Eno.
Hush, here comes Antony.

Char.
Not he, the Queen.

Cleo.
Saw you my lord?

Eno.
No, lady.

Cleo.
Was he not here?

Char.
No, madam.

Cleo.
He was dispos'd to mirth, but on the sudden
A Roman thought had struck him. Enobarbus.

Eno.
Madam.

Cleo.
Seek him, and bring him hither; where's Alexas?

Alex.
Here at your service, my lord approaches. Enter Antony with a Messenger and Attendants.

Cleo.
We will not look upon him; go with us. [Exeunt.

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 force 'gainst Cæsar,
Whose better issue in the war of 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 the tale lye death,
I hear as if he flatter'd.

Mes.
Labienus (this is stiff news)

Hath, with his Parthian force, extended Asia;
From Euphrates his conquering banner shook,
From Syria to Lydia, and Ionia;
Whilst—

Ant.
Antony thou wouldst say.

Mes.
Oh, my lord!

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

Mes.
At your noble pleasure.

Ant.
From Sicyon how the news? speak there.

Mes.
The man from Sicyon, is there such an one?

Attend.
He stays upon your will.

Ant.
Let him appear;
These strong Ægyptian fetters I must break,
Or lose my self in dotage. What are you? Enter another Messenger with a letter.

2 Mes.
Fulvia thy wife is dead.

Ant.
Where died she?

2 Mes.
In Sicyon,
Her length of sickness with what else more serious
Importeth thee to know, this bears.

Ant.
Forbear me.
There's a great spirit gone! thus I desir'd it.
What our contempts do often hurl from us,
We wish it ours again; the present pleasure,
By revolution lowring, does become
The opposite of it self; she's good being gone,

The hand could pluck her back, that shov'd her on.
I must from this Ægyptian Queen break off.
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,
My idleness doth hatch. How now 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: I do think there is mettle in death, which commits some loving act upon her, she hath such a celerity in dying.

Ant.

She is cunning past man's thought.

Eno.

Alack, Sir, no, her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love. We cannot call her winds and waters, sighs and tears: they are greater storms and tempests than almanacks can report. This cannot be cunning in her: if it be, she makes a show'r of rain as well as Jove.

Ant.

Would I had never seen her!

Eno.

Oh Sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work, which not to have been blest withal, would have discredited your travel.

Ant.

Fulvia is dead.

Eno.

Sir!

Ant.

Fulvia is dead.

Eno.

Fulvia?

Ant.

Dead.

Eno.

Why Sir, give the Gods a thankful sacrifice: when it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a man from him, it shews to man the tailor of the earth (comforting him therein) that when old robes are worn out, there are members to make new. If there were no more women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut, and the case were to be lamented: this grief is crowned 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 broach'd here in the state,
Cannot endure my absence.

Eno.

And the business you have broach'd here cannot be without you, especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly depends on your aboad.

Ant.
No more ^{b note}light answers: let our officers
Have notice what we purpose. I shall break
The cause of our expedience to the Queen,
And get her ^{c note}leave to part. For not alone
The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches,
Do strongly speak t'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 slipp'ry 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 pow'r,
Higher than both in blood and life, stands up
For the main soldier; whose quality going on,
The sides o'th' world may danger. Much is breeding,

Which like the † ^notecourser'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'll do't. [Exeunt.

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