Phi.
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^{1 note},
And is become the bellows, and the fan,
To cool a gipsy's lust. Look, where they come. Flourish. Enter Antony and Cleopatra, with 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.

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

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

Cleo.
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.
Grates me:—the sum.

Cleo.
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 enfranchise that;
Perform't, or else we damn thee. 11Q1106”

Ant.
How, my love!

Cleo.
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; else 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 fall^{2 note}! 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, [Embracing.
And such a twain can do't, in which I bind,
On pain of punishment, the world to weet^{3 note},
We stand up peerless.

Cleo.
Excellent falsehood!
Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her?—

I'll seem the fool I am not; Antony
Will be himself.

Ant.
But stirr'd by Cleopatra.—
Now, for the love of Love, and her 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?

Cleo.
Hear the ambassadors.

Ant.
Fie, wrangling queen!
Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh,
To weep; whose every passion fully strives^{4 note}
To make itself, in thee, fair and admir'd. 11Q1107
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 Ant. and Cleop. with their Train.

Dem.
Is Cæsar with Antonius priz'd so slight?

Phi.
Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony,
He comes too short of that great property
Which still should go with Antony.

Dem.
I am full sorry,
That he approves the common liar, who
Thus speaks of him at Rome; but I will hope
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy. [Exeunt.

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