs.
—'Till which encounter,
It is my business too. Farewel.

Lep.
Farewel, my lord: What you shall know mean time
Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir,

To let me be partaker.

Cæs.
—Doubt not, sir;
I knew it for my bond. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. Enter Cleopatra, supporting herself on Iras; Charmian, and Mardian, following.

Cle.
Charmian,—

Cha.
Madam.

Cle.
Ha, ha,—Give me to drink mandragora.

Cha.
—Why, madam?

Cle.
That I might sleep out this great gap of time,
My Antony is away.

Cha.
—You think of him
Too much.

Cle.
—O! Treason!

Char.
—Madam, I trust, not so.

Cle.
Thou, eunuch, Mardian,—

Mar.
—What's your highness' pleasure?

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

Mar.
Yes, gracious madam.

Cle.
—Indeed!—O Charmian,
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 mov'st?
The demy Atlas of this earth, the arm
And burgonet of man.—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 on me,
That am with Phœbus' amorous pinches black,
And wrinkl'd deep in time? Broad-fronted 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.

Ale.
Sovereign of Egypt, hail!

Cle.
How much art thou unlike Mark Antony!
Yet, coming from him, that great med'cine hath
With his tinct gilded thee.—
How goes it with my brave Mark Anthony?

Ale.
Last thing he did, dear Queen,
He kiss'd, the last of many doubl'd kisses,
This orient pearl; His speech sticks in my heart.

Cle.
Mine ear must pluck it thence.

Ale.
—Good friend, quoth he,
Say, The firm Roman to great Egypt sends
This &dagger2; treasure of an oister: at whose foot,
To mend the petty present, I will piece
Her opulent throne with kingdoms; All the east,
Say thou, shall call her mistress. So he nodded,
And soberly did mount an arm-gaunt steed;
Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke
Was beastly dumb'd by him.

Cle.
—What, was he sad, or merry?

Ale.
Like to the time o' the year between the extreams
Of hot and cold; he was nor sad, nor merry.

Cle.
O well-divided diaposition!—Note him,

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 else.—Met'st thou my posts?

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

Cle.
—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?

Cha.
—O that brave Cæsar!

Cle.
Be choak'd with such another emphasis!
Say, the brave Antony.

Cha.
—The valiant Cæsar!

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

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

Cle.
—My sallad days;
When I was green in judgment, cold in blood;
To say, as I said then! But, come, away;
Get me ink and paper: he shall have every day
A several greeting, or I'll unpeople Egypt. [Exeunt. ACT II.

SCENE I. Rome. A Room in Lepidus' House. Enter Lepidus, and Enobarbus.

Lep.
Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed,
And shall become you well, to entreat your captain
To soft and gentle speech.

Eno.
—I shall entreat him
To answer like himself: if Cæsar move him,
Let Antony look over Cæsar's head,
And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter,
Were I the wearer of Antonio's beard,
I would not shave't to-day.

Lep.
—'Tis not a time
For private stomaching.

Eno.
—Every time
Serves for the matter that is then born in't.

Lep.
But small to greater matters must give way.

Eno.
Not if the small come first.

Lep.
—Your speech is passion:
But, pray you, stir no embers up. Here comes
The noble Antony. Enter Antony, and Canidius.

Eno.
—And yonder Cæsar. Enter Cæsar, Agrippa, and Mecænas.

Ant.
If we compose well here, to Parthia:—
Hark you, Canidius,—

Cæs.
—I do not know,
Mecænas; ask Agrippa.

Lep.
—Noble friends,
That which combin'd us was most great, and let not
A leaner action rend us. What's amiss,
May it be gently heard: When we debate
Our trivial difference loud, we do commit

Murther in healing wounds: Then, noble partners,
(The rather, for I earnestly beseech)
Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms,
Nor curstness grow to the matter.

Ant.
—'Tis spoken well:
Were we before our armies, and to fight,
I should do thus.

Cæs.
Welcome to Rome.

Ant.
—Thank you.

Cæs.
—Sit.

Ant.
—Sit, sir.

Cæs.
—Nay, then.

Ant.
I learn, you take things ill, which are not so;
Or, being, concern you not.

Cæs.
—I must be laugh'd at,
If, or for nothing, or a little, I
Should say myself offended; and with you
Chiefly i'the world: more laugh'd at, that I should
Once name you derogately, when to sound your name
It not concern'd me.

Ant.
—My being in Egypt, Cæsar,
What was't to you?

Cæs.
No more than my residing here at Rome
Might be to you in Egypt: Yet, if you there
Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt
Might be my question.

Ant.
—How intend you, practis'd?

Cæs.
You may be pleas'd to catch at mine intent,
By what did here befall me: Your wife, and brother,
Made wars upon me; and their contestation
Was them'd for you, you were the word of war.

Ant.
You do mistake your business; my brother never

Did urge me in his act: I did inquire it;
And have my learning from some true reports ^note,
That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather
Discredit my authority with yours;
And make the wars alike against my stomach,
Having alike your cause? Of this, my letters
Before did satisfy you. If you'll patch a quarrel,
(As matter whole you have not to make it with)
It must not be with this.

Cæs.
—You praise yourself,
By laying to me defects of judgment: but
You patch'd up your excuses.

Ant.
—Not so, not so:
I know you could not lack, I am certain on't,
Very necessity of this thought, That I,
Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he fought,
Could not with grateful eyes attend those wars
Which 'fronted mine own peace. As for my wife,
I would you had her spirit in such another:
The third o'the world is yours; which with a snaffle
You may pace easy, but not such a wife.

Eno.

'Would we had all such wives, that the men might go to wars with the women.

Ant.
So much uncurbable, her garboils, Cæsar,
Made out of her impatience, (which not wanted
Shrewdness of policy too) I grieving grant,
Did you too much disquiet: for that, you must
But say, I could not help it.

Cæs.
—I wrote to you,
When, rioting in Alexandria, you
Did pocket up my letters; and with taunts
Did gibe my missive out of audience.

Ant.
—Sir,
He fell upon me, ere admitted; then
Three Kings I had newly feasted, and did want
Of what I was i'the morning: but, next day,
I told him of myself; which was as much
As to have ask'd him pardon: Let this fellow
Be nothing of your ^note strife; if we contend,
Out of our question wipe him.

Cæs.
—You have broken
The article of our ^note oath; which you shall never
Have tongue to charge me with.

Lep.
—Soft, Cæsar.

Ant.
—No,
Lepidus, let him speak;
The honour is sacred which he talks on now,
Supposing that I lack'd it:—but on, Cæsar;
The article of my oath,—

Cæs.
To lend me arms, and aid, when I requir'd them;
The which you both deny'd.

Ant.
—Neglected, rather;
And then, when poison'd hours had bound me up
From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may,
I'll play the penitent to you: but mine honesty
Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power
Work without it: Truth is, that Fulvia,
To have me out of Egypt, made wars here;
For which myself, the ignorant motive, do
So far ask pardon, as befits mine honour
To stoop in such a case.

Lep.
—'Tis nobly spoken.

Mec.
If it might please you, to enforce no further
The griefs between ye: to forget them quite,

Were to remember that the present need
Speaks to atone you.

Lep.
—Worthily spoken, Mecænas.

Eno.

Or, if you borrow one another's love for the instant, you may, when you hear no more words of Pompey, return it again: you shall have time to wrangle in, when you have nothing else to do.

Ant.
Thou art a soldier only; speak no more.

Eno.
That truth should be silent, I had almost forgot.

Ant.
You wrong this presence, therefore speak no more.

Eno.
Go to then; your considerate stone.

Cæs.
I do not much mislike the manner, but
The matter of his speech: for't cannot be,
We shall remain in friendship, our conditions
So differing in their acts. Yet, if I knew
What hoop should hold us stanch, from edge to edge
O'the world I would pursue it.

Agr.
Give me leave, Cæsar,—

Cæs.
—Speak, Agrippa.

Agr.
Thou hast a sister by the mother's side,
Admir'd Octavia: great Mark Antony
Is now a widower.

Cæs.
—Say not so, Agrippa;
If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof
Were well deserv'd of rashness.

Ant.
I am not marry'd, Cæsar: let me hear
Agrippa further speak.

Agr.
To hold you in perpetual amity,
To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts
With an unslipping knot, take Antony
Octavia to his wife: whose beauty claims
No worse a husband than the best of men;

Whose virtue, and whose general graces, speak
That which none else can utter. By this marriage,
All little jealousies, which now seem great,
And all great fears, which now import their dangers,
Would then be nothing: truths would then be tales,
Where now half tales be truths: her love to both
Would, each to other, and all loves to both,
Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke;
For 'tis a study'd not a present thought,
By duty ruminated.

Ant.
—Will Cæsar speak?

Cæs.
Not 'till he hears how Antony is touch'd
With what is spoke already.

Ant.
—What power is in Agrippa,
If I would say, Agrippa, be it so,
To make this good?

Cæs.
—The power of Cæsar, and
His power unto Octavia.

Ant.
—May I never
To this good purpose, that so fairly shews,
Dream of impediment!—Let me have thy hand:
Further this act of grace; And, from this hour,
The heart of brothers govern in our loves,
And sway our great designs!

Cæs.
—There is my hand.
A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother
Did ever love so dearly: Let her live
To join our kingdoms, and our hearts; and never
Fly off our loves again!

Lep.
—Happily! Amen.

Ant.
I did not think to draw my sword 'gainst Pompey;
For he hath lay'd strange courtesies, and great,

Of late upon me: I must thank him only,
Lest my remembrance suffer ill report;
At heel of that, defy him.

Lep.
—Time calls upon us:
Of us must Pompey presently be sought,
Or else he seeks out us.

Ant.
—Where lies he, Cæsar?

Cæs.
About the mount Misenum.

Ant.
—What's his strength
By land?

Cæs.
—Great, and encreasing: but by sea
He is an absolute master.

Ant.
—So is the fame:
'Would we had spoke together! haste we for it:
Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, dispatch we
The business we have talk'd of.

Cæs.
—With most gladness;
And do invite you to my sister's view,
Whither straight I'll lead you.

Ant.
—Let us, Lepidus,
Not lack your company.

Lep.
—Noble Antony,
Not sickness should detain me. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas.

Cle.
Give me some musick; musick, moody food
Of us that trade in love.

att.
—The musick, ho! Enter Mardian.

Cle.
Let it alone; let us to billiards:—come,
Charmian.

Cha.
—My arm is sore, best play with Mardian.

Cle.
As well a woman with an eunuch play'd,
As with a woman:—Come, you'll play with me, sir?

Mar.
As well as I can, madam.

Cle.
And when good will is shew'd, though't come too short,
The actor may plead pardon. I'll none now:—
Give me mine angle,—We'll to the river: there,
My musick playing far off, I will betray
Tawny-fin'd fishes: my bended hook shall pierce
Their slimy jaws; and, as I draw them up,
I'll think them every one an Antony,
And say, Ah, ha! you're caught.

Cha.
—'Twas merry, when
You wager'd on your angling; when your diver
Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, which he
With fervency drew up.

Cle.
—That time!—O times!
I laugh'd him out of patience; and that night
I laugh'd him into patience: and next morn,
Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed;
Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst
I wore his sword Philippan. O, from Italy;— Enter a Messenger.
Rain thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears,
That long time have been barren.

Mes.
—Madam, madam,—

Cle.
Antony's dead:—If thou say so,
Villain, thou kill'st thy mistress: but well, and free,
If thou so yield him, there is &dagger2; gold, and here
My bluest veins to kiss; a hand, that Kings
Have lip'd, and trembl'd kissing.

Mes.
First, madam, he is well: ^note

Cle.
Why, there's more &dagger2; gold. But, sirrah, mark; We use
To say, the dead are well: bring it to that,
The gold, I give thee, will I melt, and pour
Down thy ill-uttering throat.

Mes.
Good madam, hear me.

Cle.
—Well, go to, I will;
But there's no goodness in thy face: If Antony
Be free, and healthful, Why so tart a favour
To trumpet such good tidings? If not well,
Thou should'st come like a fury crown'd with snakes,
Not like a formal man.

Mes.
—Wilt please you hear me?

Cle.
I have a mind to strike thee, ere thou speak'st:
Yet if thou say, Antony lives, is well,
Or friends with Cæsar, or not captive to him,
I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail
Rich pearls upon thee.

Mes.
—Madam, he's well.

Cle.
—Well said.

Mes.
And friends with Cæsar.

Cle.
—Thou'rt an honest man.

Mes.
Cæsar and he are greater friends than ever.

Cle.
Mark thee a fortune from me.

Mes.
—But yet, madam,—

Cle.
I do not like but yet, it does allay
The good precedence; fie upon but yet:
But yet is as a jailor, to bring forth
Some monstrous malefactor. Prythee, friend,
Pour out thy pack of matter to mine ear,
The good and bad together: He's friends with Cæsar;
In state of health, thou say'st; and, thou say'st, free.

Mes.
Free, madam? no; I made no such report. ^note

He's bound unto Octavia.

Cle.
—I am pale, Charmian.

Mes.
Madam, he's marry'd to Octavia.

Cle.
The most infectious pestilence upon thee! [strikes him down.

Mes.
Good madam, patience.

Cle.
—What say you? [striking him again.] Hence,
Horrible villain! or I'll spurn thine eyes
Like balls before me; I'll unhair thy head: [hales him up and down.
Thou shalt be whip'd with wire, and stew'd in brine,
Smarting in lingring pickle.

Mes.
—Gracious madam,
I, that do bring the news, made not the match.

Cle.
Say, 'tis not so, a province I will give thee,
And make thy fortunes proud: the blow thou had'st
Shall make thy peace, for moving me to rage;
And I will boot thee with what gift beside
Thy modesty can beg.

Mes.
—He's marry'd, madam.

Cle.
Rogue, thou hast liv'd too long. [draws a Dagger.

Mes.
—Nay, then I'll run:—
What mean you, madam? I have made no fault. [Exit Messenger.

Cha.
Good madam, keep yourself within yourself;
The man is innocent.

Cle.
Some innocents 'scape not the thunder-bolt.—
Melt Egypt into Nile! and kindly creatures
Turn all to serpents!—Call the slave again;
Though I am mad, I will not bite him; call.

Cha.
He is afeard to come.

Cle.
—I will not hurt him:—

These hands do lack nobility, that they strike
A meaner than myself; since I myself
Have giv'n myself the cause.—Come hither, sir: Re-enter Messenger.
Though it be honest, it is never good
To bring bad news: Give to a gracious message
An host of tongues; but let ill tidings tell
Themselves, when they be felt.

Mes.
I have but done my duty.

Cle.
—Is he marry'd?
I cannot hate thee worser than I do,
If thou again say, yes.

Mes.
—He's marry'd, madam.

Cle.
The gods confound thee! dost thou hold there still?

Mes.
Should I lie, madam?

Cle.
—O, I would thou did'st,
So half my Egypt were submerg'd, and made
A cistern for scal'd snakes! Go, get thee hence;
Had'st thou Narcissus in thy face, to me
Thou would'st appear most ugly. He is marry'd?

Mes.
I crave your highness' pardon.

Cle.
—He is marry'd?

Mes.
Take no offence, that I would not offend you:
To punish me for what you make me do,
Seems much unequal: He's marry'd to Octavia.

Cle.
O, that his fault should make a knave of thee,
That say'st but what thou art sure of! Get thee hence:
The merchandize, which thou hast brought from Rome,
Are all too dear for me; Lie they upon thy hand,
And be undone by 'em! [Exit Messenger.

Cha.
—Good your highness, patience.

Cle.
In praising Antony, I have disprais'd Cæsar.

Cha.
Many times, madam.

Cle.
—I am pay'd for't now.
Lead me from hence,
I faint; O Iras, Charmian,—'Tis no matter:—
Go to the fellow, good Alexas; bid him
Report the feature of Octavia, her years,
Her inclination; let him not leave out
The colour of her hair: bring me word quickly.— [Exit Alexas.
Let him for ever go:—Let him not, Charmian;
Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon,
The other way's a Mars:—Bid you Alexas [to Mar.
Bring me word, how tall she is.—Pity me, Charmian,
But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber. SCENE III. Aboard Pompey's Galley off Misenum. Under a Pavilion upon Deck, a Banquet set out: Musick: Servants attending. Enter Menas, and Enobarbus, meeting.

Men.

Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have made this treaty.—You and I have known, sir.

Eno.
Menas, I think.

Men.
The same, sir.

Eno.
We came hither to fight with you.

Men.
For my part, I am sorry it is turn'd to a drinking.
Pompey doth this day laugh away his fortune.

Eno.
If he do, sure he cannot weep it back again.

Men.

You have said, sir. We look'd not for Mark Antony here; Pray you, is he marry'd to Cleopatra?

Eno.

Cæsar's sister is called Octavia.

Men.

True, sir; she was the wife of Caius Marcellus.

Eno.

But now she is the wife of Marcus Antonius.

Men.

Pray you, sir,—

Eno.

'Tis true.

Men.

Then is Cæsar, and he, for ever knit together.

Eno.

If I were bound to divine of this unity, I would not prophesy so.

Men.

I think, the policy of that purpose made more in the marriage, than the love of the parties.

Eno.

I think so too. But you shall find, the band, that seems to tie their friendship together, will be the very strangler of their amity: Octavia is of a holy, cold, and still conversation.

Men.

Who would not have his wife so?

Eno.

Not he, that himself is not so; which is, Mark Antony. He will to his Egyptian dish again: then shall the sighs of Octavia blow the fire up in Cæsar; and, as I said before, that, which is the strength of their amity, shall prove the immediate author of their variance. Antony will use his affection where it is; he marry'd but his occasion here.

Men.

And thus it may be. Come, sir, we have healths for you.

Eno.

I shall take'em, sir: we have us'd our throats in Egypt.

Here they come: Some of their plants are ill-rooted already; the least wind i'the world will blow them down.

Men.
Lepidus is high-colour'd.

Ant.
Thus do they, sir, [to Cæs.] They take the flow
By certain scales i'the pyramid; they know,
By the height, the lowness, or the mean, if dearth,
Or foizon, follow: The higher Nilus swells,
The more it promises: as it ebbs, the seedsman

Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain,
And shortly comes to harvest.

Lep.

You've strange serpents there.

Ant.

Ay, Lepidus.

Lep.

Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the operation of the sun: so is your crocodile.

Ant.

They are so.

Pom.

Sit,—and some wine:—A health to Lepidus.

Lep.

I am not so well as I should be; but I'll ne'er out.

Eno.

“Not 'till you have slept; I fear me, you'll be in 'till then.”

Lep.

Nay, certainly, I have heard the Ptolemies' pyramises are very goodly things; without contradiction, I have heard that.

Men.

“Pompey, a word.”

Pom.

—“Say in mine ear; What is't?”

Men.
“Forsake thy seat, I do beseech thee, captain,”
“And hear me speak a word.”

Pom.

“Forbear me 'till anon.”—This wine for Lepidus.

Lep.

What manner o'thing is your crocodile?

Ant.

It is shap'd, sir, like itself; and it is as broad as it hath breadth: it is just so high as it is, and moves with it's own organs: it lives by that which nourisheth it; and, the elements once out of it, it transmigrates.

Lep.

What colour is it of?

Ant.

Of it's own colour too.

Lep.

'Tis a strange serpent.

Ant.

'Tis so, And the tears of it are wet.

Cæs.

“Will this description satisfy him?”

Ant.

“With the health that Pompey gives him, else he is a very epicure.”

Pom.
Go, hang, sir, hang: [to Men.] Tell me of that! Away:

Do as I bid you—Where's this cup I call'd for.

Men.
“If for the sake of merit thou wilt hear me,”
“Rise from thy stool.rdquo;

Pom.
—I think, thou'rt mad. [rising, and steping aside] “The matter?”

Men.
“I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes.”

Pom.
“Thou hast serv'd me with much faith: What's else to say?”—
Be jolly, lords.

Ant.
—These quicksands, Lepidus,
Keep off them, for you sink.

Men.
“Wilt thou be lord of all the world?”

Pom.
—“What say'st thou?”

Men.
“Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? That's twice.”

Pom.
“How should that be?”

Men.
—“But entertain it,”
“And, though thou think me poor, I am the man”
“Will give thee all the world.”

Pom.
—“Thou hast drunk well.”

Men.
“No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup.”
“Thou art, if thou dar'st be, the earthly Jove:”
“Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky inclips,”
“Is thine, if thou wilt ha't.”

Pom.
—“Shew me which way.”

Men.
“These three world-sharers, these competitors,”
“Are in thy vessel: Let me cut the cable;”
“And, when we are put off, fall to their throats:”
“And then is thine.”

Pom.
—“Ah, this thou should'st have done,”
“And not have spoke of it! In me, 'tis villainy;”
“In thee, 't had been good service. Thou must know,”
“'Tis not my profit that does lead mine honour;”
“Mine honour, it. Repent, that e'er thy tongue”
“Hath so betray'd thine act: Being done unknown,”

“I should have found it afterwards well done;”
“But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink.”

Men.
“For this,” [looking contemptibly after him.
“I'll never follow thy pall'd fortunes more.”—
“Who seeks, and will not take, when once 'tis offer'd,”
“Shall never find it more.” [joins the Company.

Pom.
This health to Lepidus.

Ant.
—Bear him ashore.— [to an Attendant.
I'll pledge it for him, Pompey.

Eno.
Here's to thee, Menas.

Men.
—Enobarbus, welcome.

Pom.
Fill, 'till the cup be hid. [Lepidus born off.

Eno.
There's a strong fellow, Menas.

Men.
—Why?

Eno.
—He bears
The third part of the world, man; Seest not?

Men.
The third part then is drunk: 'Would it were all,
That it might go on wheels.

Eno.
Drink thou, encrease the reels.

Men.
Come.

Pom.
This is not yet an Alexandrian feast.

Ant.
It ripens towards it.—Strike the vessels, ho!
Here is to Cæsar.

Cæs.
—I could well forbear't;
It's monstrous labour, when I wash my brain,
And it grows fouler.

Ant.
—Be a child o'the time.

Eno.
Ha, my brave Emperor! [to Ant.] Shall we dance now
Th' Egyptian bacchanals, and celebrate our drink?

Pom.
Let's ha't, good soldier. [they rise.

Ant.
—Come, let's all take hands;
'Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense

In soft and delicate lethe.

Eno.
—All take hands.—
Make battery to our ears with the loud musick:—
The while, I'll place you: Then the boy shall sing;
The holding every man shall bear, as loud
As his strong sides can volly. [Musick plays. Enobarbus places them hand in hand.
SONG.
Come, thou monarch of the vine,
plumpy Bacchus, with pink eyne:
in thy vats our cares be drown'd;
with thy grapes our hairs be crown'd;
cup us, 'till the world go round,
Bur. cup us, 'till the world go round.

Cæs.
What would you more?—Pompey, good night.—Good brother,
Let me request you, off: our graver business
Frowns at this levity.—Gentle lords, let's part;
You see, we have burnt our cheeks: strong Enobarbe
Is weaker than the wine; and mine own tongue
Splits what it speaks: the wild disguise hath almost
Antickt us all. What needs more words? Good night. [Exeunt Cæsar, and Train.

Pom.
I'll try you on the shore.

Ant.
—And shall, sir.—“I will to Egypt:”
“For though I have made this marriage for my peace,”
“I'the east my pleasure lies.”—Give us your hand.

Pom.
O, Antony, you have my father's house,—
But, what? we are friends again. [Exeunt Pompey, and Antony.

Eno.
—Take heed you fall not.—
Menas, I'll not on shore.

Men.
—No, to my cabin.—
These drums, these trumpets, flutes,—let Neptune hear
We bid aloud farewel to these great fellows:
Sound, and be hang'd, sound out. [Flourish of loud Musick.

Eno.
Ho, says 'a!—There's my cap.

Men.
—Ho, noble captain! Come. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas.

Cle.
Where is the fellow?

Ale.
—Half afeard to come.

Cle.
Go to, go to:—Come hither, sir. Enter Messenger.

Ale.
—Good majesty,
Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you,
But when you are well pleas'd.

Cle.
—That Herod's head
I'll have: But how? when Antony is gone,
Through whom I might command it.—Come thou near.

Mes.
Most gracious majesty,—

Cle.
—Did'st thou behold
Octavia?

Mes.
—Ay, dread Queen.

Cle.
—Where?

Mes.
—Madam, in Rome
I look'd her in the face; and saw her led
Between her brother and Mark Antony.

Cle.
Is she as tall as me?

Mes.
—She is not, madam.

Cle.
Did'st hear her speak? Is she shrill-tongu'd, or low?

Mes.
Madam, I heard her speak; she is low-voic'd.

Cle.
That's not so good:—he cannot like her long.

Cha.
Like her? O Isis! 'tis impossible.

Cle.
I think so, Charmian: Dull of tongue, and dwarfish!—
What majesty is in her gate? Remember;
If e'er thou look'dst on majesty.

Mes.
—She creeps;
Her motion and her station are as one:
She shews a body, rather than a life;
A statue, than a breather.

Cle.
—Is this certain?

Mes.
Or I have no observance.

Cha.
—Three in Egypt
Cannot make better note.

Cle.
—He's very knowing,
I do perceive't:—There's nothing in her yet:—
The fellow has good judgment.

Cha.
—Excellent.

Cle.
Guess at her years, I prythee.

Mes.
—Her years, madam?
She was a widow:

Cle.
—Widow?—Charmian, hark.

Mes.
And I do think, she's thirty.

Cle.
—Bear'st thou her face
In mind? is't long, or round?

Mes.
—Round, even to faultiness.

Cle.
For the most part too, they are foolish that are so.—
Her hair, what colour?

Mes.
—Brown, madam: And her forehead
As low as she would wish it.

Cle.
—There's &dagger2; gold for thee.
Thou must not take my former sharpness ill:
I will employ thee back again; I find thee

Most fit for business: Go, make thee ready, while
Our letters are prepar'd. [Exit Messenger.

Cha.
—A proper man.

Cle.
Indeed, he is so: I repent me much,
That so I harry'd him. Why, methinks, by him,
This creature's no such thing.

Cha.
—O, nothing, madam.

Cle.
The man hath seen some majesty, and should know.

Cha.
Hath he seen majesty? Isis else defend,
And serving you so long!

Cle.
I have one thing more to ask him yet, good Charmian:—
But 'tis no matter; thou shalt bring him to me
Where I will write: All may be well enough.

Cha.
I warrant you, madam. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Rome. A Room in Cæsar's House. Enter Cæsar, Mecænas, and Agrippa.

Cæs.
Contemning Rome, he did all this: And once,
In Alexandria,—here's &dagger2; the manner of it,—
I'the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd,
Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold
Were publickly enthron'd: at the feet, sat
Cæsarion, whom they call my father's son;
And all the unlawful issue, that their lust
Since then hath made between them. Unto her
He gave the 'stablishment of Egypt; made her
Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia,
Absolute Queen.

Mec.
—This in the publick eye?

Cæs.
I'the common shew-place, where they exercise.
His sons he there proclaim'd, The Kings of Kings:
Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia,

He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy he assign'd
Syria, Cilicia, and Phœnicia: She
In the habiliments of the goddess Isis
That day appear'd; and oft before gave audience,
As 'tis reported, so.

Mec.
—Let Rome be thus
Inform'd.

Agr.
—Who, queasy with his insolence
Already, will their good thoughts call from him.

Cæs.
The peole know it; and have now receiv'd
His accusations.

Agr.
—Whom does he accuse?

Cæs.
Cæsar: and that, having in Sicily
Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him
His part o'the isle: then does he say, he lent me
Some shipping unrestor'd: lastly, he frets,
That Lepidus of the triumvirate
Should de depos'd; and, being, that we detain
All his revenue.

Agr.
—Sir, this should be answer'd.

Cæs.
'Tis done already, and the messenger gone.
I have told him, Lepidus was grown too cruel;
That he his high authority abus'd,
And did deserve his change: for what I have conquer'd,
I grant him part; but then, in his Armenia,
And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I
Demand the like.

Mec.
—He'll never yield to that.

Cæs.
Nor must not then be yielded to in this. Enter Octavia, attended.

Oct.
Hail, Cæsar, and my lord! hail, most dear Cæsar!

Cæs.
That ever I shoul call thee, cast-away.

Oct.
You have not call'd me so, nor have you cause.

Cæs.
Why hast thou stoln upon us thus? You come not
Like Cæsar's sister: The wife of Antony
Should have an army for an usher, and
The neighs of horse to tell of her approach,
Long ere she did appear: the trees by the way
Should have born men; and expectation fainted,
Longing for what it had not: nay, the dust
Should have ascended to the roof of heaven,
Rais'd by your populous troops: But you are come
A market-maid to Rome; and have prevented
The oftent of our love, which, left unshewn,
Is often left unlov'd: we should have met you
By sea, and land; supplying every stage
With an augmented greeting.

Oct.
—Good my lord,
To come thus was I not constrain'd, but did it
On my free will. My lord Mark Antony,
Hearing that you prepar'd for war, acquainted
My grieving ear withal; whereon, I beg'd
His paron for return.

Cæs.
—Which soon he granted,
Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him.

Oct.
Do not say so, my lord.

Cæs.
—I have eyes upon him,
And his affairs come to me on the wind:
Where, say you, he is now?

Oct.
—My lord, in Athens.

Cæs.
No, my most wronged sister; Cleopatra
Hath nodded him to her: He hath giv'n his empire
Up to a whore; who now are levying
The Kings o'the earth for war.

Oct.
—Ah me most wretched!
That have my heart parted betwixt two friends,
That do afflict each other.

Cæs.
—Welcome hither:
Your letters did withhold our breaking forth;
'Till we perceived, both how you were wrong'd,
And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart:
Be you not troubl'd with the time, which drives
O'er your content these strong necessities;
But let determin'd things to destiny
Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Rome:
Nothing more dear to me. You are abus'd
Beyond the mark of thought: and the high gods,
To do you justice, make them ministers
Of us, and those that love you. Be of comfort;
And ever welcome to us.

Agr.
—Welcome, lady.

Mec.
Welcome, dear madam.
Each heart in Rome does love and pity you:
Only the adulterous Antony, most large
In his abominations, turns you off;
And gives his potent regiment to a trull,
That noises ^note it against us.

Oct.
—Is it so, sir?

Cæs.
Most certain. Sister, welcome: Pray you now,
Be ever known to patience: My dear'st sister! [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. Near Actium. Antony's Camp. Enter Cleopatra, and Enobarbus.

Cle.
I will be even with thee, doubt it not.

Eno.
But why, why, why?

Cle.
Thou hast fore-spoke my being in these wars;
And say'st, it is not fit.

Eno.
—Well, is it, is it?

Cle.
Is't not denounc'd 'gainst us? Why should not we
Be there in person?

Eno.
—Well, I could reply:—
If we should serve with horse and mares together,
The horse were meerly lost; the mares would bear
A soldier, and his horse.

Cle.
—What is't you say?

Eno.
Your presence needs must puzle Antony;
Take from his heart, take from his brain, from his time,
What should not then be spar'd. He is already
Traduc'd for levity; and 'tis said in Rome,
That Photinus an eunuch, and your maids,
Manage this war.

Cle.
—Sink Rome; and their tongues rot,
That speak against us! A charge we bear i'the war,
And, as the president of my kingdom, will
Appear there for a man. Speak not against it;
I will not stay behind.

Eno.
—Nay, I have done.
Here comes the Emperor. Enter Antony, and Canidius.

Ant.
—Is't not strange, Canidius,
That from Tarentum, and Brundusium,
He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea,
And take in Toryne?—You have heard on't, sweet?

Cle.
Celerity is never more admir'd,
Than by the negligent.

Ant.
—A good rebuke,

Which might have well becom'd the best of men,
To taunt at slackness.—My Canidius, we
Will fight with him by sea.

Cle.
—By sea! What else?

Can.
Why will my lord do so?

Ant.
—For that he dares us to't.

Eno.
So hath my lord dar'd him to single fight.

Can.
Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia,
Where Cæsar fought with Pompey: But these offers,
Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off;
And so should you.

Eno.
—Your ships are not well man'd:
Your mariners are muliteers, reapers, people
Ingrost by swift impress; in Cæsar's fleet
Are those, that often have 'gainst Pompey fought:
Their ships are yare; yours, heavy: No disgrace
Can fall you for refusing him at sea,
Being prepar'd for land.

Ant.
—By sea, by sea.

Eno.
Most worthy sir, you therein throw away
The absolute soldiership you have by land;
Distract your army, which doth most consist
Of war-mark'd footmen; leave unexecuted
Your own renowned knowledge; quite forego
The way which promises assurance; and
Give up yourself meerly to chance and hazard,
From firm security.

Ant.
—I'll fight at sea.

Cle.
I have sixty sails, Cæsar none better.

Ant.
—Come:
Our over-plus of shipping will we burn;
And, with the rest full-man'd, from the head of Actium

Beat the approaching Cæsar. But if we fail, Enter an Attendant.
We then can do't at land.—Thy business?

Att.
The news is true, my lord; he is descry'd;
Cæsar has taken Toryne.

Ant.
Can he be there in person? 'tis impossible;
Strange, that his power should be.—Canidius,
Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land,
And our twelve thousand horse:—we'll to our ship; Enter Diomede.
Away, my Thetis.—How now, worthy soldier?

Dio.
O noble Emperor, do not fight by sea;
Trust not to rotten planks: Do you misdoubt
This sword, and these my wounds? Let the Egyptians,
And the Phænicians, go a ducking; we
Have us'd to conquer, standing on the earth,
And fighting foot to foot.

Ant.
—Well, well, away. [Exeunt Ant. Cle. Eno. and Attendant.

Dio.
By Hercules, I think I am i'the right.

Can.
Soldier, thou art: but this whole action grows
Not in the power on't: So our leader's led,
And we are women's men.

Dio.
—You keep by land
The legions and the horse whole, do you not?

Can.
Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius,
Publicola, and Cælius, are for sea:
But we keep whole by land. This speed of Cæsar's
Carries beyond belief.

Dio.
—While he was yet in Rome,
His power went out in such distractions, as
Beguil'd all spies.

Can.
—Who's his lieutenant, hear you?

Dio.
They say, one Taurus.

Can.
—Well I know the man. Re-enter Attendant.

Att.
The Emperor calls Canidius.

Can.
With news the time's in labour, and throws forth,
Each minute, some. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. Plain between both Camps. Enter Cæsar, Taurus, Officers, and Others.

Cæs.
Taurus,—

Tau.
—My lord.

Cæs.
Strike not by land; keep whole: provoke not battle,
'Till we have done at sea. Do not exceed
The prescript of this &dagger2; scrowl: Our fortune lies
Upon this jump. [Exeunt. Enter Antony, Enobarbus, and Others.

Ant.
Set we our squadrons on yon' side o'the hill,
In eye of Cæsar's battle; from which place
We may the number of the ships behold,
And so proceed accordingly. [Exeunt. Enter Canidius, marching with his Land-army one Way; and Taurus, the Lieutenant of Cæsar, with his, the other Way. After their going in, is heard the Noise of a Sea-fight. Alarums. Enter Enobarbus.

Eno.
Naught, naught, all naught! I can behold no longer:
The Antoniad, ^note the Egyptian admiral,
With all their sixty, fly, and turn the rudder;
To see't, mine eyes are blasted. Enter Diomede.

Dio.
—Gods, and goddesses,

All the whole synod of them!

Eno.
—What's thy passion?

Dio.
The greater cantle of the world is lost
With very ignorance; we have kiss'd away
Kingdoms, and provinces.

Eno.
—How appears the fight?

Dio.
On our side like the token'd pestilence,
Where death is sure. Yon' ribald nag of Egypt,
(Whom leprosy o'ertake!) i'the midst o'the fight,—
When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd,
Both as the same, or rather ours the elder,—
The breeze upon her, like a cow in June,
Hoists sails, ^note and flies.

Eno.
—That I beheld: mine eyes
Did sicken at the sight of it, and could not
Endure a further view.

Dio.
—She once being looft,
The noble ruin of her magick, Antony,
Claps on his sea-wing, and, like a doting mallard,
Leaving the fight in heighth, flies after her:
I never saw an action of such shame;
Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before
Did violate so itself.

Eno.
—Alack, alack! Enter Canidius.

Can.
Our fortune on the sea is out of breath,
And sinks most lamentably. Had our general
Been what he knew himself, it had gone well:
O, he has giv'n example for our flight,
Most grosly, by his own.

Eno.
“Ay, are you there-abouts? Why then, goodnight”
“Indeed.”

Can.
—Toward Peloponnesus are they fled.

Dio.
'Tis easy to't: and there I will attend
What further comes. [Exit.

Can.
—To Cæsar will I render
My legions, and my horse; six Kings already
Shew me the way of yielding. [Exit.

Eno.
—I'll yet follow
The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason
Sits in the wind against me. [Exit. SCENE III. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. Enter Antony, and Attendants.

Ant.
Hark, the land bids me, tread no more upon't;
It is asham'd to bear me.—Friends, come hither;
I am so lated in the world, that I
Have lost my way for ever: I have a ship
Laden with gold; take that, divide it; fly,
And make your peace with Cæsar.

att.
—Fly! not we.

Ant.
I have fled myself; and have instructed cowards
To run, and shew their shoulders. Friends, be gone:
I have myself resolv'd upon a course
Which has no need of you; be gone, be gone:
My treasure's in the harbour, take it.—O,
I follow'd that, I blush to look upon:
My very hairs do mutiny; for the white
Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them
For fear and doting.—Friends, be gone; you shall
Have letters from me to some friends, that will
Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not sad,
Nor make replies of lothness: take the hint
Which my despair proclaims; let that be left

Which leaves itself: to the sea-side straight away;
I will possess you of that ship and treasure.
Leave me, I pray, a little: pray you now:
Nay, do so; for, indeed, I have lost command,
Therefore I pray you: I'll see you by and by. [Exeunt Attendants. Throws himself on a Couch. Enter Eros, with Cleopatra, led by Iras and Charmian.

Ero.
Nay, gentle madam, to him, comfort him.

Ira.
Do, most dear Queen.

Cha.
Do! Why, what else?

Cle.
Let me sit † down.—O Juno!

Ant.
No, no, no, no, no.

Ero.
See you here, sir?

Ant.
O, fie, fie, fie.

Cha.
Madam,—

Ira.
Madam, good Empress,—

Ero.
Sir, sir,—

Ant.
Yes, my lord, yes;—He, at Philippi, kept
His sword even like a dancer; while I strook
The lean and wrinkl'd Cassius; and 'twas I,
That the mad Brutus ^note ended: he alone
Dealt on lieutenantry, and no practise had
In the brave squares of war: Yet now—No matter.

Cle.
Ah me!—Stand by. [rising.

Ero.
—The Queen, my lord, the Queen.

Ira.
Go to him, madam, speak to him; he is unquality'd
With very shame.

Cle.
—Well then,—Sustain me:—O!

Ero.
Most noble sir, arise; the Queen approaches;
Her head's declin'd, and death will seize her; but
Your comfort makes the rescue.

Ant.
I have offended reputation;
A most unnoble swerving.

Ero.
—Sir, the Queen.

Ant.
O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt? [starting up] See
How I convey my shame out of thine eyes,
By looking back on what I have left behind
'Stroy'd in ^note dishonour.

Cle.
—O, my lord, my lord!
Forgive my fearful sails; I little thought,
You would have follow'd.

Ant.
—Egypt, thou knew'st too well,
My heart was to thy rudder ty'd by the strings,
And thou should'st tow me after: O'er my spirit
Thy full supremacy thou knew'st; and that
Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods
Command me.

Cle.
—O, my pardon.

Ant.
—Now I must
To the young man send humble 'treaties, dodge
And palter in the shifts of lowness; who
With half the bulk o'the world play'd as I pleas'd,
Making, and marring, fortunes. You did know,
How much you were my conqueror; and that
My sword, made weak by my affection, would
Obey it on all causes.

Cle.
—Pardon, pardon.

Ant.
Fall not a tear, I say; one of them rates
All that is won and lost: Give me a kiss;
Even this † repays me.—We sent our soothsayer,
Is he come back?—Love, I am full of lead:—
Some wine, there, and our viands:—Fortune knows,
We scorn her most, when most she offers blows. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Camp in Egypt. Cæsar's Tent. Enter Cæsar, Thyreus, Dolabella, and others.

Cæs.
Let him appear, that's come from Antony:—
Know you him?

Dol.
—Cæsar, 'tis his soothsayer:
An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither
He sends so poor a pinion of his wing,
Which had superfluous Kings for messengers,
Not many moons gone by. Enter Soothsayer.

Cæs.
—Approach, and speak.

Soo.
Such as I am, I come from Antony:
I was of late as petty to his ends,
As is the morn dew on the mirtle leaf
To his grand sea.

Cæs.
—Be it so; Declare thine office.

Soo.
Lord of his fortunes he salutes thee, and
Requires to live in Egypt: which not granted,
He lessens his request; and of thee sues
To let him breath between the heavens and earth,
A private man in Athens: This for him.
Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness;
Submits her to thy might; and of thee craves
The circle of the Ptolemies for her heirs,
Now hazarded to thy grace.

Cæs.
—For Antony,
I have no ears to his request. The Queen
Of audience, nor desire, shall fail; so she
From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend,
Or take his life there: This if she perform,
She shall not sue unheard. So to them both.

Soo.
Fortune pursue thee!

Cæs.
—Bring him through the bands.— [Exit Soothsayer, attended.
To try thy eloquence, now's the time: Dispatch;
From Antony win Cleopatra: promise,
And in our name, what she requires; add more,
From thine invention offers: Women are not,
In their best fortunes, strong; but want will perjure
The ne'er-touch'd vestal: Try thy cunning, Thyreus;
Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we
Will answer as a law.

Thy.
—Cæsar, I go.

Cæs.
Observe how Antony becomes his flaw;
And what thou think'st his very action speaks
In every power that moves.

Thy.
—Cæsar, I shall. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. Enter Cleopatra, Enorbarbus, Charmian, and Iras.

Cle.
What shall we do, Enorbarbus?

Eno.
—Drink, and die.

Cle.
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 you?
The itch of his affection should not then
Have nick'd his captainship; at such a point,
When half to half the world oppos'd, he being
The meered question: 'Twas a shame no less
Than was his loss, to course your flying flags,
And leave his navy gazing.

Cle.
—Prythee, peace. Enter Antony, and Soothsayer.

Ant.
Is that his answer?

Soo.
—Ay, my lord.

Ant.
—The Queen
Shall then have courtesy, so she will yield
Us up.

Soo.
—My lord, he says so.

Ant.
—Let her know't.—
To the boy Cæsar send this grizl'd head,
And he will fill thy wishes to the brim
With principalities.

Cle.
—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 coin, ships, legions,
May be a coward's; whose ministries would prevail
Under the service of a child, as soon
As i'the command of Cæsar: I dare him therefore
To lay his gay comparisons ^note apart,
And answer me declin'd, sword against sword,
Ourselves alone: I'll write it; follow me. [Exeunt Antony, and Soothsayer.

Eno.
“Yes, like enough; high-battl'd Cæsar will”
“Unstate his happiness, and be stag'd to the shew”
“Against a sworder. I see, men's 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 an Attendant.

Att.
—A messenger from Cæsar.

Cle.
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. [Exit Attendant.

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,”
“Does conquer him that did his master conquer,”
“And earns a place i'the story.” Enter Thyreus.

Cle.
—Cæsar's will?

Thy.
Hear it apart.

Cle.
—None but friends; say on boldly.

Thy.
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: Or, as you know,
Whose he is, we are; and that is, Cæsar's.

Thy.
—So.—
Thus then, thou most renown'd; Cæsar entreats,
Not to consider in what case thou stand'st
Further than he is Cæsar.

Cle.
—Go on: Right royal.

Thy.
He knows, that you embrace ^note not Antony
As you did love, but as you fear'd him.

Cle.
—O!

Thy.
The scars upon your honour, therefore, he
Does pity, as constrained blemishes,
Not as deserv'd.

Cle.
—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 Enobarbus.

Thy.
—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 yourself under his shroud, the great,
The universal landlord.

Cle.
—What's your name?

Thy.
My name is Thyreus.

Cle.
—Most kind messenger,
Say to great Cæsar this, In deputation
I kiss his conquering hand: tell him, I am prompt
To lay my crown at his feet, and there to kneel:
Tell him, from his all-obeying breath I hear
The doom of Egypt.

Thy.
—'Tis your noblest course.
Wisdom and fortune combatting 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.

Cle.
—Your Cæsar's father oft, [giving her Hand.
When he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in,
Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place,
As it rain'd kisses.

Re-enter Enobarbus, with Antony.

Ant.
—Favours, by Jove that thunders!—
What art thou, fellow?

Thy.
—One, that but performs
The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest
To have command obey'd.

Eno.
—“You will be whip'd.”

Ant.
Approach, there;—Ah, you kite!—Now, gods and devils!
Authority melts from me of late: when I cry'd ho!
Like boys unto a muss, Kings would start forth,
And cry, Your will?—Have you no ears? I am Enter Attendants.
Antony yet. Take hence this Jack, and whip him.

Eno.
“'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp,”
“Than with an old one dying.”

Ant.
—Moon and stars!
Whip him:—Wer't twenty of the greatest tributaries
That do acknowledge Cæsar, should I find them
So saucy with the hand of the † here, (What's her name,
Since she was Cleopatra?)—Whip him, fellows,
'Till, like a boy, you see him cringe his face,
And whine aloud for mercy: Take him hence.

Thy.
Mark Antony,—

Ant.
—Tug him away: being whip'd,
Bring him again:—This Jack of Cæsar's shall
Bear us an errand to him.— [Exeunt Attendants, with Thyreus.
You were half blasted ere 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?

Cle.
—Good my lord,—

Ant.
You have been a bogler ever:—
But when we in our viciousness grow hard,
(O, misery on't!) the wise gods seel our eyes
In our own filth; drop our clear judgments; make us
Adore our errors; laugh at us, while we strut
To our confusion.

Cle.
—O, 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,
Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have
Luxuriously pick'd out: For, I am sure,
Though you can guess what temperance should be,
You know not what it is.

Cle.
—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, Re-enter Attendants, with Thyreus.
And plighter of high hearts!—O, is he whip'd?

1. A.
Soundly, my lord.

Ant.
—Cry'd he? and beg'd he pardon?

1. A.
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 whip'd for following him: henceforth,
The white hand of a lady fever thee,
Shake thou to look on't. 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 msot most easy '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
Hipparchus, my enfranched ^note 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 Thyreus.

Cle.
Have you done yet?

Ant.
—Alack, our terrene moon
Is now eclips'd; and it portends alone
The fall of Antony!

Cle.
—I must stay his time. [to her Women.

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

Cle.
—Not know me yet?

Ant.
Cold-hearted toward me?

Cle.
—Ah, dear, if I be so,
From my cold heart let heaven engender hail,
And poison it in the source; and the first stone
Drop in my neck: as it determines, so
Dissolve my life! The next Cæsarion smite!
'Till, by degrees, the memory of my womb,
Together with my brave Egyptians all,
By the discandying of this pelleted storm,
Lie graveless; 'till the flies and gnats of Nile
Have bury'd them for prey!

Ant.
—I am satisfy'd.
Cæsar sits down in Alexandria; where

I will oppose his fate. Our force by land
Hath nobly held; our sever'd navy too
Have knit again, and fleet, ^note threat'ning 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 our chronicle;
There is hope in it yet.

Cle.
—That's my brave lord!

Ant.
I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd,
And fight maliciously: for when mine hours
Were nice and lucky, men did ransom 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 gaudy night: call to me
All my sad captains, fill our bowls; once more
Let's mock the midnight bell.

Cle.
—It is my birth-day:
I had thought, to have held it poor; but, since my lord
Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.

Ant.
Well yet do well.

Cle.
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 sithe. [Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra, Cha. Ira. and Att.

Eno.
Now he'll out-stare the lightning. To be furious,
Is, to be frighted out of fear: 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. ACT IV. SCENE I. The same. Another Room. Enter Antony and Cleopatra; Charmian, Iras, and Others, attending.

Ant.
Eros! mine armour, Eros!

Cle.
—Sleep a little.

Ant.
No, my chuck.—Eros, come; mine armour, Eros! Enter Eros, with Armour.
Come, my good fellow, put thine iron on:—
If fortune be not ours to-day, it is
Because we brave her.—Come. [Eros arms him.

Cle.
—Nay, I'll help too.

Ant.
What's this for? Ah, let be, let be! thou art
The armourer of my heart: False, false; this, this.

Cle.
Sooth, la, I'll help: Thus it must be.

Ant.
—Well, well;
We shall thrive now.—Seest thou, my good fellow?
Go, put on thy defences.

Ero.
—Briefly, sir.

Cle.
Is not this buckl'd well?

Ant.
—O, rarely, rarely:
He that unbuckles this, 'till we do please
To doff't for our repose, shall hear a storm.—
Thou fumbl'st, Eros; and my Queen's a 'squire
More tight at this, than thou: Dispatch.—O, love,
That thou could'st see my wars to day, and knew'st
The royal occupation! thou should'st see

Enter an Officer, arm'd.
A workman in't.—Good morrow to thee; welcome;
Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge:
To business that we love we rise betime,
And go to't with delight.

1. O.
—A thousand, sir,
Early though't be, have on their rivetted trim,
And at the port expect you. [Shout within. Trumpets. Enter other Officers, Soldiers, &c.

2. O.
The morn is fair.—Good morrow, general.

all.
Good morrow, general.

Ant.
—'Tis well blown, lads.
This morning, like the spirit of a youth
That means to be of note, begins betimes.—
So, so; come, give me that: this way; well said.
Fare thee well, dame, whate'er becomes of me:
This † is a soldier's kiss: rebukable,
And worthy shameful check ^note it were, to stand
On more mechanick compliment; I'll leave thee
Now, like a man of steel.—You that will fight,
Follow me close; I'll bring you to't.—Adieu. [Exeunt Eros, Antony, Officers, and Soldiers.

Cha.
Please you, retire into your chamber.

Cle.
—Lead me.
He goes forth gallantly. That he and Cæsar might
Determine this great war in single fight!
Then, Antony,—But now—Well, on. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Under the Walls of Alexandria. Antony's Camp. Trumpets. Enter Antony, and Eros; Diomede meeting them.

Dio.
The gods make this a happy day to Antony!

Ant.
'Would thou and those thy scars had once prevail'd
To make me fight at land!

Dio.
—Had'st thou done so,
The Kings that have revolted, and the soldier
That has this morning left thee, would have still
Follow'd thy heels.

Ant.
—Who's gone this morning?

Dio.
—Who?
One ever near thee: Call for Enobarbus,
He shall not hear thee; or from Cæsar's camp
Say, I am none of thine.

Ant.
—What say'st thou?

Dio.
—Sir,
He is with Cæsar.

Ero.
—Sir, his chests and treasure
He has not with him.

Ant.
—Is he gone?

Dio.
—Most certain.

Ant.
Go, Eros, send his treasure after; do it,
Detain no jot of it, I charge thee: write to him
(I will subscribe) gentle adieus, and greetings:
Say, that I wish he never find more cause
To change a master.—O, my fortunes have
Corrupted honest men.—Dispatch.—O Enobarbus! SCENE III. Before Alexandria. Cæsar's Camp. Flourish. Enter Cæsar, with Agrippa, Enobarbus, and Others.

Cæs.
Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight:
Our will is, Antony be took alive;
Make it so known.

Agr.
—Cæsar, I shall. [Exit Agrippa.

Cæs.
The time of universal peace is near:
Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world
Shall bear the olive freely. Enter an Officer.

Off.
—Antony
Is come into the field.

Cæs.
—Go, charge Agrippa
Plant those that have revolted in the van;
That Antony may seem to spend his fury
Upon himself. [Exeunt Cæsar, and Train.

Eno.
Alexas did revolt: he went to Jewry, on
Affairs of Antony; there did persuade
Great Herod to incline himself to Cæsar,
And leave his master Antony: for this pains,
Cæsar hath hang'd him. Canidius, and the rest
That fell away, have entertainment, but
No honourable trust. I have done ill;
Of which I do accuse myself so sorely,
That I will joy no more. Enter a Soldier.

Sol.
—Enobarbus, Antony
Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with
His bounty over-plus: The messenger
Came on my guard; and at thy tent is now,
Unloading of his mules.

Eno.
I give it you.

Sol.
—I mock not, Enobarbus,
I tell you true: Best you see safe the bringer
Out of the host; I must attend mine office,
Or would have done't myself. Your Emperor
Continues still a Jove. [Exit Soldier.

Eno.
I am alone the villain of the earth,

And feel I am so most. O Antony,
Thou mine of bounty, how would'st thou have pay'd
My better service, when my turpitude
Thou dost so crown with gold! This bows my heart:
If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean
Shall out-strike thought; but thought will do't, I feel.
I fight against thee! no: I will go seek
Some ditch, wherein to die; the foul'st best fits
My latter part of life. [Exit. SCENE IV. Between the Camps. Field of Battle. Alarums. Enter Agrippa, and Forces.

Agr.
Retire, we have engag'd ourselves too far:
Cæsar himself has work, and our oppression ^note
Exceeds what we expected. [Retreat. Exeunt. Alarums. Enter Antony, and Forces; with Diomede, wounded.

Dio.
O my brave Emperor, this is fought indeed!
Had we done so at first, we had driv'n them home
With clouts about their heads.

Ant.
—Thou bleed'st apace.

Dio.
I had a wound here that was like a T,
But now 'tis made an H. [Retreat afar off.

Ant.
—They do retire.

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

Ero.
They are beaten, sir; and our advantage serves
For a fair victory.

Dio.
—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.

Dio.
—I'll halt after. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Gates of Alexandria. Enter Antony, marching; Diomede, and Forces.

Ant.
We have beat him to his camp;—Run one before,
And let the Queen know of our gests:—To-morrow,
Before the sun shall see us, 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 all shewn you 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 Dio. Enter Cleopatra, attended.
To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts,
Make her thanks bless thee.—O thou day o'the 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.

Cle.
—Lord of lords,
O infinite virtue, com'st thou smiling from
The world's great snare uncaught?

Ant.
—My nightingale,
We have beat them to their beds. What, girl? though grey
Do something mingle with our brown; yet have we
A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can
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
Destroy'd in such a shape.

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

Ant.
He has deserv'd it, were it carbuncl'd
Like holy Phœbus' car.—Give me thy hand;—
Through Alexandria make a jolly march;
Bear our hackt targets like the men that owe them:
Had our great palace the capacity
To camp this host, we all would sup together;
And drink carowses to the next day's fate,
Which promises royal peril.—Trumpeters,
With brazen din blast you the city's ear;
Make mingle with our rattling tabourines;
That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together,
Applauding our approach. [Flourish. Exeunt. SCENE VI. Out-skirts of Cæsar's Camp. Sentinels upon their Posts. Enter Enobarbus.

3. S.
If we be not reliev'd within this hour,
We must return to the court of guard: The night
Is shiny; and, they say, we shall embattle
By the second hour i'the morn.

1. S.
—This last day was
A shrewd one to us.

Eno.
O, bear me witness, night,—

2. S.
—“What man is this?”

1. S.
“Stand close, and list him.”

Eno.
Be witness to me, o thou blessed moon,
When men revolted shall upon record

Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did
Before thy face repent.

3. S.
—“Enobarbus!”

2. S.
—“Peace; hark further.”

Eno.
O sovereign mistress of true melancholy,
The poisonous damp of night dispunge ^note upon me;
That life, a very rebel to my will,
May hang no longer on me: Throw my heart
Against the flint and hardness of my fault;
Which, being dry'd with grief, will break to powder,
And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony,
Nobler than my revolt is infamous,
Forgive me in thine own particular;
But let the world rank me in register
A master-leaver, and a fugitive:
O Antony! o Antony! [dies.

1. S.
—“Let's speak to him.”

3. S.
“Let's hear him further, for the things he speaks”
“May concern Cæsar.”

2. S.
—“Let's do so. But he sleeps.”

3. S.
“Swoons, rather; for so bad a prayer as his”
“Was never yet for sleep.”

1. S.
—Go we to him.

2. S.
—Awake, sir, [to Eno.
Awake; speak to us.

1. S.
—Hear you, sir? [shaking him.

3. S.
—The hand
Of death hath raught him. [Drum afar off.
Hark, how the drums demurely wake ^note the sleepers;
Let's bear him to the court of guard; he is
Of note: our hour is fully out.

2. S.
—Come on then;

He may recover yet. [Exeunt with the Body. SCENE VII. Hills without the City. Enter Antony, and Diomede, with Forces, marching.

Ant.
Their preparation is to-day for sea;
We please them not by land.

Dio.
—For both, my lord.

Ant.
I would, they'd fight i'the fire, or i'the air;
We'd fight there too. But this it is, Our foot,
Upon the hills adjoining to the city,
Shall stay with us: order for sea is given;
They have put forth the haven: Hie we on,
Where their appointment we may best discover,
And look on their endeavour. [Exeunt. Enter Cæsar, and his Forces, marching.

Cæs.
But being charg'd, we will be still by land,
Which, as I take't, we shall; for his best force
Is forth to man his gallies. To the vales,
And hold our best advantage. [Exeunt. Re-enter Antony, and Diomede.

Ant.
Yet they're not join'd: Where yonder pine does stand,
I shall discover all: I'll bring thee word
Straight, how 'tis like to go. [Exit.

Dio.
—Swallows have built
In Cleopatra's sails their nests: the augurers
Say, they know not, they cannot tell; look grimly,
And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony
Is valiant, and dejected; and, by starts,
His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear,
Of what he has, and has not. [Shouts afar off. Re-enter Antony, hastily.

Ant.
—All is lost;

This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me:
My fleet hath yielded to the foe; and yonder
They cast their caps up, and carowse together
Like friends long lost.—Triple-turn'd whore! 'tis thou
Hast sold me to this novice; and my heart
Makes only wars on thee.—Bid them all fly;
For when I am reveng'd upon my charm,
I have done all; Bid them all fly, be gone. [Exit Diomede.
O sun, thy up-rise shall I see no more:
Fortune and Antony part here; even here
Do we shake hands. All come to this? The hearts
That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets
On blossoming Cæsar; and this pine is bark'd,
That over-top'd them all. Betray'd I am:
(O this false soil of Egypt!) This grave charm,—
Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them home;
Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end,—
Like a true gipsy, hath, at fast and loose,
Beguil'd me to the very heart of loss.— Enter Cleopatra.
What, Eros! Eros!—Ah, thou spell! Avant.

Cle.
Why is my lord enrag'd against his love?

Ant.
Vanish; or I shall give thee thy deserving,
And blemish Cæsar's triumph. Let him take thee,
And hoist thee up to the shouting plébeians:
Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot
Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shewn
For poor'st diminutives, for doits; and let
Patient Octavia plough thy visage up
With her prepared nails.[Exit Cle.] 'Tis well thou'rt gone,—

If it be well to live: But better 'twere,
Thou fell'st into my fury; for one death
Might have prevented many.—Eros, ho!—
The shirt of Nessus is upon me: Teach me,
Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage:
Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o'the moon;
And with those hands that grasp'd the heaviest club
Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die;
To the Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall
Under this plot: she dies for't.—Eros, ho! [Exit. SCENE VIII. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian.

Cle.
Help me, my women: O, he is more mad
Than Telamon for his shield; the boar of Thessaly
Was never so imbost.

Cha.
—To the monument;
There lock yourself, and send him word you are dead.
The soul and body rive not more in parting,
Than greatness going off.

Cle.
—To the monument:—
Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself;
Say, that the last I spoke was, Antony,
And word it, prythee, piteously: Hence, Mardian;
And bring me how he takes my death.—To the monument. SCENE IX. The same. Another Room. Enter Antony, and Eros.

Ant.
Eros, thou yet behold'st me?

Ero.
—Ay, noble lord.

Ant.
Sometime, we see a cloud that's dragonish;
A vapour, sometime, like a bear, or lion,

A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock,
A forked mountain, or blue promontory
With trees upon't, that nod unto the wind,
And mock our eyes with air: Thou hast seen these signs;
They are black vesper's pageants?

Ero.
—Ay, my lord.

Ant.
That, which is now a horse, even with a thought
The rack dislimns; and makes it indistinct,
As water is in water.

Ero.
—It does, my lord.

Ant.
My good knave, Eros, now thy captain is
Even such a body: here I am Antony;
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.
I made these wars for Egypt: and the Queen,—
Whose heart, I thought, I had, for she had mine;
Which, whilst it was mine, had annext unto't
A million more, now lost,—she, Eros, has
Pack'd cards with Cæsar, and false-play'd my glory
Unto an enemy's triumph.
Nay, weep not, gentle Eros; there is left us
Ourselves, to end ourselves.—O, thy vile lady! Enter Mardian.
She has rob'd me of my sword.

Mar.
—No, Antony;
My mistress lov'd thee, and her fortunes mingl'd
With thine entirely.

Ant.
—Hence, saucy eunuch; peace;
She hath betray'd me, and shall die the death.

Mar.
Death of one person can be pay'd but once;
And that she hath discharg'd: What thou would'st do,
Is done unto thy hand; the last she spake
Was, Antony! most noble Antony!

Then in the midst a tearing groan did break
The name of Antony; it was divided
Between her heart and lips: she render'd life,
Thy name so bury'd in her.

Ant.
—Dead then?

Mar.
—Dead.

Ant.
Unarm me, Eros; the long day's task is done,
And we must sleep:—That thou depart'st hence safe,
Does pay thy labour richly; Go.—[Exit Mar.] Pluck off;—
The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep
The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides!
Heart, once be stronger than thy continent,
Crack thy frail case!—Apace, Eros, apace.—
No more a soldier: Bruised pieces, go;
You have been nobly born.—From me a while. [Exit Eros.
I will o'er-take thee, Cleopatra, and
Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now
All length is torture; since the torch is out,
Lie down, and stray no farther: Now all labour
Mars what it does; yea, very force entangles
Itself with strength: Seal then, and all is done.—
Eros!—I come, my Queen:—Eros!—Stay for me:
Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in hand;
And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze:
Dido and her Æneas ^note shall want troops,
And all the haunt be ours.—Come, Eros, Eros. Re-enter Eros.

Ero.
What would my lord?

Ant.
—Since Cleopatra dy'd,
I have liv'd in such dishonour, that the gods
Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword

Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's back
With ships made cities, condemn myself, to lack
The courage of a woman; less noble-minded
Than she, which, by her death, our Cæsar tells,
I am conqueror of myself. Thou art sworn, Eros,
That, when the exigent should come, (which now
Is come, indeed) when I should see behind me
The inevitable prosecution of
Disgrace and horror, that, on my command,
Thou then would'st kill me: do't, the time is come:
Thou strik'st not me, 'tis Cæsar thou defeat'st.
Put colour in thy cheek.

Ero.
—The gods withhold me!
Shall I do that, which all the Parthian darts,
Though enemy, lost aim, and could not?

Ant.
—Eros,
Would'st thou be window'd in great Rome, and see
Thy master thus † with pleach'd arms, bending down
His corrigible neck, his face subdu'd
To penetrative shame; whilst the wheel'd seat
Of fortunate Cæsar, drawn before him, branded
His baseness that ensu'd?

Ero.
—I would not see't.

Ant.
Come then; for with a wound I must be cur'd.
Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn
Most useful for thy country.

Ero.
—O, sir, pardon me.

Ant.
When I did make thee free, swor'st thou not then
To do this when I bad thee? Do it at once;
Or thy precedent services are all
But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come.

Ero.
Turn from me then that noble countenance,

Wherein the worship of the whole world lies.

Ant.
Lo thee. [turning away his Face.

Ero.
My sword is drawn.

Ant.
—Then let it do at once
The thing why thou hast drawn it.

Ero.
—My dear master,
My captain, and my Emperor, let me say,
Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewel.

Ant.
'Tis said, man; and farewel.

Ero.
—Farewel, great chief.
Shall I strike now?

Ant.
—Now, Eros.

Ero.
Why, there then: [falling on his Sword] Thus I do escape the sorrow
Of Antony's death. [dies.

Ant.
—Thrice nobler than myself!
Thou teachest me, o valiant Eros, what
I should, and thou could'st not. My Queen and Eros
Have, by their brave instruction, got upon me
A nobleness in record: But I will be
A bride-groom in my death, and run into't
As to a lover's bed. Come then; [taking Eros' Sword] and, Eros,
Thy master dies thy scholar; to do thus [running on it.
I learnt of thee. How! not yet dead? not dead? Enter Guard, and Dercetas.
The guard? how!—O, dispatch me.

1. G.
—What's the noise?

Ant.
I have done my work ill, friends; O, make an end
Of what I have begun.

2. G.
—The star is fallen.

1. G.
And time is at his period.

all.
—Alas, and woe!

Ant.
Let him, that loves me, strike me dead.

1. G.
—Not I.

2. G.
Nor I.

3. G.
—Nor any one. [Exeunt Guard.

Der.
Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly.
This † sword but shewn to Cæsar, with this tidings, ^note
Shall enter me with him. Enter Diomede.

Dio.
—Where's Antony?

Der.
There, Diomede, there.

Dio.
—Lives he? Wilt thou not answer, man? [Exit Dercetas, with the Sword.

Ant.
Art thou there, Diomede? Draw thy sword, and give me
Sufficing strokes for death.

Dio.
—Most absolute lord,
The Empress Cleopatra sent me to thee.

Ant.
When did she send thee?

Dio.
—Now, my lord.

Ant.
—Where is she?

Dio.
Lockt in her monument. She had a prophesying ^note fear
Of what hath come to pass: for when she saw
(Which never shall be found) you did suspect
She had dispos'd with Cæsar, and that your rage
Would not be purg'd, she sent you word she was dead;
But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent
Me to proclaim the truth; and I am come,
I dread, too late.

Ant.
Too late, good Diomede: Call my guard, I prythee.

Dio.
What ho, the Emperor's guard! The guard, what ho! Enter some of the Guard.
Come, your lord calls.

Ant.
Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides;
'Tis the last service that I shall command you.

1. G.
Woe are we, sir, you may not live to wear
All your true followers out.

all.
—Most heavy day!

Ant.
Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp fate,
To grace it with your sorrows: bid that welcome
Which comes to punish us, and we punish it
Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up:
I have led you oft; carry me now, good friends,
And have my thanks for all. [Exeunt, bearing Antony. SCENE X. The same. A Monument. Enter, at a Window, above, Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras.

Cle.
O Charmian, I will never go from hence.

Cha.
Be comforted, dear madam.

Cle.
—No, I will not:
All strange and terrible events are welcome,
But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow,
Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great Enter Diomede.
As that which makes it.—How now? is he dead?

Dio.
His death's upon him, but not dead. Look out
O'the other side your monument,—But see,
His guard have brought him hither. Enter Antony, born by the Guard.

Cle.
—O sun, sun,
Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in! darkling stand
The varying shore o'the world!—O Antony,
Antony, Antony!—Charmian, help; help, Iras;
Help, friends below; let's draw him hither.

Ant.
—Peace:
Not Cæsar's valour hath o'er-thrown Antony,

But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself.

Cle.
So it should be, that none but Antony
Should conquer Antony; But woe 'tis so!

Ant.
I am dying, Egypt, dying; only yet
I here importune death a while, until
Of many thousand kisses the poor last
I lay upon thy lips: Come down.

Cle.
—I dare not,
(Dear, dear my lord, your pardon that I dare not)
Lest I be taken: Not the imperious shew
Of the full-fortun'd Cæsar ever shall
Be broocht with me; if knives, drugs, serpents, have
Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe:
Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes,
And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour
Demuring upon me. But come, come, Antony,—
Help me, my women,—we must draw thee up;—
Assist, good friends. [Cleopatra, and her Women, throw out certain Tackle; into which the People below put Antony, and he is drawn up.

Ant.
—O, quick, or I am gone.

Cle.
Here's sport, indeed! How heavy weighs my lord!
Our strength is all gone into heaviness,
That makes the weight: Had I great Juno's power,
The strong-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up,
And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little,—
Wishers were ever fools;—o, come, come, come;
And welcome, welcome! die, where thou hast liv'd:
Quicken with kissing; had my lips that power,
Thus † would I wear them out.

all.
A heavy sight!

Ant.
—I am dying, Egypt, dying:

Give me some wine, and let me speak a little.

Cle.
No, let me speak; and let me rail so high,
That the false huswife fortune break her wheel,
Provok'd by my offence.

Ant.
—One word, sweet Queen:
Of Cæsar seek your honour, with your safety. O!

Cle.
They do not go together.

Ant.
—Gentle, hear me:
None about Cæsar trust, but Proculeius.

Cle.
My resolution, and my hands, I'll trust,
None about Cæsar.

Ant.
The miserable change now at my end
Lament nor sorrow at: but please your thoughts,
In feeding them with those my former fortunes
Wherein I liv'd; the greatest prince o'the world,
The noblest: and do now not basely die,
Not cowardly put off my helmet; to
My countryman, a Roman by a Roman
Valiantly vanquish'd. Now my spirit is going,
I can no more. [sinks.

Cle.
—Noblest of men, wou't die?
Hast thou no care of me? shall I abide
In this dull world, which in thy absence is
No better than a sty?—O, see, my women, [Ant. dies.
The crown o'the earth doth melt:—My lord!—
O, wither'd is the garland of the war,
The soldier's pole is fall'n; young boys, and girls,
Are level now with men: the odds is gone,
And there is nothing left remarkable
Beneath the visiting moon.

Cha.
—O, quietness, lady. [Cleopatra swoons

Ira.
She is dead too, our sovereign.

Cha.
—Lady,—

Ira.
—Madam,—

Cha.
O madam, madam, madam!

Ira.
—Royal Egypt!
Emperess!

Cha.
—Peace, peace, Iras. [seeing her recover.

Cle.
No more but e'en a woman; and commanded
By such poor passion, ^note as the maid that milks,
And does the meanest chares. It were for me,
To throw my scepter at the injurious gods;
To tell them, that this world did equal theirs,
'Till they had stoln our jewel. All's but naught:
Patience is sottish; and impatience does
Become a dog that's mad: Then is it sin,
To rush into the secret house of death,
Ere death dare come to us?—How do you, women?
What, what? good cheer! Why, how now, Charmian?
My noble girls!—Ah, women, women! look,
Our lamp is spent, it's out:—Good sirs, take heart:—
We'll bury him: and then, what's brave, what's noble,
Let's do it after the high Roman fashion,
And make death proud to take us. Come, away:
This case of that huge spirit now is cold.
Ah, women, women! come; we have no friend
But resolution, and the briefest end. [Exeunt; those above bearing off the Body. ACT V. SCENE I. Camp before Alexandria. Enter Cæsar, with Dolabella, Agrippa, Mecænas, Gallus, Proculeius, and Others.

Cæs.
Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield;
Being so frustrated, tell him, he mocks
The pauses that he makes.

Dol.
—Cæsar, I shall. [Exit Dolabella. Enter Dercetas, with Antony's Sword.

Cæs.
Wherefore is that? and what art thou, that dar'st
Appear thus to us?

Der.
—I am call'd Dercetas;
Mark Antony I serv'd, who best was worthy
Best to be serv'd: whilst he stood up, and spoke,
He was my master; and I wore my life,
To spend upon his haters: If thou please
To take me to thee, as I was to him
I'll be to Cæsar; if thou pleasest not,
I yield thee up my life.

Cæs.
—What is't thou say'st?

Der.
I say, o Cæsar, Antony is dead.

Cæs.
The breaking of so great a thing should make
A greater crack in nature: the round world
Should have shook lions into civil streets,
And citizens to their dens: The death of Antony
Is not a single doom; in that name lay
A moiety of the world.

Der.
—He is dead, Cæsar;
Not by a publick minister of justice,
Nor by a hired knife; but that self hand,
Which writ his honour in the acts it did,
Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it,
Splitted the heart itself. This † is his sword,
I rob'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd
With his most noble blood.

Cæs.
—Look you sad, friends?

The gods rebuke me, but it is a tidings
To wash the eyes of Kings.

Agr.
—And strange it is,
That nature must compell us to lament
Our most persisted deeds.

Mec.
—His taints and honours
Weigh'd equal with him.

Agr.
—A rarer spirit never
Did steer humanity: but you, gods, will give us
Some faults to mark us men. Cæsar is touch'd.

Mec.
When such a spacious mirror's set before him,
He needs must see himself.

Cæs.
—O Antony,
I have follow'd thee to this;—But we do launch
Disease in our bodies. I must perforce
Have shewn to thee such a declining day,
Or look on ^note thine; we could not stall together
In the whole world: But yet let me lament,
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts,
That thou, my brother, my competitor
In top of all design, my mate in empire,
Friend and companion in the front of war,
The arm of mine own body, and the heart
Where mine his thoughts did kindle,—that our stars,
Unreconciliable, should divide
Our equalness to this.—Hear me, good friends,— Enter Mardian.
But I will tell you at some meeter season;
The business of this man looks out of him,
We'll hear him what he says.—Whence are you, sir?

Mar.
A poor Egyptian: The Queen my mistress,
Confin'd in all she has, her monument,

Of thy intents desires instruction;
That she preparedly may frame herself
To the way she's forc'd to.

Cæs.
—Bid her have good heart;
She soon shall know of us, by some of ours,
How honourably and how kindly we
Determin'd have for her; for Cæsar cannot
Leave to be gentle.

Mar.
—So the gods preserve thee! [Exit.

Cæs.
Come hither, Proculeius; Go, and say
We purpose her no shame: give her what comforts
The quality of her passion shall require;
Left, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke
She do defeat us: for her life in Rome
Would be eternaling our triumph: Go;
And, with your speediest, bring us what she says,
And how you find of her.

Pro.
—Cæsar, I shall. [Exit.

Cæs.
Gallus, go you along. [Exit Gal.] Where's Dolabella,
To second Proculeius?

all.
—Dolabella!

Cæs.
Let him alone, for I remember now
How he's employ'd; he shall in time be ready.
Go with me to my tent: where you shall see,
How hardly I was drawn into this war;
How calm and gentle I proceeded still
In all my writings: Go with me, and see
What I can shew in this. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Alexandria. A Room in the Monument. Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras.

Cle.
My desolation does begin to make

A better life: 'Tis paltry to be Cæsar;
Not being fortune, he's but fortune's knave,
A minister of her will; And it is great
To do that thing that ends all other deeds;
Which shackles accidents, and bolts up change;
Which sleeps, and never palates more the dung,
The beggar's nurse and Cæsar's. Enter Proculeius, and Gallus, with Soldiers, to the Door of the Monument, without.

Pro.
Cæsar sends greeting to the Queen of Egypt;
And bids thee study on what fair demands
Thou mean'st to have him grant thee.

Cle.
—What's thy name?

Pro.
My name is Proculeius.

Cle.
—Antony
Did tell me of you, bad me trust you; but
I do not greatly care to be deceiv'd,
That have no use for trusting. If your master
Would have a Queen his beggar, you must tell him,
That majesty, to keep decorum, must
No less beg than a kingdom: if he please
To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son,
He gives me so much of mine own, as I
Will kneel to him with thanks. ^note

Pro.
—Be of good cheer;
You are fall'n into a princely hand, fear nothing:
Make your full reference freely to my lord,
Who is so full of grace, that it flows over
On all that need: Let me report to him
Your sweet dependancy; and you shall find
A conqueror, that will pray in aid for kindness,
Where he for grace is kneel'd to.

Cle.
—Pray you, tell him
I am his fortune's vassal, and I send him
The greatness he has got. I hourly learn
A doctrine of obedience; and would gladly
Look him i'the face.

Pro.
—This I'll report, dear lady.
Have comfort; for, I know, your plight is pity'd
Of him that caus'd it. Fare you well.—“Hark, Gallus!”
“You see how easily she may be surpriz'd;”
“Guard her 'till Cæsar come.” [Exit Proculeius. Gallus maintains Converse with Cleopatra. Re-enter, into the Monument, from behind, Proculeius, and Soldiers, hastily.

Ira.
—O royal Queen!

Cha.
O Cleopatra! thou art taken, Queen!

Cle.
Quick, quick, good hands. [drawing a Dagger.

Pro.
—Hold, worthy lady, hold: [staying her.
Do not yourself such wrong; who are in this
Reliev'd, but not betray'd.

Cle.
—What, of death too,
That rids our dogs of languish?

Pro.
—Cleopatra,
Do not abuse my master's bounty, by
The undoing of yourself: let the world see
His nobleness well acted, which your death
Will never let come forth.

Cle.
—Where art thou, death?
Come hither, come! come, come, and take a Queen
Worth many babes and beggars!

Pro.
—O, temperance, lady.

Cle.
Sir, I will eat no meat, I'll not drink, sir;
If idle talk will once be necessary,

I'll not speak neither: this mortal house I'll ruin,
Do Cæsar what he can. Know, sir, that I
Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court;
Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eye
Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up,
And shew me to the shouting varletry
Of censuring Rome? Rather a ditch in Egypt
Be gentle grave unto me; rather on Nilus' mud
Lay me stark naked, and let the water-flies
Blow me into abhorring; rather make
My country's high pyramides my gibbet,
And hang me up in chains.

Pro.
—You do extend
These thoughts of horror farther than you shall
Find cause for it in Cæsar. Enter Dolabella.

Dol.
—Proculeius,
What thou hast done thy master Cæsar knows,
And he hath sent for thee: as for the Queen,
I'll take her to my guard.

Pro.
—So, Dolabella,
It shall content me best: be gentle to her.—
To Cæsar I will speak what you shall please,
If you'll employ me to him.

Cle.
—Say, I would die. [Exeunt Proculeius, and Soldiers.

Dol.
Most noble Empress, you have heard of me?

Cle.
I cannot tell.

Dol.
—Assuredly, you have.

Cle.
No matter, sir, what I have heard, or known.
You laugh, when boys, or women, tell their dreams;
Is't not your trick?

Dol.
—I understand not, madam.

Cle.
I dreamt there was an Emperor Antony;—
O, such another sleep! that I might see
But such another man.

Dol.
—If it might please you,—

Cle.
His face was as the heavens: and therein stuck
A sun, and moon; which kept their course, and lighted
The little o o'the earth.

Dol.
—Most sovereign creature,—

Cle.
His legs bestrid the ocean; his rear'd arm
Crested the world: his voice was property'd
As all the tuned spheres, when that to friends;
But when he meant to quail and shake the orb,
He was as ratling thunder. For his bounty,
There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas,
That grew the more by reaping: His delights
Were dolphin like; they shew'd his back above
The element they liv'd in: In his livery
Walk'd crowns, and crownets; realms and islands were
As plates dropt from his pocket.

Dol.
—Cleopatra,—

Cle.
Think you, there was, or might be, such a man
As this I dreamt of?

Dol.
—Gentle madam, no.

Cle.
You lie, up to the hearing of the gods.
But, if there be, or ever were, one such,
It's past the size of dreaming: Nature wants stuff
To vie strange forms with fancy; yet to imagine
An Antony, were nature's ^note piece 'gainst fancy,
Condemning shadows quite.

Dol.
—Hear me, good madam:
Your loss is as yourself, great; and you bear it

As answering to the weight: 'Would I might never
O'er-take pursu'd success, but I do feel,
By the rebound of yours, a grief that smites
My very heart at root.

Cle.
—I thank you, sir.
Know you, what Cæsar means to do with me?

Dol.
I am loth to tell you what I would you knew.

Cle.
Nay, pray you, sir.

Dol.
—Though he be honourable,—

Cle.
He'll lead me in triumph:

Dol.
—Madam, he will; I know it.

within.
Make way there,—Cæsar. Enter Cæsar, and Train of Romans, and Seleucus.

Cæs.
Which is the Queen of Egypt?

Dol.
It is the Emperor, madam.

Cæs.
Arise, you shall not kneel:
I pray you, rise; rise, Egypt. [to Cle. raising her.

Cle.
—Sir, the gods
Will have it thus; my master and my lord
I must obey.

Cæs.
—Take to you no hard thoughts:
The record of what injuries you did us,
Though written in our flesh, we shall remember
As things but done by chance.

Cle.
—Sole sir o'the world,
I cannot project mine own cause so well
To make it clear; but do confess, I have
Been laden with like frailties, which before
Have often sham'd our sex.

Cæs.
—Cleopatra, know,
We will extenuate rather than enforce:

If you apply yourself to our intents,
(Which towards you are most gentle) you shall find
A benefit in this change: but if you seek
To lay on me a cruelty, by taking
Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself
Of my good purposes, and put your children
To that destruction, which I'll guard them from,
If thereon you rely. I'll take my leave.

Cle.
And may, through all the world: 'tis yours; and we,
Your 'scutcheons, and your signs of conquest, shall
Hang in what place you please. Here, &dagger2; my good lord.

Cæs.
You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra.

Cle.
This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels,
I am possest of: 'tis exactly valu'd;
Not petty things omitted.—Where's Seleucus?

Sel.
Here, madam.

Cle.
This is my treasurer; let him speak, my lord,
Upon his peril, that I have reserv'd
To myself nothing.—Speak the truth, Seleucus.

Sel.
Madam,
I had rather seal my lips, than, to my peril,
Speak that which is not.

Cle.
—What have I kept back?

Sel.
Enough to purchase what you have made known.

Cæs.
Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve
Your wisdom in the deed.

Cle.
—See, Cæsar! o, behold,
How pomp is follow'd! mine will now be yours;
And, should we shift estates, yours would be mine.
The ingratitude of this Seleucus does
E'en make me wild:—O slave, of no more trust
Than love that's hir'd! What, go'st thou back? thou shalt