Cleo.
Where is he?

Char.
I did not see him since.

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

Char.
Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly,

You do not hold the method to enforce
The like from him.

Cleo.
What should I do, I do not?

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

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

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

Cleo.
I'm sick, and sullen.

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

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

Ant.
Now, my dearest Queen,—

Cleo.
Pray you, stand farther from me.

Ant.
What's the matter?

Cleo.
I know, by that same eye, there's some good news.
What says the marry'd woman? you may go;
'Would, she had never given you leave to come!
Let her not say, 'tis I that keep you here,
I have no pow'r upon you: hers you are.

Ant.
The Gods best know,—

Cleo.
O, never was there Queen
So mightily betray'd; yet at the first
I saw the treasons planted.

Ant.
Cleopatra,—

Cleo.
Why should I think, you can be mine, and true,
Though you with swearing shake the throned Gods,
Who have been false to Fulvia? riotous madness
To be entangled with these mouth-made vows,
Which break themselves in swearing!

Ant.
Most sweet Queen,—

Cleo.
Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going,
But bid farewel, and go: when you sued 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 ^{7 note}a race of heav'n. They are so still,
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world,
Art turn'd the greatest liar.

Ant.
How, now, lady?

Cleo.
I would I had thy inches, thou should'st know,
There were a heart in Ægypt.

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 domestick Pow'rs
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'n
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 (a) ^note salve my going,
Is Fulvia's death.

Cleo.
Though age from folly could not give me freedom,
It does from childishness. Can Fulvia die?

Ant.
She's dead, my Queen.

Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure read
The garboyls she awak'd; at the last, best.
See, when, and where she died.

Cleo.
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 th' advices. By the fire,
That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence
Thy soldier, servant, making peace or war,
As thou affect'st.

Cleo.
Cut my lace, Charmian, come;
But let it be, ^{8 note}

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

Cleo.
So Fulvia told me.
I pry'thee, turn aside, and weep for her;
Then bid adieu to me and say, the tears
Belong to Ægypt. Good now, play one Scene
Of excellent dissembling, and let it look
Like perfect honour.

Ant.
You'll heat my blood; no more.

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

Ant.
Now by my sword—

Cleo.
And target—Still he mends:
But this is not the best. Look, pry'thee, Charmian,
How this Herculean Roman does become

The carriage of his chafe.

Ant.
I'll leave you, lady.

Cleo.
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:
^{9 note}
Oh, my oblivion is a very Antony,
And I am all forgotten.

Ant.
^{1 note}




But that your royalty
Holds Idleness your subject, I should take you
For Idleness itself.

Cleo.
'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 unpitied folly,
And all the Gods go with you! On your sword
Sit laurell'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, goest yet with me,

And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee.
Away. [Exeunt.

Previous section

Next section