SCENE II.
Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Antony, Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, Iras, Alexas, and Others.
Ant.
He will not fight with me, Domitius.
Eno.
No.
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 bathe my dying honour in the blood
Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well?
Eno.
I'll strike; and cry, “Take all.”
Ant.
Well said; come on.—
Call forth my household servants: let's to-night
Enter Servants.
Be bounteous at our meal.—Give me thy hand,
Thou hast been rightly honest;—so hast thou;—
Thou,—and thou,—and thou:—you have serv'd me well,
And kings have been your fellows.
Cleo.
What means this?
Eno.
'Tis one of those odd tricks, which sorrow shoots
Out of the mind.
Ant.
And thou art honest too.
I wish, I could be made so many men,
And all of you clapp'd up together in
An Antony, that I might do you service,
-- 90 --
So good as you have done.
Serv.
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.
Cleo.
What does he mean?
Eno.
To make his followers weep.
Ant.
Tend me to-night;
May be, it is the period of your duty:
Haply, you shall not see me more; or if,
A mangled 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
Married 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;
And I, 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 dolorous a sense,
For I spake 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.
-- 91 --
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
