Iras, Charmian, and Others.
Ant.
He will not fight with me, Domitius note.
Eno.
No.14Q1111
Ant.
Why should he not?
Eno.
He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune,
He is twenty men to one.
Ant.
To-morrow, soldier,
By sea and land I'll fight: or I will live,
Or bath my dying honour in the blood
Shall make it live again. Wou't thou fight well?
Eno.
I'll strike; and cry, Take all.
Ant.
Well said; come on.—
Call forth my houshold servants; let's to-night
Enter some Domesticks. note
Be bounteous at our meal.—Give me thy hand,
Thou hast been rightly honest;—so hast thou,—
And thou,—and thou,—and thou:—you have serv'd me well,
And kings have been your fellows.
&clquo;Cle.
&clquo;What means this?&crquo;
Eno.
&clquo;'Tis one of those odd tricks, which sorrow shoots&crquo;
&clquo;Out of the mind.&crquo;
Ant.
And thou art honest too.
I wish, I could be made so many men;
And all of you clapt up together in
An Antony; that I might do you service,
So good as you have done.
Dom.
The gods forbid!
Ant.
Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night:
Scant not my cups; and make as much of me,
As when mine empire was your fellow too,
And suffer'd my command.
-- 83 --
&clquo;Cle.
&clquo;What does he mean?&crquo;
&clquo;Eno.
&clquo;To make his followers weep.&crquo;
Ant.
Tend me to-night;
May be, it is the period of your duty:
Haply, you shall not see me more; or if,
A mangl'd shadow: perchance, to-morrow
You'll serve another master. I look on you,
As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends,
I turn you not away; but, like a master
Marry'd to your good service, stay 'till death:
Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more,
And the gods yield you for't!
Eno.
What mean you, sir,
To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep; note
And, I note, an ass, am onion-ey'd: for shame,
Transform us not to women.
Ant.
Ho, ho, ho!
Now the witch take me, if I meant it thus!
Grace grow where those drops fall! My hearty friends,
You take me in too note dolorous a sense:
I spake note to you for your comfort; did desire you
To burn this night with torches: Know, my hearts,
I hope well of to-morrow; and will lead you,
Where rather I'll expect victorious life,
Than death and honour. Let's to supper, come,
And drown consideration.
[Exeunt.
Edward Capell [1767], Mr William Shakespeare his comedies, histories, and tragedies, set out by himself in quarto, or by the Players his Fellows in folio, and now faithfully republish'd from those Editions in ten Volumes octavo; with an introduction: Whereunto will be added, in some other Volumes, notes, critical and explanatory, and a Body of Various Readings entire (Printed by Dryden Leach, for J. and R. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S10601].
