Act I

Act I. Scene I. Alexandria. A room in Cleopatra's palace.

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,

And is become the bellows and the fan

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To cool a gipsy's lust.

Look, where they come:

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.

If it be love indeed, tell me how much.

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

I'll set a bourn how far to be beloved.

Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth.

News, my good lord, from Rome.

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Grates me: the sum.

Nay, hear them, Antony:

Fulvia perchance is angry; or, who knows

If the scarce-bearded Caesar 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.'

How, my love!

Perchance! nay, and most like:

You must not stay here longer, your dismission

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Is come from Caesar; therefore hear it, Antony.

Where's Fulvia's process? Caesar's I would say? both?

Call in the messengers. As I am Egypt's queen,

Thou blushest, Antony; and that blood of thine

Is Caesar's homager: else so thy cheek pays shame

When shrill-tongued Fulvia scolds. The messengers!

Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch

Of the ranged empire fall! Here is my space.

Kingdoms are clay: our dungy earth alike

Feeds beast as man: the nobleness of life

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Is to do thus; when such a mutual pair

And such a twain can do't, in which I bind,

On pain of punishment, the world to weet

We stand up peerless.

Excellent falsehood!

Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her?

I'll seem the fool I am not; Antony

Will be himself.

But stirr'd by Cleopatra.

Now, for the love of Love and her soft hours,

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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 tonight?

Hear the ambassadors.

Fie, wrangling queen!

Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh,

To weep; whose every passion fully strives

To make itself, in thee, fair and admired!

No messenger, but thine; and all alone

To-night we'll wander through the streets and note

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The qualities of people. Come, my queen;

Last night you did desire it: speak not to us.

Is Caesar with Antonius prized so slight?

Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony,

He comes too short of that great property

Which still should go with Antony.

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!

Act I. Scene II. The same. Another room.

Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any thing Alexas,

almost most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer

that you praised so to the queen? O, that I knew

this husband, which, you say, must charge his horns

with garlands!

Soothsayer!

Your will?

Is this the man? Is't you, sir, that know things?

In nature's infinite book of secrecy

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A little I can read.

Show him your hand.

Bring in the banquet quickly; wine enough

Cleopatra's health to drink.

Good sir, give me good fortune.

I make not, but foresee.

Pray, then, foresee me one.

You shall be yet far fairer than you are.

He means in flesh.

No, you shall paint when you are old.

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Wrinkles forbid!

Vex not his prescience; be attentive.

Hush!

You shall be more beloving than beloved.

I had rather heat my liver with drinking.

Nay, hear him.

Good now, some excellent fortune! Let me be married

to three kings in a forenoon, and widow them all:

let me have a child at fifty, to whom Herod of Jewry

may do homage: find me to marry me with Octavius

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Caesar, and companion me with my mistress.

You shall outlive the lady whom you serve.

O excellent! I love long life better than figs.

You have seen and proved a fairer former fortune

Than that which is to approach.

Then belike my children shall have no names:

prithee, how many boys and wenches must I have?

If every of your wishes had a womb.

And fertile every wish, a million.

Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch.

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You think none but your sheets are privy to your wishes.

Nay, come, tell Iras hers.

We'll know all our fortunes.

Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, shall

be--drunk to bed.

There's a palm presages chastity, if nothing else.

E'en as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth famine.

Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay.

Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful

prognostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. Prithee,

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tell her but a worky-day fortune.

Your fortunes are alike.

But how, but how? give me particulars.

I have said.

Am I not an inch of fortune better than she?

Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than

I, where would you choose it?

Not in my husband's nose.

Our worser thoughts heavens mend! Alexas,--come,

his fortune, his fortune! O, let him marry a woman

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that cannot go, sweet Isis, I beseech thee! and let

her die too, and give him a worse! and let worst

follow worse, till the worst of all follow him

laughing to his grave, fifty-fold a cuckold! Good

Isis, hear me this prayer, though thou deny me a

matter of more weight; good Isis, I beseech thee!

Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the people!

for, as it is a heartbreaking to see a handsome man

loose-wived, so it is a deadly sorrow to behold a

foul knave uncuckolded: therefore, dear Isis, keep

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decorum, and fortune him accordingly!

Amen.

Lo, now, if it lay in their hands to make me a

cuckold, they would make themselves whores, but

they'ld do't!

Hush! here comes Antony.

Not he; the queen.

Saw you my lord?

No, lady.

Was he not here?

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No, madam.

He was disposed to mirth; but on the sudden

A Roman thought hath struck him. Enobarbus!

Madam?

Seek him, and bring him hither.

Where's Alexas?

Here, at your service. My lord approaches.

We will not look upon him: go with us.

Fulvia thy wife first came into the field.

Against my brother Lucius?

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Ay:

But soon that war had end, and the time's state

Made friends of them, joining their force 'gainst Caesar;

Whose better issue in the war, from Italy,

Upon the first encounter, drave them.

Well, what worst?

The nature of bad news infects the teller.

When it concerns the fool or coward. On:

Things that are past are done with me. 'Tis thus:

Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death,

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I hear him as he flatter'd.

Labienus--

This is stiff news--hath, with his Parthian force,

Extended Asia from Euphrates;

His conquering banner shook from Syria

To Lydia and to Ionia; Whilst--

Antony, thou wouldst say,--

O, my lord!

Speak to me home, mince not the general tongue:

Name Cleopatra as she is call'd in Rome;

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Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase; and taunt my faults

With such full licence as both truth and malice

Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds,

When our quick minds lie still; and our ills told us

Is as our earing. Fare thee well awhile.

At your noble pleasure.

From Sicyon, ho, the news! Speak there!

The man from Sicyon,--is there such an one?

He stays upon your will.

Let him appear.

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These strong Egyptian fetters I must break,

Or lose myself in dotage.

What are you?

Fulvia thy wife is dead.

Where died she?

In Sicyon:

Her length of sickness, with what else more serious

Importeth thee to know, this bears.

Forbear me.

There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it:

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What our contempt doth often hurl from us,

We wish it ours again; the present pleasure,

By revolution lowering, does become

The opposite of itself: she's good, being gone;

The hand could pluck her back that shoved her on.

I must from this enchanting queen break off:

Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,

My idleness doth hatch. How now! Enobarbus!

What's your pleasure, sir?

I must with haste from hence.

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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.

I must be gone.

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 esteemed

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

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mettle in death, which commits some loving act upon

her, she hath such a celerity in dying.

She is cunning past man's thought.

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 almanacs can report: this

cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she makes a

shower of rain as well as Jove.

Would I had never seen her.

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O, sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece

of work; which not to have been blest withal would

have discredited your travel.

Fulvia is dead.

Sir?

Fulvia is dead.

Fulvia!

Dead.

Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. When

it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a man

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from him, it shows to man the tailors of the earth;

comforting 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 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.

The business she hath broached in the state

Cannot endure my absence.

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And the business you have broached here cannot be

without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which

wholly depends on your abode.

No more light answers. Let our officers

Have notice what we purpose. I shall break

The cause of our expedience to the queen,

And get her leave to part. For not alone

The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches,

Do strongly speak to us; but the letters too

Of many our contriving friends in Rome

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Petition us at home: Sextus Pompeius

Hath given the dare to Caesar, and commands

The empire of the sea: our slippery 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 power,

Higher than both in blood and life, stands up

For the main soldier: whose quality, going on,

The sides o' the world may danger: much is breeding,

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Which, like the courser'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.

I shall do't.

Act I. Scene III. The same. Another room.

Where is he?

I did not see him since.

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.

Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly,

You do not hold the method to enforce

The like from him.

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What should I do, I do not?

In each thing give him way, cross him nothing.

Thou teachest like a fool; the way to lose him.

Tempt him not so too far; I wish, forbear:

In time we hate that which we often fear.

But here comes Antony.

I am sick and sullen.

I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose,--

Help me away, dear Charmian; I shall fall:

It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature

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Will not sustain it.

Now, my dearest queen,--

Pray you, stand further from me.

What's the matter?

I know, by that same eye, there's some good news.

What says the married 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 power upon you; hers you are.

The gods best know,--

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O, never was there queen

So mightily betray'd! yet at the first

I saw the treasons planted.

Cleopatra,--

Why should I think you can be mine and true,

Though you in swearing shake the throned gods,

Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness,

To be entangled with those mouth-made vows,

Which break themselves in swearing!

Most sweet queen,--

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Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going,

But bid farewell, 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 a race of heaven: they are so still,

Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world,

Art turn'd the greatest liar.

How now, lady!

I would I had thy inches; thou shouldst know

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There were a heart in Egypt.

Hear me, queen:

The strong necessity of time commands

Our services awhile; 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 domestic powers

Breed scrupulous faction: the hated, grown to strength,

Are newly grown to love: the condemn'd Pompey,

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Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace,

Into the hearts of such as have not thrived

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 safe my going,

Is Fulvia's death.

Though age from folly could not give me freedom,

It does from childishness: can Fulvia die?

She's dead, my queen:

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Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure read

The garboils she awaked; at the last, best:

See when and where she died.

O most false love!

Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill

With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see,

In Fulvia's death, how mine received shall be.

Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know

The purposes I bear; which are, or cease,

As you shall give the advice. By the fire

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That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence

Thy soldier, servant; making peace or war

As thou affect'st.

Cut my lace, Charmian, come;

But let it be: I am quickly ill, and well,

So Antony loves.

My precious queen, forbear;

And give true evidence to his love, which stands

An honourable trial.

So Fulvia told me.

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I prithee, turn aside and weep for her,

Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears

Belong to Egypt: good now, play one scene

Of excellent dissembling; and let it look

Life perfect honour.

You'll heat my blood: no more.

You can do better yet; but this is meetly.

Now, by my sword,--

And target. Still he mends;

But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Charmian,

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How this Herculean Roman does become

The carriage of his chafe.

I'll leave you, lady.

Courteous lord, one word.

Sir, you and I must part, but that's not it:

Sir, you and I have loved, but there's not it;

That you know well: something it is I would,

O, my oblivion is a very Antony,

And I am all forgotten.

But that your royalty

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Holds idleness your subject, I should take you

For idleness itself.

'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! upon your sword

Sit laurel victory! and smooth success

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Be strew'd before your feet!

Let us go. Come;

Our separation so abides, and flies,

That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me,

And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. Away!

Act I. Scene IV. Rome. Octavius Caesar's house.

You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know,

It is not Caesar's natural vice to hate

Our great competitor: from Alexandria

This is the news: he fishes, drinks, and wastes

The lamps of night in revel; is not more man-like

Than Cleopatra; nor the queen of Ptolemy

More womanly than he; hardly gave audience, or

Vouchsafed to think he had partners: you shall find there

A man who is the abstract of all faults

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That all men follow.

I must not think there are

Evils enow to darken all his goodness:

His faults in him seem as the spots of heaven,

More fiery by night's blackness; hereditary,

Rather than purchased; what he cannot change,

Than what he chooses.

You are too indulgent. Let us grant, it is not

Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy;

To give a kingdom for a mirth; to sit

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And keep the turn of tippling with a slave;

To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet

With knaves that smell of sweat: say this

becomes him,--

As his composure must be rare indeed

Whom these things cannot blemish,--yet must Antony

No way excuse his soils, when we do bear

So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd

His vacancy with his voluptuousness,

Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bones,

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Call on him for't: but to confound such time,

That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud

As his own state and ours,--'tis to be chid

As we rate boys, who, being mature in knowledge,

Pawn their experience to their present pleasure,

And so rebel to judgment.

Here's more news.

Thy biddings have been done; and every hour,

Most noble Caesar, shalt thou have report

How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea;

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And it appears he is beloved of those

That only have fear'd Caesar: to the ports

The discontents repair, and men's reports

Give him much wrong'd.

I should have known no less.

It hath been taught us from the primal state,

That he which is was wish'd until he were;

And the ebb'd man, ne'er loved till ne'er worth love,

Comes dear'd by being lack'd. This common body,

Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream,

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Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide,

To rot itself with motion.

Caesar, I bring thee word,

Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates,

Make the sea serve them, which they ear and wound

With keels of every kind: many hot inroads

They make in Italy; the borders maritime

Lack blood to think on't, and flush youth revolt:

No vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon

Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes more

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Than could his war resisted.

Antony,

Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once

Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st

Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel

Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st against,

Though daintily brought up, with patience more

Than savages could suffer: thou didst drink

The stale of horses, and the gilded puddle

Which beasts would cough at: thy palate then did deign

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The roughest berry on the rudest hedge;

Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets,

The barks of trees thou browsed'st; on the Alps

It is reported thou didst eat strange flesh,

Which some did die to look on: and all this--

It wounds thine honour that I speak it now--

Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek

So much as lank'd not.

'Tis pity of him.

Let his shames quickly

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Drive him to Rome: 'tis time we twain

Did show ourselves i' the field; and to that end

Assemble we immediate council: Pompey

Thrives in our idleness.

To-morrow, Caesar,

I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly

Both what by sea and land I can be able

To front this present time.

Till which encounter,

It is my business too. Farewell.

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Farewell, my lord: what you shall know meantime

Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir,

To let me be partaker.

Doubt not, sir;

I knew it for my bond.

Act I. Scene V. Alexandria. Cleopatra's palace.

Charmian!

Madam?

Ha, ha!

Give me to drink mandragora.

Why, madam?

That I might sleep out this great gap of time

My Antony is away.

You think of him too much.

O, 'tis treason!

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Madam, I trust, not so.

Thou, eunuch Mardian!

What's your highness' pleasure?

Not now to hear thee sing; I take no pleasure

In aught an eunuch has: 'tis well for thee,

That, being unseminar'd, thy freer thoughts

May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections?

Yes, gracious madam.

Indeed!

Not in deed, madam; for I can do nothing

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But what indeed is honest to be done:

Yet have I fierce affections, and think

What Venus did with Mars.

O Charmian,

Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he, or sits he?

Or does he walk? or is he on his horse?

O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!

Do bravely, horse! for wot'st thou whom thou movest?

The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm

And burgonet of men. He's speaking now,

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Or murmuring 'Where's my serpent of old Nile?'

For so he calls me: now I feed myself

With most delicious poison. Think on me,

That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black,

And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Caesar,

When thou wast here above the ground, I was

A morsel for a monarch: and great Pompey

Would stand and make his eyes grow in my brow;

There would he anchor his aspect and die

With looking on his life.

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Sovereign of Egypt, hail!

How much unlike art thou Mark Antony!

Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath

With his tinct gilded thee.

How goes it with my brave Mark Antony?

Last thing he did, dear queen,

He kiss'd,--the last of many doubled kisses,--

This orient pearl. His speech sticks in my heart.

Mine ear must pluck it thence.

'Good friend,' quoth he,

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'Say, the firm Roman to great Egypt sends

This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot,

To mend the petty present, I will piece

Her opulent throne with kingdoms; all the east,

Say thou, shall call her mistress.' So he nodded,

And soberly did mount an arm-gaunt steed,

Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke

Was beastly dumb'd by him.

What, was he sad or merry?

Like to the time o' the year between the extremes

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Of hot and cold, he was nor sad nor merry.

O well-divided disposition! Note him,

Note him good Charmian, 'tis the man; but note him:

He was not sad, for he would shine on those

That make their looks by his; he was not merry,

Which seem'd to tell them his remembrance lay

In Egypt with his joy; but between both:

O heavenly mingle! Be'st thou sad or merry,

The violence of either thee becomes,

So does it no man else. Met'st thou my posts?

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Ay, madam, twenty several messengers:

Why do you send so thick?

Who's born that day

When I forget to send to Antony,

Shall die a beggar. Ink and paper, Charmian.

Welcome, my good Alexas. Did I, Charmian,

Ever love Caesar so?

O that brave Caesar!

Be choked with such another emphasis!

Say, the brave Antony.

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The valiant Caesar!

By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth,

If thou with Caesar paragon again

My man of men.

By your most gracious pardon,

I sing but after you.

My salad days,

When I was green in judgment: cold in blood,

To say as I said then! But, come, away;

Get me ink and paper:

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He shall have every day a several greeting,

Or I'll unpeople Egypt.

Act II

Act II. Scene I. Messina. Pompey's house.

If the great gods be just, they shall assist

The deeds of justest men.

Know, worthy Pompey,

That what they do delay, they not deny.

Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays

The thing we sue for.

We, ignorant of ourselves,

Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers

Deny us for our good; so find we profit

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By losing of our prayers.

I shall do well:

The people love me, and the sea is mine;

My powers are crescent, and my auguring hope

Says it will come to the full. Mark Antony

In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make

No wars without doors: Caesar gets money where

He loses hearts: Lepidus flatters both,

Of both is flatter'd; but he neither loves,

Nor either cares for him.

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Caesar and Lepidus

Are in the field: a mighty strength they carry.

Where have you this? 'tis false.

From Silvius, sir.

He dreams: I know they are in Rome together,

Looking for Antony. But all the charms of love,

Salt Cleopatra, soften thy waned lip!

Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both!

Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts,

Keep his brain fuming; Epicurean cooks

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Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite;

That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour

Even till a Lethe'd dulness!

How now, Varrius!

This is most certain that I shall deliver:

Mark Antony is every hour in Rome

Expected: since he went from Egypt 'tis

A space for further travel.

I could have given less matter

A better ear. Menas, I did not think

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This amorous surfeiter would have donn'd his helm

For such a petty war: his soldiership

Is twice the other twain: but let us rear

The higher our opinion, that our stirring

Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck

The ne'er-lust-wearied Antony.

I cannot hope

Caesar and Antony shall well greet together:

His wife that's dead did trespasses to Caesar;

His brother warr'd upon him; although, I think,

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Not moved by Antony.

I know not, Menas,

How lesser enmities may give way to greater.

Were't not that we stand up against them all,

'Twere pregnant they should square between

themselves;

For they have entertained cause enough

To draw their swords: but how the fear of us

May cement their divisions and bind up

The petty difference, we yet not know.

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Be't as our gods will have't! It only stands

Our lives upon to use our strongest hands.

Come, Menas.

Act II. Scene II. Rome. The house of Lepidus.

Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed,

And shall become you well, to entreat your captain

To soft and gentle speech.

I shall entreat him

To answer like himself: if Caesar move him,

Let Antony look over Caesar's head

And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter,

Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard,

I would not shave't to-day.

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'Tis not a time

For private stomaching.

Every time

Serves for the matter that is then born in't.

But small to greater matters must give way.

Not if the small come first.

Your speech is passion:

But, pray you, stir no embers up. Here comes

The noble Antony.

And yonder, Caesar.

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If we compose well here, to Parthia:

Hark, Ventidius.

I do not know,

Mecaenas; ask Agrippa.

Noble friends,

That which combined us was most great, and let not

A leaner action rend us. What's amiss,

May it be gently heard: when we debate

Our trivial difference loud, we do commit

Murder in healing wounds: then, noble partners,

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The rather, for I earnestly beseech,

Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms,

Nor curstness grow to the matter.

'Tis spoken well.

Were we before our armies, and to fight.

I should do thus.

Welcome to Rome.

Thank you.

Sit.

Sit, sir.

40

Nay, then.

I learn, you take things ill which are not so,

Or being, concern you not.

I must be laugh'd at,

If, or for nothing or a little, I

Should say myself offended, and with you

Chiefly i' the world; more laugh'd at, that I should

Once name you derogately, when to sound your name

It not concern'd me.

My being in Egypt, Caesar,

50

What was't to you?

No more than my residing here at Rome

Might be to you in Egypt: yet, if you there

Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt

Might be my question.

How intend you, practised?

You may be pleased to catch at mine intent

By what did here befal me. Your wife and brother

Made wars upon me; and their contestation

Was theme for you, you were the word of war.

60

You do mistake your business; my brother never

Did urge me in his act: I did inquire it;

And have my learning from some true reports,

That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather

Discredit my authority with yours;

And make the wars alike against my stomach,

Having alike your cause? Of this my letters

Before did satisfy you. If you'll patch a quarrel,

As matter whole you have not to make it with,

It must not be with this.

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You praise yourself

By laying defects of judgment to me; but

You patch'd up your excuses.

Not so, not so;

I know you could not lack, I am certain on't,

Very necessity of this thought, that I,

Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he fought,

Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars

Which fronted mine own peace. As for my wife,

I would you had her spirit in such another:

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The third o' the world is yours; which with a snaffle

You may pace easy, but not such a wife.

Would we had all such wives, that the men might go

to wars with the women!

So much uncurbable, her garboils, Caesar

Made out of her impatience, which not wanted

Shrewdness of policy too, I grieving grant

Did you too much disquiet: for that you must

But say, I could not help it.

I wrote to you

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When rioting in Alexandria; you

Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts

Did gibe my missive out of audience.

Sir,

He fell upon me ere admitted: then

Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want

Of what I was i' the morning: but next day

I told him of myself; which was as much

As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fellow

Be nothing of our strife; if we contend,

100

Out of our question wipe him.

You have broken

The article of your oath; which you shall never

Have tongue to charge me with.

Soft, Caesar!

No,

Lepidus, let him speak:

The honour is sacred which he talks on now,

Supposing that I lack'd it. But, on, Caesar;

The article of my oath.

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To lend me arms and aid when I required them;

The which you both denied.

Neglected, rather;

And then when poison'd hours had bound me up

From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may,

I'll play the penitent to you: but mine honesty

Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power

Work without it. Truth is, that Fulvia,

To have me out of Egypt, made wars here;

For which myself, the ignorant motive, do

120

So far ask pardon as befits mine honour

To stoop in such a case.

'Tis noble spoken.

If it might please you, to enforce no further

The griefs between ye: to forget them quite

Were to remember that the present need

Speaks to atone you.

Worthily spoken, Mecaenas.

Or, if you borrow one another's love for the

instant, you may, when you hear no more words of

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Pompey, return it again: you shall have time to

wrangle in when you have nothing else to do.

Thou art a soldier only: speak no more.

That truth should be silent I had almost forgot.

You wrong this presence; therefore speak no more.

Go to, then; your considerate stone.

I do not much dislike the matter, but

The manner of his speech; for't cannot be

We shall remain in friendship, our conditions

So differing in their acts. Yet if I knew

140

What hoop should hold us stanch, from edge to edge

O' the world I would pursue it.

Give me leave, Caesar,--

Speak, Agrippa.

Thou hast a sister by the mother's side,

Admired Octavia: great Mark Antony

Is now a widower.

Say not so, Agrippa:

If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof

Were well deserved of rashness.

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I am not married, Caesar: let me hear

Agrippa further speak.

To hold you in perpetual amity,

To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts

With an unslipping knot, take Antony

Octavia to his wife; whose beauty claims

No worse a husband than the best of men;

Whose virtue and whose general graces speak

That which none else can utter. By this marriage,

All little jealousies, which now seem great,

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And all great fears, which now import their dangers,

Would then be nothing: truths would be tales,

Where now half tales be truths: her love to both

Would, each to other and all loves to both,

Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke;

For 'tis a studied, not a present thought,

By duty ruminated.

Will Caesar speak?

Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd

With what is spoke already.

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What power is in Agrippa,

If I would say, 'Agrippa, be it so,'

To make this good?

The power of Caesar, and

His power unto Octavia.

May I never

To this good purpose, that so fairly shows,

Dream of impediment! Let me have thy hand:

Further this act of grace: and from this hour

The heart of brothers govern in our loves

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And sway our great designs!

There is my hand.

A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother

Did ever love so dearly: let her live

To join our kingdoms and our hearts; and never

Fly off our loves again!

Happily, amen!

I did not think to draw my sword 'gainst Pompey;

For he hath laid strange courtesies and great

Of late upon me: I must thank him only,

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Lest my remembrance suffer ill report;

At heel of that, defy him.

Time calls upon's:

Of us must Pompey presently be sought,

Or else he seeks out us.

Where lies he?

About the mount Misenum.

What is his strength by land?

Great and increasing: but by sea

He is an absolute master.

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So is the fame.

Would we had spoke together! Haste we for it:

Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, dispatch we

The business we have talk'd of.

With most gladness:

And do invite you to my sister's view,

Whither straight I'll lead you.

Let us, Lepidus,

Not lack your company.

Noble Antony,

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Not sickness should detain me.

Welcome from Egypt, sir.

Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Mecaenas! My

honourable friend, Agrippa!

Good Enobarbus!

We have cause to be glad that matters are so well

digested. You stayed well by 't in Egypt.

Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of countenance, and

made the night light with drinking.

Eight wild-boars roasted whole at a breakfast, and

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but twelve persons there; is this true?

This was but as a fly by an eagle: we had much more

monstrous matter of feast, which worthily deserved noting.

She's a most triumphant lady, if report be square to

her.

When she first met Mark Antony, she pursed up

his heart, upon the river of Cydnus.

There she appeared indeed; or my reporter devised

well for her.

I will tell you.

230

The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,

Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold;

Purple the sails, and so perfumed that

The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver,

Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made

The water which they beat to follow faster,

As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,

It beggar'd all description: she did lie

In her pavilion--cloth-of-gold of tissue--

O'er-picturing that Venus where we see

240

The fancy outwork nature: on each side her

Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,

With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem

To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,

And what they undid did.

O, rare for Antony!

Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides,

So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes,

And made their bends adornings: at the helm

A seeming mermaid steers: the silken tackle

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Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands,

That yarely frame the office. From the barge

A strange invisible perfume hits the sense

Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast

Her people out upon her; and Antony,

Enthroned i' the market-place, did sit alone,

Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy,

Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too,

And made a gap in nature.

Rare Egyptian!

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Upon her landing, Antony sent to her,

Invited her to supper: she replied,

It should be better he became her guest;

Which she entreated: our courteous Antony,

Whom ne'er the word of 'No' woman heard speak,

Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast,

And for his ordinary pays his heart

For what his eyes eat only.

Royal wench!

She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed:

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He plough'd her, and she cropp'd.

I saw her once

Hop forty paces through the public street;

And having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted,

That she did make defect perfection,

And, breathless, power breathe forth.

Now Antony must leave her utterly.

Never; he will not:

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale

Her infinite variety: other women cloy

280

The appetites they feed: but she makes hungry

Where most she satisfies; for vilest things

Become themselves in her: that the holy priests

Bless her when she is riggish.

If beauty, wisdom, modesty, can settle

The heart of Antony, Octavia is

A blessed lottery to him.

Let us go.

Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest

Whilst you abide here.

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Humbly, sir, I thank you.

Act II. Scene III. The same. Octavius Caesar's house.

The world and my great office will sometimes

Divide me from your bosom.

All which time

Before the gods my knee shall bow my prayers

To them for you.

Good night, sir. My Octavia,

Read not my blemishes in the world's report:

I have not kept my square; but that to come

Shall all be done by the rule. Good night, dear lady.

10

Good night, sir.

Good night.

Now, sirrah; you do wish yourself in Egypt?

Would I had never come from thence, nor you Thither!

If you can, your reason?

I see it in

My motion, have it not in my tongue: but yet

Hie you to Egypt again.

Say to me,

Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar's or mine?

20

Caesar's.

Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side:

Thy demon, that's thy spirit which keeps thee, is

Noble, courageous high, unmatchable,

Where Caesar's is not; but, near him, thy angel

Becomes a fear, as being o'erpower'd: therefore

Make space enough between you.

Speak this no more.

To none but thee; no more, but when to thee.

If thou dost play with him at any game,

30

Thou art sure to lose; and, of that natural luck,

He beats thee 'gainst the odds: thy lustre thickens,

When he shines by: I say again, thy spirit

Is all afraid to govern thee near him;

But, he away, 'tis noble.

Get thee gone:

Say to Ventidius I would speak with him:

He shall to Parthia. Be it art or hap,

He hath spoken true: the very dice obey him;

And in our sports my better cunning faints

40

Under his chance: if we draw lots, he speeds;

His cocks do win the battle still of mine,

When it is all to nought; and his quails ever

Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to Egypt:

And though I make this marriage for my peace,

I' the east my pleasure lies.

O, come, Ventidius,

You must to Parthia: your commission's ready;

Follow me, and receive't.

Act II. Scene IV. The same. A street.

Trouble yourselves no further: pray you, hasten

Your generals after.

Sir, Mark Antony

Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we'll follow.

Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress,

Which will become you both, farewell.

We shall,

As I conceive the journey, be at the Mount

Before you, Lepidus.

10

Your way is shorter;

My purposes do draw me much about:

You'll win two days upon me.

Sir, good success!

Farewell.

Act II. Scene V. Alexandria. Cleopatra's palace.

Give me some music; music, moody food

Of us that trade in love.

The music, ho!

Let it alone; let's to billiards: come, Charmian.

My arm is sore; best play with Mardian.

As well a woman with an eunuch play'd

As with a woman. Come, you'll play with me, sir?

As well as I can, madam.

And when good will is show'd, though't come

10

too short,

The actor may plead pardon. I'll none now:

Give me mine angle; we'll to the river: there,

My music playing far off, I will betray

Tawny-finn'd fishes; my bended hook shall pierce

Their slimy jaws; and, as I draw them up,

I'll think them every one an Antony,

And say 'Ah, ha! you're caught.'

'Twas merry when

You wager'd on your angling; when your diver

20

Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, which he

With fervency drew up.

That time,--O times!--

I laugh'd him out of patience; and that night

I laugh'd him into patience; and next morn,

Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed;

Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst

I wore his sword Philippan.

O, from Italy

Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears,

30

That long time have been barren.

Madam, madam,--

Antonius dead!--If thou say so, villain,

Thou kill'st thy mistress: but well and free,

If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here

My bluest veins to kiss; a hand that kings

Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing.

First, madam, he is well.

Why, there's more gold.

But, sirrah, mark, we use

40

To say the dead are well: bring it to that,

The gold I give thee will I melt and pour

Down thy ill-uttering throat.

Good madam, hear me.

Well, go to, I will;

But there's no goodness in thy face: if Antony

Be free and healthful,--so tart a favour

To trumpet such good tidings! If not well,

Thou shouldst come like a Fury crown'd with snakes,

Not like a formal man.

50

Will't please you hear me?

I have a mind to strike thee ere thou speak'st:

Yet if thou say Antony lives, is well,

Or friends with Caesar, or not captive to him,

I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail

Rich pearls upon thee.

Madam, he's well.

Well said.

And friends with Caesar.

Thou'rt an honest man.

60

Caesar and he are greater friends than ever.

Make thee a fortune from me.

But yet, madam,--

I do not like 'But yet,' it does allay

The good precedence; fie upon 'But yet'!

'But yet' is as a gaoler to bring forth

Some monstrous malefactor. Prithee, friend,

Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear,

The good and bad together: he's friends with Caesar:

In state of health thou say'st; and thou say'st free.

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Free, madam! no; I made no such report:

He's bound unto Octavia.

For what good turn?

For the best turn i' the bed.

I am pale, Charmian.

Madam, he's married to Octavia.

The most infectious pestilence upon thee!

Good madam, patience.

What say you? Hence,

Horrible villain! or I'll spurn thine eyes

80

Like balls before me; I'll unhair thy head:

Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in brine,

Smarting in lingering pickle.

Gracious madam,

I that do bring the news made not the match.

Say 'tis not so, a province I will give thee,

And make thy fortunes proud: the blow thou hadst

Shall make thy peace for moving me to rage;

And I will boot thee with what gift beside

Thy modesty can beg.

90

He's married, madam.

Rogue, thou hast lived too long.

Nay, then I'll run.

What mean you, madam? I have made no fault.

Good madam, keep yourself within yourself:

The man is innocent.

Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt.

Melt Egypt into Nile! and kindly creatures

Turn all to serpents! Call the slave again:

Though I am mad, I will not bite him: call.

100

He is afeard to come.

I will not hurt him.

These hands do lack nobility, that they strike

A meaner than myself; since I myself

Have given myself the cause.

Come hither, sir.

Though it be honest, it is never good

To bring bad news: give to a gracious message.

An host of tongues; but let ill tidings tell

Themselves when they be felt.

110

I have done my duty.

Is he married?

I cannot hate thee worser than I do,

If thou again say 'Yes.'

He's married, madam.

The gods confound thee! dost thou hold there still?

Should I lie, madam?

O, I would thou didst,

So half my Egypt were submerged and made

A cistern for scaled snakes! Go, get thee hence:

120

Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me

Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married?

I crave your highness' pardon.

He is married?

Take no offence that I would not offend you:

To punish me for what you make me do.

Seems much unequal: he's married to Octavia.

O, that his fault should make a knave of thee,

That art not what thou'rt sure of! Get thee hence:

The merchandise which thou hast brought from Rome

130

Are all too dear for me: lie they upon thy hand,

And be undone by 'em!

Good your highness, patience.

In praising Antony, I have dispraised Caesar.

Many times, madam.

I am paid for't now.

Lead me from hence:

I faint: O Iras, Charmian! 'tis no matter.

Go to the fellow, good Alexas; bid him

Report the feature of Octavia, her years,

140

Her inclination, let him not leave out

The colour of her hair: bring me word quickly.

Let him for ever go:--let him not--Charmian,

Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon,

The other way's a Mars. Bid you Alexas

Bring me word how tall she is. Pity me, Charmian,

But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber.

Act II. Scene VI. Near Misenum.

Your hostages I have, so have you mine;

And we shall talk before we fight.

Most meet

That first we come to words; and therefore have we

Our written purposes before us sent;

Which, if thou hast consider'd, let us know

If 'twill tie up thy discontented sword,

And carry back to Sicily much tall youth

That else must perish here.

10

To you all three,

The senators alone of this great world,

Chief factors for the gods, I do not know

Wherefore my father should revengers want,

Having a son and friends; since Julius Caesar,

Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted,

There saw you labouring for him. What was't

That moved pale Cassius to conspire; and what

Made the all-honour'd, honest Roman, Brutus,

With the arm'd rest, courtiers and beauteous freedom,

20

To drench the Capitol; but that they would

Have one man but a man? And that is it

Hath made me rig my navy; at whose burthen

The anger'd ocean foams; with which I meant

To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome

Cast on my noble father.

Take your time.

Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy sails;

We'll speak with thee at sea: at land, thou know'st

How much we do o'er-count thee.

30

At land, indeed,

Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house:

But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself,

Remain in't as thou mayst.

Be pleased to tell us--

For this is from the present--how you take

The offers we have sent you.

There's the point.

Which do not be entreated to, but weigh

What it is worth embraced.

40

And what may follow,

To try a larger fortune.

You have made me offer

Of Sicily, Sardinia; and I must

Rid all the sea of pirates; then, to send

Measures of wheat to Rome; this 'greed upon

To part with unhack'd edges, and bear back

Our targes undinted.

That's our offer.

Know, then,

50

I came before you here a man prepared

To take this offer: but Mark Antony

Put me to some impatience: though I lose

The praise of it by telling, you must know,

When Caesar and your brother were at blows,

Your mother came to Sicily and did find

Her welcome friendly.

I have heard it, Pompey;

And am well studied for a liberal thanks

Which I do owe you.

60

Let me have your hand:

I did not think, sir, to have met you here.

The beds i' the east are soft; and thanks to you,

That call'd me timelier than my purpose hither;

For I have gain'd by 't.

Since I saw you last,

There is a change upon you.

Well, I know not

What counts harsh fortune casts upon my face;

But in my bosom shall she never come,

70

To make my heart her vassal.

Well met here.

I hope so, Lepidus. Thus we are agreed:

I crave our composition may be written,

And seal'd between us.

That's the next to do.

We'll feast each other ere we part; and let's

Draw lots who shall begin.

That will I, Pompey.

No, Antony, take the lot: but, first

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Or last, your fine Egyptian cookery

Shall have the fame. I have heard that Julius Caesar

Grew fat with feasting there.

You have heard much.

I have fair meanings, sir.

And fair words to them.

Then so much have I heard:

And I have heard, Apollodorus carried--

No more of that: he did so.

What, I pray you?

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A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress.

I know thee now: how farest thou, soldier?

Well;

And well am like to do; for, I perceive,

Four feasts are toward.

Let me shake thy hand;

I never hated thee: I have seen thee fight,

When I have envied thy behavior.

Sir,

I never loved you much; but I ha' praised ye,

100

When you have well deserved ten times as much

As I have said you did.

Enjoy thy plainness,

It nothing ill becomes thee.

Aboard my galley I invite you all:

Will you lead, lords?

Show us the way, sir.

Come.

[Aside] Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have

made this treaty.--You and I have known, sir.

110

At sea, I think.

We have, sir.

You have done well by water.

And you by land.

I will praise any man that will praise me; though it

cannot be denied what I have done by land.

Nor what I have done by water.

Yes, something you can deny for your own

safety: you have been a great thief by sea.

And you by land.

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There I deny my land service. But give me your

hand, Menas: if our eyes had authority, here they

might take two thieves kissing.

All men's faces are true, whatsome'er their hands are.

But there is never a fair woman has a true face.

No slander; they steal hearts.

We came hither to fight with you.

For my part, I am sorry it is turned to a drinking.

Pompey doth this day laugh away his fortune.

If he do, sure, he cannot weep't back again.

130

You've said, sir. We looked not for Mark Antony

here: pray you, is he married to Cleopatra?

Caesar's sister is called Octavia.

True, sir; she was the wife of Caius Marcellus.

But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius.

Pray ye, sir?

'Tis true.

Then is Caesar and he for ever knit together.

If I were bound to divine of this unity, I would

not prophesy so.

140

I think the policy of that purpose made more in the

marriage than the love of the parties.

I think so too. But you shall find, the band that

seems to tie their friendship together will be the

very strangler of their amity: Octavia is of a

holy, cold, and still conversation.

Who would not have his wife so?

Not he that himself is not so; which is Mark Antony.

He will to his Egyptian dish again: then shall the

sighs of Octavia blow the fire up in Caesar; and, as

150

I said before, that which is the strength of their

amity shall prove the immediate author of their

variance. Antony will use his affection where it is:

he married but his occasion here.

And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you aboard?

I have a health for you.

I shall take it, sir: we have used our throats in Egypt.

Come, let's away.

Act II. Scene VII. On board Pompey's galley, off Misenum.

Here they'll be, man. Some o' their plants are

ill-rooted already: the least wind i' the world

will blow them down.

Lepidus is high-coloured.

They have made him drink alms-drink.

As they pinch one another by the disposition, he

cries out 'No more;' reconciles them to his

entreaty, and himself to the drink.

But it raises the greater war between him and

10

his discretion.

Why, this is to have a name in great men's

fellowship: I had as lief have a reed that will do

me no service as a partisan I could not heave.

To be called into a huge sphere, and not to be seen

to move in't, are the holes where eyes should be,

which pitifully disaster the cheeks.

[To Octavius Caesar] Thus do they, sir: they take

the flow o' the Nile

By certain scales i' the pyramid; they know,

20

By the height, the lowness, or the mean, if dearth

Or foison follow: the higher Nilus swells,

The more it promises: as it ebbs, the seedsman

Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain,

And shortly comes to harvest.

You've strange serpents there.

Ay, Lepidus.

Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the

operation of your sun: so is your crocodile.

They are so.

30

Sit,--and some wine! A health to Lepidus!

I am not so well as I should be, but I'll ne'er out.

Not till you have slept; I fear me you'll be in till then.

Nay, certainly, I have heard the Ptolemies'

pyramises are very goodly things; without

contradiction, I have heard that.

[Aside to Pompey] Pompey, a word.

[Aside to Menas] Say in mine ear:

what is't?

[Aside to Pompey] Forsake thy seat, I do beseech

40

thee, captain,

And hear me speak a word.

[Aside to Menas] Forbear me till anon.

This wine for Lepidus!

What manner o' thing is your crocodile?

It is shaped, sir, like itself; and it is as broad

as it hath breadth: it is just so high as it is,

and moves with its own organs: it lives by that

which nourisheth it; and the elements once out of

it, it transmigrates.

50

What colour is it of?

Of it own colour too.

'Tis a strange serpent.

'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet.

Will this description satisfy him?

With the health that Pompey gives him, else he is a

very epicure.

[Aside to Menas] Go hang, sir, hang! Tell me of

that? away!

Do as I bid you. Where's this cup I call'd for?

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[Aside to Pompey] If for the sake of merit thou

wilt hear me,

Rise from thy stool.

[Aside to Menas] I think thou'rt mad.

The matter?

I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes.

Thou hast served me with much faith. What's else to say?

Be jolly, lords.

These quick-sands, Lepidus,

Keep off them, for you sink.

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Wilt thou be lord of all the world?

What say'st thou?

Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? That's twice.

How should that be?

But entertain it,

And, though thou think me poor, I am the man

Will give thee all the world.

Hast thou drunk well?

Now, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup.

Thou art, if thou darest be, the earthly Jove:

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Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky inclips,

Is thine, if thou wilt ha't.

Show me which way.

These three world-sharers, these competitors,

Are in thy vessel: let me cut the cable;

And, when we are put off, fall to their throats:

All there is thine.

Ah, this thou shouldst have done,

And not have spoke on't! In me 'tis villany;

In thee't had been good service. Thou must know,

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'Tis not my profit that does lead mine honour;

Mine honour, it. Repent that e'er thy tongue

Hath so betray'd thine act: being done unknown,

I should have found it afterwards well done;

But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink.

[Aside] For this,

I'll never follow thy pall'd fortunes more.

Who seeks, and will not take when once 'tis offer'd,

Shall never find it more.

This health to Lepidus!

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Bear him ashore. I'll pledge it for him, Pompey.

Here's to thee, Menas!

Enobarbus, welcome!

Fill till the cup be hid.

There's a strong fellow, Menas.

Why?

A' bears the third part of the world, man; see'st

not?

The third part, then, is drunk: would it were all,

That it might go on wheels!

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Drink thou; increase the reels.

Come.

This is not yet an Alexandrian feast.

It ripens towards it. Strike the vessels, ho?

Here is to Caesar!

I could well forbear't.

It's monstrous labour, when I wash my brain,

And it grows fouler.

Be a child o' the time.

Possess it, I'll make answer:

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But I had rather fast from all four days

Than drink so much in one.

Ha, my brave emperor!

Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals,

And celebrate our drink?

Let's ha't, good soldier.

Come, let's all take hands,

Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense

In soft and delicate Lethe.

All take hands.

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Make battery to our ears with the loud music:

The while I'll place you: then the boy shall sing;

The holding every man shall bear as loud

As his strong sides can volley.

THE SONG.

Come, thou monarch of the vine,

Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne!

In thy fats our cares be drown'd,

With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd:

Cup us, till the world go round,

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Cup us, till the world go round!

What would you more? Pompey, good night. Good brother,

Let me request you off: our graver business

Frowns at this levity. Gentle lords, let's part;

You see we have burnt our cheeks: strong Enobarb

Is weaker than the wine; and mine own tongue

Splits what it speaks: the wild disguise hath almost

Antick'd us all. What needs more words? Good night.

Good Antony, your hand.

I'll try you on the shore.

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And shall, sir; give's your hand.

O Antony,

You have my father's house,--But, what? we are friends.

Come, down into the boat.

Take heed you fall not.

Menas, I'll not on shore.

No, to my cabin.

These drums! these trumpets, flutes! what!

Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell

To these great fellows: sound and be hang'd, sound out!

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Ho! says a' There's my cap.

Ho! Noble captain, come.

Act III

Act III. Scene I. A plain in Syria.

Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck; and now

Pleased fortune does of Marcus Crassus' death

Make me revenger. Bear the king's son's body

Before our army. Thy Pacorus, Orodes,

Pays this for Marcus Crassus.

Noble Ventidius,

Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm,

The fugitive Parthians follow; spur through Media,

Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither

10

The routed fly: so thy grand captain Antony

Shall set thee on triumphant chariots and

Put garlands on thy head.

O Silius, Silius,

I have done enough; a lower place, note well,

May make too great an act: for learn this, Silius;

Better to leave undone, than by our deed

Acquire too high a fame when him we serve's away.

Caesar and Antony have ever won

More in their officer than person: Sossius,

20

One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant,

For quick accumulation of renown,

Which he achieved by the minute, lost his favour.

Who does i' the wars more than his captain can

Becomes his captain's captain: and ambition,

The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss,

Than gain which darkens him.

I could do more to do Antonius good,

But 'twould offend him; and in his offence

Should my performance perish.

30

Thou hast, Ventidius,

that

Without the which a soldier, and his sword,

Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to Antony!

I'll humbly signify what in his name,

That magical word of war, we have effected;

How, with his banners and his well-paid ranks,

The ne'er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia

We have jaded out o' the field.

Where is he now?

40

He purposeth to Athens: whither, with what haste

The weight we must convey with's will permit,

We shall appear before him. On there; pass along!

Act III. Scene II. Rome. An ante-chamber in Octavius Caesar's house.

What, are the brothers parted?

They have dispatch'd with Pompey, he is gone;

The other three are sealing. Octavia weeps

To part from Rome; Caesar is sad; and Lepidus,

Since Pompey's feast, as Menas says, is troubled

With the green sickness.

'Tis a noble Lepidus.

A very fine one: O, how he loves Caesar!

Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony!

10

Caesar? Why, he's the Jupiter of men.

What's Antony? The god of Jupiter.

Spake you of Caesar? How! the non-pareil!

O Antony! O thou Arabian bird!

Would you praise Caesar, say 'Caesar:' go no further.

Indeed, he plied them both with excellent praises.

But he loves Caesar best; yet he loves Antony:

Ho! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards,

poets, cannot

Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho!

20

His love to Antony. But as for Caesar,

Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder.

Both he loves.

They are his shards, and he their beetle.

So;

This is to horse. Adieu, noble Agrippa.

Good fortune, worthy soldier; and farewell.

No further, sir.

You take from me a great part of myself;

Use me well in 't. Sister, prove such a wife

30

As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest band

Shall pass on thy approof. Most noble Antony,

Let not the piece of virtue, which is set

Betwixt us as the cement of our love,

To keep it builded, be the ram to batter

The fortress of it; for better might we

Have loved without this mean, if on both parts

This be not cherish'd.

Make me not offended

In your distrust.

40

I have said.

You shall not find,

Though you be therein curious, the least cause

For what you seem to fear: so, the gods keep you,

And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends!

We will here part.

Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well:

The elements be kind to thee, and make

Thy spirits all of comfort! fare thee well.

My noble brother!

50

The April 's in her eyes: it is love's spring,

And these the showers to bring it on. Be cheerful.

Sir, look well to my husband's house; and--

What, Octavia?

I'll tell you in your ear.

Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can

Her heart inform her tongue,--the swan's

down-feather,

That stands upon the swell at full of tide,

And neither way inclines.

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[Aside to Agrippa] Will Caesar weep?

[Aside to Domitius Enobarbus] He has a cloud in 's face.

[Aside to Agrippa] He were the worse for that,

were he a horse;

So is he, being a man.

[Aside to Domitius Enobarbus] Why, Enobarbus,

When Antony found Julius Caesar dead,

He cried almost to roaring; and he wept

When at Philippi he found Brutus slain.

[Aside to Agrippa] That year, indeed, he was

70

troubled with a rheum;

What willingly he did confound he wail'd,

Believe't, till I wept too.

No, sweet Octavia,

You shall hear from me still; the time shall not

Out-go my thinking on you.

Come, sir, come;

I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love:

Look, here I have you; thus I let you go,

And give you to the gods.

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Adieu; be happy!

Let all the number of the stars give light

To thy fair way!

Farewell, fa rewell!

Farewell!

Act III. Scene III. Alexandria. Cleopatra's palace.

Where is the fellow?

Half afeard to come.

Go to, go to.

Come hither, sir.

Good majesty,

Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you

But when you are well pleased.

That Herod's head

I'll have: but how, when Antony is gone

10

Through whom I might command it? Come thou near.

Most gracious majesty,--

Didst thou behold Octavia?

Ay, dread queen.

Where?

Madam, in Rome;

I look'd her in the face, and saw her led

Between her brother and Mark Antony.

Is she as tall as me?

She is not, madam.

20

Didst hear her speak? is she shrill-tongued or low?

Madam, I heard her speak; she is low-voiced.

That's not so good: he cannot like her long.

Like her! O Isis! 'tis impossible.

I think so, Charmian: dull of tongue, and dwarfish!

What majesty is in her gait? Remember,

If e'er thou look'dst on majesty.

She creeps:

Her motion and her station are as one;

She shows a body rather than a life,

30

A statue than a breather.

Is this certain?

Or I have no observance.

Three in Egypt

Cannot make better note.

He's very knowing;

I do perceive't: there's nothing in her yet:

The fellow has good judgment.

Excellent.

Guess at her years, I prithee.

40

Madam,

She was a widow,--

Widow! Charmian, hark.

And I do think she's thirty.

Bear'st thou her face in mind? is't long or round?

Round even to faultiness.

For the most part, too, they are foolish that are so.

Her hair, what colour?

Brown, madam: and her forehead

As low as she would wish it.

50

There's gold for thee.

Thou must not take my former sharpness ill:

I will employ thee back again; I find thee

Most fit for business: go make thee ready;

Our letters are prepared.

A proper man.

Indeed, he is so: I repent me much

That so I harried him. Why, methinks, by him,

This creature's no such thing.

Nothing, madam.

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The man hath seen some majesty, and should know.

Hath he seen majesty? Isis else defend,

And serving you so long!

I have one thing more to ask him yet, good Charmian:

But 'tis no matter; thou shalt bring him to me

Where I will write. All may be well enough.

I warrant you, madam.

Act III. Scene IV. Athens. A room in Mark Antony's house.

Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that,--

That were excusable, that, and thousands more

Of semblable import,--but he hath waged

New wars 'gainst Pompey; made his will, and read it

To public ear:

Spoke scantly of me: when perforce he could not

But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly

He vented them; most narrow measure lent me:

When the best hint was given him, he not took't,

10

Or did it from his teeth.

O my good lord,

Believe not all; or, if you must believe,

Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady,

If this division chance, ne'er stood between,

Praying for both parts:

The good gods me presently,

When I shall pray, 'O bless my lord and husband!'

Undo that prayer, by crying out as loud,

'O, bless my brother!' Husband win, win brother,

20

Prays, and destroys the prayer; no midway

'Twixt these extremes at all.

Gentle Octavia,

Let your best love draw to that point, which seeks

Best to preserve it: if I lose mine honour,

I lose myself: better I were not yours

Than yours so branchless. But, as you requested,

Yourself shall go between 's: the mean time, lady,

I'll raise the preparation of a war

Shall stain your brother: make your soonest haste;

30

So your desires are yours.

Thanks to my lord.

The Jove of power make me most weak, most weak,

Your reconciler! Wars 'twixt you twain would be

As if the world should cleave, and that slain men

Should solder up the rift.

When it appears to you where this begins,

Turn your displeasure that way: for our faults

Can never be so equal, that your love

Can equally move with them. Provide your going;

40

Choose your own company, and command what cost

Your heart has mind to.

Act III. Scene V. The same. Another room.

How now, friend Eros!

There's strange news come, sir.

What, man?

Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon Pompey.

This is old: what is the success?

Caesar, having made use of him in the wars 'gainst

Pompey, presently denied him rivality; would not let

him partake in the glory of the action: and not

resting here, accuses him of letters he had formerly

10

wrote to Pompey; upon his own appeal, seizes him: so

the poor third is up, till death enlarge his confine.

Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps, no more;

And throw between them all the food thou hast,

They'll grind the one the other. Where's Antony?

He's walking in the garden--thus; and spurns

The rush that lies before him; cries, 'Fool Lepidus!'

And threats the throat of that his officer

That murder'd Pompey.

Our great navy's rigg'd.

20

For Italy and Caesar. More, Domitius;

My lord desires you presently: my news

I might have told hereafter.

'Twill be naught:

But let it be. Bring me to Antony.

Come, sir.

Act III. Scene VI. Rome. Octavius Caesar's house.

Contemning Rome, he has done all this, and more,

In Alexandria: here's the manner of 't:

I' the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd,

Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold

Were publicly enthroned: at the feet sat

Caesarion, whom they call my father's son,

And all the unlawful issue that their lust

Since then hath made between them. Unto her

He gave the stablishment of Egypt; made her

10

Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia,

Absolute queen.

This in the public eye?

I' the common show-place, where they exercise.

His sons he there proclaim'd the kings of kings:

Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia.

He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy he assign'd

Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia: she

In the habiliments of the goddess Isis

That day appear'd; and oft before gave audience,

20

As 'tis reported, so.

Let Rome be thus Inform'd.

Who, queasy with his insolence

Already, will their good thoughts call from him.

The people know it; and have now received

His accusations.

Who does he accuse?

Caesar: and that, having in Sicily

Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him

His part o' the isle: then does he say, he lent me

30

Some shipping unrestored: lastly, he frets

That Lepidus of the triumvirate

Should be deposed; and, being, that we detain

All his revenue.

Sir, this should be answer'd.

'Tis done already, and the messenger gone.

I have told him, Lepidus was grown too cruel;

That he his high authority abused,

And did deserve his change: for what I have conquer'd,

I grant him part; but then, in his Armenia,

40

And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I

Demand the like.

He'll never yield to that.

Nor must not then be yielded to in this.

Hail, Caesar, and my lord! hail, most dear Caesar!

That ever I should call thee castaway!

You have not call'd me so, nor have you cause.

Why have you stol'n upon us thus! You come not

Like Caesar's sister: the wife of Antony

Should have an army for an usher, and

50

The neighs of horse to tell of her approach

Long ere she did appear; the trees by the way

Should have borne men; and expectation fainted,

Longing for what it had not; nay, the dust

Should have ascended to the roof of heaven,

Raised by your populous troops: but you are come

A market-maid to Rome; and have prevented

The ostentation of our love, which, left unshown,

Is often left unloved; we should have met you

By sea and land; supplying every stage

60

With an augmented greeting.

Good my lord,

To come thus was I not constrain'd, but did

On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony,

Hearing that you prepared for war, acquainted

My grieved ear withal; whereon, I begg'd

His pardon for return.

Which soon he granted,

Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him.

Do not say so, my lord.

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I have eyes upon him,

And his affairs come to me on the wind.

Where is he now?

My lord, in Athens.

No, my most wronged sister; Cleopatra

Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his empire

Up to a whore; who now are levying

The kings o' the earth for war; he hath assembled

Bocchus, the king of Libya; Archelaus,

Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king

80

Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas;

King Malchus of Arabia; King of Pont;

Herod of Jewry; Mithridates, king

Of Comagene; Polemon and Amyntas,

The kings of Mede and Lycaonia,

With a more larger list of sceptres.

Ay me, most wretched,

That have my heart parted betwixt two friends

That do afflict each other!

Welcome hither:

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Your letters did withhold our breaking forth;

Till we perceived, both how you were wrong led,

And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart;

Be you not troubled with the time, which drives

O'er your content these strong necessities;

But let determined things to destiny

Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Rome;

Nothing more dear to me. You are abused

Beyond the mark of thought: and the high gods,

To do you justice, make them ministers

100

Of us and those that love you. Best of comfort;

And ever welcome to us.

Welcome, lady.

Welcome, dear madam.

Each heart in Rome does love and pity you:

Only the adulterous Antony, most large

In his abominations, turns you off;

And gives his potent regiment to a trull,

That noises it against us.

Is it so, sir?

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Most certain. Sister, welcome: pray you,

Be ever known to patience: my dear'st sister!

Act III. Scene VII. Near Actium. Mark Antony's camp.

I will be even with thee, doubt it not.

But why, why, why?

Thou hast forspoke my being in these wars,

And say'st it is not fit.

Well, is it, is it?

If not denounced against us, why should not we

Be there in person?

[Aside] Well, I could reply:

If we should serve with horse and mares together,

10

The horse were merely lost; the mares would bear

A soldier and his horse.

What is't you say?

Your presence needs must puzzle Antony;

Take from his heart, take from his brain,

from's time,

What should not then be spared. He is already

Traduced for levity; and 'tis said in Rome

That Photinus an eunuch and your maids

Manage this war.

20

Sink Rome, and their tongues rot

That speak against us! A charge we bear i' the war,

And, as the president of my kingdom, will

Appear there for a man. Speak not against it:

I will not stay behind.

Nay, I have done.

Here comes the emperor.

Is it not strange, Canidius,

That from Tarentum and Brundusium

He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea,

30

And take in Toryne? You have heard on't, sweet?

Celerity is never more admired

Than by the negligent.

A good rebuke,

Which might have well becomed the best of men,

To taunt at slackness. Canidius, we

Will fight with him by sea.

By sea! what else?

Why will my lord do so?

For that he dares us to't.

40

So hath my lord dared him to single fight.

Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia.

Where Caesar fought with Pompey: but these offers,

Which serve not for his vantage, be shakes off;

And so should you.

Your ships are not well mann'd;

Your mariners are muleters, reapers, people

Ingross'd by swift impress; in Caesar's fleet

Are those that often have 'gainst Pompey fought:

Their ships are yare; yours, heavy: no disgrace

50

Shall fall you for refusing him at sea,

Being prepared for land.

By sea, by sea.

Most worthy sir, you therein throw away

The absolute soldiership you have by land;

Distract your army, which doth most consist

Of war-mark'd footmen; leave unexecuted

Your own renowned knowledge; quite forego

The way which promises assurance; and

Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard,

60

From firm security.

I'll fight at sea.

I have sixty sails, Caesar none better.

Our overplus of shipping will we burn;

And, with the rest full-mann'd, from the head of Actium

Beat the approaching Caesar. But if we fail,

We then can do't at land.

Thy business?

The news is true, my lord; he is descried;

Caesar has taken Toryne.

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Can he be there in person? 'tis impossible;

Strange that power should be. Canidius,

Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land,

And our twelve thousand horse. We'll to our ship:

Away, my Thetis!

How now, worthy soldier?

O noble emperor, do not fight by sea;

Trust not to rotten planks: do you misdoubt

This sword and these my wounds? Let the Egyptians

And the Phoenicians go a-ducking; we

80

Have used to conquer, standing on the earth,

And fighting foot to foot.

Well, well: away!

By Hercules, I think I am i' the right.

Soldier, thou art: but his whole action grows

Not in the power on't: so our leader's led,

And we are women's men.

You keep by land

The legions and the horse whole, do you not?

Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius,

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Publicola, and Caelius, are for sea:

But we keep whole by land. This speed of Caesar's

Carries beyond belief.

While he was yet in Rome,

His power went out in such distractions as

Beguiled all spies.

Who's his lieutenant, hear you?

They say, one Taurus.

Well I know the man.

The emperor calls Canidius.

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With news the time's with labour, and throes forth,

Each minute, some.

Act III. Scene VIII. A plain near Actium.

Taurus!

My lord?

Strike not by land; keep whole: provoke not battle,

Till we have done at sea. Do not exceed

The prescript of this scroll: our fortune lies

Upon this jump.

Act III. Scene IX. Another part of the plain.

Set we our squadrons on yond side o' the hill,

In eye of Caesar's battle; from which place

We may the number of the ships behold,

And so proceed accordingly.

Act III. Scene X. Another part of the plain.

Naught, naught all, naught! I can behold no longer:

The Antoniad, the Egyptian admiral,

With all their sixty, fly and turn the rudder:

To see't mine eyes are blasted.

Gods and goddesses,

All the whole synod of them!

What's thy passion!

The greater cantle of the world is lost

With very ignorance; we have kiss'd away

10

Kingdoms and provinces.

How appears the fight?

On our side like the token'd pestilence,

Where death is sure. Yon ribaudred nag of Egypt,--

Whom leprosy o'ertake!--i' the midst o' the fight,

When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd,

Both as the same, or rather ours the elder,

The breese upon her, like a cow in June,

Hoists sails and flies.

That I beheld:

20

Mine eyes did sicken at the sight, and could not

Endure a further view.

She once being loof'd,

The noble ruin of her magic, Antony,

Claps on his sea-wing, and, like a doting mallard,

Leaving the fight in height, flies after her:

I never saw an action of such shame;

Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before

Did violate so itself.

Alack, alack!

30

Our fortune on the sea is out of breath,

And sinks most lamentably. Had our general

Been what he knew himself, it had gone well:

O, he has given example for our flight,

Most grossly, by his own!

Ay, are you thereabouts?

Why, then, good night indeed.

Toward Peloponnesus are they fled.

'Tis easy to't; and there I will attend

What further comes.

40

To Caesar will I render

My legions and my horse: six kings already

Show me the way of yielding.

I'll yet follow

The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason

Sits in the wind against me.

Act III. Scene XI. Alexandria. Cleopatra's palace.

Hark! the land bids me tread no more upon't;

It is ashamed to bear me! Friends, come hither:

I am so lated in the world, that I

Have lost my way for ever: I have a ship

Laden with gold; take that, divide it; fly,

And make your peace with Caesar.

Fly! not we.

I have fled myself; and have instructed cowards

To run and show their shoulders. Friends, be gone;

10

I have myself resolved upon a course

Which has no need of you; be gone:

My treasure's in the harbour, take it. O,

I follow'd that I blush to look upon:

My very hairs do mutiny; for the white

Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them

For fear and doting. Friends, be gone: you shall

Have letters from me to some friends that will

Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not sad,

Nor make replies of loathness: take the hint

20

Which my despair proclaims; let that be left

Which leaves itself: to the sea-side straightway:

I will possess you of that ship and treasure.

Leave me, I pray, a little: pray you now:

Nay, do so; for, indeed, I have lost command,

Therefore I pray you: I'll see you by and by.

Nay, gentle madam, to him, comfort him.

Do, most dear queen.

Do! why: what else?

Let me sit down. O Juno!

30

No, no, no, no, no.

See you here, sir?

O fie, fie, fie!

Madam!

Madam, O good empress!

Sir, sir,--

Yes, my lord, yes; he at Philippi kept

His sword e'en like a dancer; while I struck

The lean and wrinkled Cassius; and 'twas I

That the mad Brutus ended: he alone

40

Dealt on lieutenantry, and no practise had

In the brave squares of war: yet now--No matter.

Ah, stand by.

The queen, my lord, the queen.

Go to him, madam, speak to him:

He is unqualitied with very shame.

Well then, sustain him: O!

Most noble sir, arise; the queen approaches:

Her head's declined, and death will seize her, but

Your comfort makes the rescue.

50

I have offended reputation,

A most unnoble swerving.

Sir, the queen.

O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt? See,

How I convey my shame out of thine eyes

By looking back what I have left behind

'Stroy'd in dishonour.

O my lord, my lord,

Forgive my fearful sails! I little thought

You would have follow'd.

60

Egypt, thou knew'st too well

My heart was to thy rudder tied by the strings,

And thou shouldst tow me after: o'er my spirit

Thy full supremacy thou knew'st, and that

Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods

Command me.

O, my pardon!

Now I must

To the young man send humble treaties, dodge

And palter in the shifts of lowness; who

70

With half the bulk o' the world play'd as I pleased,

Making and marring fortunes. You did know

How much you were my conqueror; and that

My sword, made weak by my affection, would

Obey it on all cause.

Pardon, pardon!

Fall not a tear, I say; one of them rates

All that is won and lost: give me a kiss;

Even this repays me. We sent our schoolmaster;

Is he come back? Love, I am full of lead.

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Some wine, within there, and our viands! Fortune knows

We scorn her most when most she offers blows.

Act III. Scene XII. Egypt. Octavius Caesar's camp.

Let him appear that's come from Antony.

Know you him?

Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster:

An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither

He sends so poor a pinion off his wing,

Which had superfluous kings for messengers

Not many moons gone by.

Approach, and speak.

Such as I am, I come from Antony:

10

I was of late as petty to his ends

As is the morn-dew on the myrtle-leaf

To his grand sea.

Be't so: declare thine office.

Lord of his fortunes he salutes thee, and

Requires to live in Egypt: which not granted,

He lessens his requests; and to thee sues

To let him breathe between the heavens and earth,

A private man in Athens: this for him.

Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness;

20

Submits her to thy might; and of thee craves

The circle of the Ptolemies for her heirs,

Now hazarded to thy grace.

For Antony,

I have no ears to his request. The queen

Of audience nor desire shall fail, so she

From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend,

Or take his life there: this if she perform,

She shall not sue unheard. So to them both.

Fortune pursue thee!

30

Bring him through the bands.

From Antony win Cleopatra: promise,

And in our name, what she requires; add more,

From thine invention, offers: women are not

In their best fortunes strong; but want will perjure

The ne'er touch'd vestal: try thy cunning, Thyreus;

Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we

Will answer as a law.

Caesar, I go.

Observe how Antony becomes his flaw,

40

And what thou think'st his very action speaks

In every power that moves.

Caesar, I shall.

Act III. Scene XIII. Alexandria. Cleopatra's palace.

What shall we do, Enobarbus?

Think, and die.

Is Antony or we in fault for this?

Antony only, that would make his will

Lord of his reason. What though you fled

From that great face of war, whose several ranges

Frighted each other? why should he follow?

The itch of his affection should not then

Have nick'd his captainship; at such a point,

10

When half to half the world opposed, he being

The meered question: 'twas a shame no less

Than was his loss, to course your flying flags,

And leave his navy gazing.

Prithee, peace.

Is that his answer?

Ay, my lord.

The queen shall then have courtesy, so she

Will yield us up.

He says so.

20

Let her know't.

To the boy Caesar send this grizzled head,

And he will fill thy wishes to the brim

With principalities.

That head, my lord?

To him again: tell him he wears the rose

Of youth upon him; from which the world should note

Something particular: his coin, ships, legions,

May be a coward's; whose ministers would prevail

Under the service of a child as soon

30

As i' the command of Caesar: I dare him therefore

To lay his gay comparisons apart,

And answer me declined, sword against sword,

Ourselves alone. I'll write it: follow me.

[Aside] Yes, like enough, high-battled Caesar will

Unstate his happiness, and be staged to the show,

Against a sworder! I see men's judgments are

A parcel of their fortunes; and things outward

Do draw the inward quality after them,

To suffer all alike. That he should dream,

40

Knowing all measures, the full Caesar will

Answer his emptiness! Caesar, thou hast subdued

His judgment too.

A messenger from CAESAR.

What, no more ceremony? See, my women!

Against the blown rose may they stop their nose

That kneel'd unto the buds. Admit him, sir.

[Aside] Mine honesty and I begin to square.

The loyalty well held to fools does make

Our faith mere folly: yet he that can endure

50

To follow with allegiance a fall'n lord

Does conquer him that did his master conquer

And earns a place i' the story.

Caesar's will?

Hear it apart.

None but friends: say boldly.

So, haply, are they friends to Antony.

He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has;

Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our master

Will leap to be his friend: for us, you know,

60

Whose he is we are, and that is, Caesar's.

So.

Thus then, thou most renown'd: Caesar entreats,

Not to consider in what case thou stand'st,

Further than he is Caesar.

Go on: right royal.

He knows that you embrace not Antony

As you did love, but as you fear'd him.

O!

The scars upon your honour, therefore, he

70

Does pity, as constrained blemishes,

Not as deserved.

He is a god, and knows

What is most right: mine honour was not yielded,

But conquer'd merely.

[Aside] To be sure of that,

I will ask Antony. Sir, sir, thou art so leaky,

That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for

Thy dearest quit thee.

Shall I say to Caesar

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What you require of him? for he partly begs

To be desired to give. It much would please him,

That of his fortunes you should make a staff

To lean upon: but it would warm his spirits,

To hear from me you had left Antony,

And put yourself under his shrowd,

The universal landlord.

What's your name?

My name is Thyreus.

Most kind messenger,

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Say to great Caesar this: in deputation

I kiss his conquering hand: tell him, I am prompt

To lay my crown at 's feet, and there to kneel:

Tell him from his all-obeying breath I hear

The doom of Egypt.

'Tis your noblest course.

Wisdom and fortune combating together,

If that the former dare but what it can,

No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay

My duty on your hand.

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Your Caesar's father oft,

When he hath mused of taking kingdoms in,

Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place,

As it rain'd kisses.

Favours, by Jove that thunders!

What art thou, fellow?

One that but performs

The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest

To have command obey'd.

[Aside] You will be whipp'd.

110

Approach, there! Ah, you kite! Now, gods

and devils!

Authority melts from me: of late, when I cried 'Ho!'

Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth,

And cry 'Your will?' Have you no ears? I am

Antony yet.

Take hence this Jack, and whip him.

[Aside] 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp

Than with an old one dying.

Moon and stars!

120

Whip him. Were't twenty of the greatest tributaries

That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them

So saucy with the hand of she here,--what's her name,

Since she was Cleopatra? Whip him, fellows,

Till, like a boy, you see him cringe his face,

And whine aloud for mercy: take him hence.

Mark Antony!

Tug him away: being whipp'd,

Bring him again: this Jack of Caesar's shall

Bear us an errand to him.

130

You were half blasted ere I knew you: ha!

Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome,

Forborne the getting of a lawful race,

And by a gem of women, to be abused

By one that looks on feeders?

Good my lord,--

You have been a boggler ever:

But when we in our viciousness grow hard--

O misery on't!--the wise gods seel our eyes;

In our own filth drop our clear judgments; make us

140

Adore our errors; laugh at's, while we strut

To our confusion.

O, is't come to this?

I found you as a morsel cold upon

Dead Caesar's trencher; nay, you were a fragment

Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter hours,

Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have

Luxuriously pick'd out: for, I am sure,

Though you can guess what temperance should be,

You know not what it is.

150

Wherefore is this?

To let a fellow that will take rewards

And say 'God quit you!' be familiar with

My playfellow, your hand; this kingly seal

And plighter of high hearts! O, that I were

Upon the hill of Basan, to outroar

The horned herd! for I have savage cause;

And to proclaim it civilly, were like

A halter'd neck which does the hangman thank

For being yare about him.

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Is he whipp'd?

Soundly, my lord.

Cried he? and begg'd a' pardon?

He did ask favour.

If that thy father live, let him repent

Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorry

To follow Caesar in his triumph, since

Thou hast been whipp'd for following him: henceforth

The white hand of a lady fever thee,

Shake thou to look on 't. Get thee back to Caesar,

170

Tell him thy entertainment: look, thou say

He makes me angry with him; for he seems

Proud and disdainful, harping on what I am,

Not what he knew I was: he makes me angry;

And at this time most easy 'tis to do't,

When my good stars, that were my former guides,

Have empty left their orbs, and shot their fires

Into the abysm of hell. If he mislike

My speech and what is done, tell him he has

Hipparchus, my enfranched bondman, whom

180

He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture,

As he shall like, to quit me: urge it thou:

Hence with thy stripes, begone!

Have you done yet?

Alack, our terrene moon

Is now eclipsed; and it portends alone

The fall of Antony!

I must stay his time.

To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes

With one that ties his points?

190

Not know me yet?

Cold-hearted toward me?

Ah, dear, if I be so,

From my cold heart let heaven engender hail,

And poison it in the source; and the first stone

Drop in my neck: as it determines, so

Dissolve my life! The next Caesarion smite!

Till by degrees the memory of my womb,

Together with my brave Egyptians all,

By the discandying of this pelleted storm,

200

Lie graveless, till the flies and gnats of Nile

Have buried them for prey!

I am satisfied.

Caesar sits down in Alexandria; where

I will oppose his fate. Our force by land

Hath nobly held; our sever'd navy too

Have knit again, and fleet, threatening most sea-like.

Where hast thou been, my heart? Dost thou hear, lady?

If from the field I shall return once more

To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood;

210

I and my sword will earn our chronicle:

There's hope in't yet.

That's my brave lord!

I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breathed,

And fight maliciously: for when mine hours

Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives

Of me for jests; but now I'll set my teeth,

And send to darkness all that stop me. Come,

Let's have one other gaudy night: call to me

All my sad captains; fill our bowls once more;

220

Let's mock the midnight bell.

It is my birth-day:

I had thought to have held it poor: but, since my lord

Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.

We will yet do well.

Call all his noble captains to my lord.

Do so, we'll speak to them; and to-night I'll force

The wine peep through their scars. Come on, my queen;

There's sap in't yet. The next time I do fight,

I'll make death love me; for I will contend

230

Even with his pestilent scythe.

Now he'll outstare the lightning. To be furious,

Is to be frighted out of fear; and in that mood

The dove will peck the estridge; and I see still,

A diminution in our captain's brain

Restores his heart: when valour preys on reason,

It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek

Some way to leave him.

Act IV

Act IV. Scene I. Before Alexandria. Octavius Caesar's camp.

He calls me boy; and chides, as he had power

To beat me out of Egypt; my messenger

He hath whipp'd with rods; dares me to personal combat,

Caesar to Antony: let the old ruffian know

I have many other ways to die; meantime

Laugh at his challenge.

Caesar must think,

When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted

Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now

10

Make boot of his distraction: never anger

Made good guard for itself.

Let our best heads

Know, that to-morrow the last of many battles

We mean to fight: within our files there are,

Of those that served Mark Antony but late,

Enough to fetch him in. See it done:

And feast the army; we have store to do't,

And they have earn'd the waste. Poor Antony!

Act IV. Scene II. Alexandria. Cleopatra's palace.

He will not fight with me, Domitius.

No.

Why should he not?

He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune,

He is twenty men to one.

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?

10

I'll strike, and cry 'Take all.'

Well said; come on.

Call forth my household servants: let's to-night

Be bounteous at our meal.

Give me thy hand,

Thou hast been rightly honest;--so hast thou;--

Thou,--and thou,--and thou:--you have served me well,

And kings have been your fellows.

[Aside to Domitius Enobarbus] What means this?

[Aside to Cleopatra] 'Tis one of those odd

20

tricks which sorrow shoots

Out of the mind.

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

So good as you have done.

The gods forbid!

Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night:

Scant not my cups; and make as much of me

30

As when mine empire was your fellow too,

And suffer'd my command.

[Aside to Domitius Enobarbus] What does he mean?

[Aside to Cleopatra] To make his followers weep.

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,

40

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!

What mean you, sir,

To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep;

And I, an ass, am onion-eyed: for shame,

Transform us not to women.

Ho, ho, ho!

Now the witch take me, if I meant it thus!

50

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.

Act IV. Scene III. The same. Before the palace.

Brother, good night: to-morrow is the day.

It will determine one way: fare you well.

Heard you of nothing strange about the streets?

Nothing. What news?

Belike 'tis but a rumour. Good night to you.

Well, sir, good night.

Soldiers, have careful watch.

And you. Good night, good night.

Here we: and if to-morrow

10

Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope

Our landmen will stand up.

'Tis a brave army,

And full of purpose.

Peace! what noise?

List, list!

Hark!

Music i' the air.

Under the earth.

It signs well, does it not?

20

No.

Peace, I say!

What should this mean?

'Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony loved,

Now leaves him.

Walk; let's see if other watchmen

Do hear what we do?

How now, masters!

[Speaking together] How now!

How now! do you hear this?

30

Ay; is't not strange?

Do you hear, masters? do you hear?

Follow the noise so far as we have quarter;

Let's see how it will give off.

Content. 'Tis strange.

Act IV. Scene IV. The same. A room in the palace.

Eros! mine armour, Eros!

Sleep a little.

No, my chuck. Eros, come; mine armour, Eros!

Come good fellow, put mine iron on:

If fortune be not ours to-day, it is

Because we brave her: come.

Nay, I'll help too.

What's this for?

Ah, let be, let be! thou art

10

The armourer of my heart: false, false; this, this.

Sooth, la, I'll help: thus it must be.

Well, well;

We shall thrive now. Seest thou, my good fellow?

Go put on thy defences.

Briefly, sir.

Is not this buckled well?

Rarely, rarely:

He that unbuckles this, till we do please

To daff't for our repose, shall hear a storm.

20

Thou fumblest, Eros; and my queen's a squire

More tight at this than thou: dispatch. O love,

That thou couldst see my wars to-day, and knew'st

The royal occupation! thou shouldst see

A workman in't.

Good morrow to thee; welcome:

Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge:

To business that we love we rise betime,

And go to't with delight.

A thousand, sir,

30

Early though't be, have on their riveted trim,

And at the port expect you.

The morn is fair. Good morrow, general.

Good morrow, general.

'Tis well blown, lads:

This morning, like the spirit of a youth

That means to be of note, begins betimes.

So, so; come, give me that: this way; well said.

Fare thee well, dame, whate'er becomes of me:

This is a soldier's kiss: rebukeable

40

And worthy shameful cheque it were, to stand

On more mechanic compliment; I'll leave thee

Now, like a man of steel. You that will fight,

Follow me close; I'll bring you to't. Adieu.

Please you, retire to your chamber.

Lead me.

He goes forth gallantly. That he and Caesar might

Determine this great war in single fight!

Then Antony,--but now--Well, on.

Act IV. Scene V. Alexandria. Mark Antony's camp.

The gods make this a happy day to Antony!

Would thou and those thy scars had once prevail'd

To make me fight at land!

Hadst thou done so,

The kings that have revolted, and the soldier

That has this morning left thee, would have still

Follow'd thy heels.

Who's gone this morning?

Who!

10

One ever near thee: call for Enobarbus,

He shall not hear thee; or from Caesar's camp

Say 'I am none of thine.'

What say'st thou?

Sir,

He is with Caesar.

Sir, his chests and treasure

He has not with him.

Is he gone?

Most certain.

20

Go, Eros, send his treasure after; do it;

Detain no jot, I charge thee: write to him--

I will subscribe--gentle adieus and greetings;

Say that I wish he never find more cause

To change a master. O, my fortunes have

Corrupted honest men! Dispatch.--Enobarbus!

Act IV. Scene VI. Alexandria. Octavius Caesar's camp.

Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight:

Our will is Antony be took alive;

Make it so known.

Caesar, I shall.

The time of universal peace is near:

Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world

Shall bear the olive freely.

Antony

Is come into the field.

10

Go charge Agrippa

Plant those that have revolted in the van,

That Antony may seem to spend his fury

Upon himself.

Alexas did revolt; and went to Jewry on

Affairs of Antony; there did persuade

Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar,

And leave his master Antony: for this pains

Caesar hath hang'd him. Canidius and the rest

That fell away have entertainment, but

20

No honourable trust. I have done ill;

Of which I do accuse myself so sorely,

That I will joy no more.

Enobarbus, Antony

Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with

His bounty overplus: the messenger

Came on my guard; and at thy tent is now

Unloading of his mules.

I give it you.

Mock not, Enobarbus.

30

I tell you true: best you safed the bringer

Out of the host; I must attend mine office,

Or would have done't myself. Your emperor

Continues still a Jove.

I am alone the villain of the earth,

And feel I am so most. O Antony,

Thou mine of bounty, how wouldst thou have paid

My better service, when my turpitude

Thou dost so crown with gold! This blows my heart:

If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean

40

Shall outstrike thought: but thought will do't, I feel.

I fight against thee! No: I will go seek

Some ditch wherein to die; the foul'st best fits

My latter part of life.

Act IV. Scene VII. Field of battle between the camps.

Retire, we have engaged ourselves too far:

Caesar himself has work, and our oppression

Exceeds what we expected.

O my brave emperor, this is fought indeed!

Had we done so at first, we had droven them home

With clouts about their heads.

Thou bleed'st apace.

I had a wound here that was like a T,

But now 'tis made an H.

10

They do retire.

We'll beat 'em into bench-holes: I have yet

Room for six scotches more.

They are beaten, sir, and our advantage serves

For a fair victory.

Let us score their backs,

And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind:

'Tis sport to maul a runner.

I will reward thee

Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold

20

For thy good valour. Come thee on.

I'll halt after.

Act IV. Scene VIII. Under the walls of Alexandria.

We have beat him to his camp: run one before,

And let the queen know of our gests. To-morrow,

Before the sun shall see 's, we'll spill the blood

That has to-day escaped. I thank you all;

For doughty-handed are you, and have fought

Not as you served the cause, but as 't had been

Each man's like mine; you have shown all Hectors.

Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends,

Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful tears

10

Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss

The honour'd gashes whole.

Give me thy hand

To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts,

Make her thanks bless thee.

O thou day o' the world,

Chain mine arm'd neck; leap thou, attire and all,

Through proof of harness to my heart, and there

Ride on the pants triumphing!

Lord of lords!

20

O infinite virtue, comest thou smiling from

The world's great snare uncaught?

My nightingale,

We have beat them to their beds. What, girl!

though grey

Do something mingle with our younger brown, yet ha' we

A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can

Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man;

Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand:

Kiss it, my warrior: he hath fought to-day

30

As if a god, in hate of mankind, had

Destroy'd in such a shape.

I'll give thee, friend,

An armour all of gold; it was a king's.

He has deserved it, were it carbuncled

Like holy Phoebus' car. Give me thy hand:

Through Alexandria make a jolly march;

Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe them:

Had our great palace the capacity

To camp this host, we all would sup together,

40

And drink carouses to the next day's fate,

Which promises royal peril. Trumpeters,

With brazen din blast you the city's ear;

Make mingle with rattling tabourines;

That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together,

Applauding our approach.

Act IV. Scene IX. Octavius Caesar's camp.

If we be not relieved within this hour,

We must return to the court of guard: the night

Is shiny; and they say we shall embattle

By the second hour i' the morn.

This last day was

A shrewd one to's.

O, bear me witness, night,--

What man is this?

Stand close, and list him.

10

Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon,

When men revolted shall upon record

Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did

Before thy face repent!

Enobarbus!

Peace!

Hark further.

O sovereign mistress of true melancholy,

The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me,

That life, a very rebel to my will,

20

May hang no longer on me: throw my heart

Against the flint and hardness of my fault:

Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder,

And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony,

Nobler than my revolt is infamous,

Forgive me in thine own particular;

But let the world rank me in register

A master-leaver and a fugitive:

O Antony! O Antony!

Let's speak To him.

30

Let's hear him, for the things he speaks

May concern Caesar.

Let's do so. But he sleeps.

Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his

Was never yet for sleep.

Go we to him.

Awake, sir, awake; speak to us.

Hear you, sir?

The hand of death hath raught him.

Hark! the drums

40

Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him

To the court of guard; he is of note: our hour

Is fully out.

Come on, then;

He may recover yet.

Act IV. Scene X. Between the two camps.

Their preparation is to-day by sea;

We please them not by land.

For both, my lord.

I would they'ld fight i' the fire or i' the air;

We'ld fight there too. But this it is; our foot

Upon the hills adjoining to the city

Shall stay with us: order for sea is given;

They have put forth the haven

Where their appointment we may best discover,

10

And look on their endeavour.

Act IV. Scene XI. Another part of the same.

But being charged, we will be still by land,

Which, as I take't, we shall; for his best force

Is forth to man his galleys. To the vales,

And hold our best advantage.

Act IV. Scene XII. Another part of the same.

Yet they are not join'd: where yond pine

does stand,

I shall discover all: I'll bring thee word

Straight, how 'tis like to go.

Swallows have built

In Cleopatra's sails their nests: the augurers

Say they know not, they cannot tell; look grimly,

And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony

Is valiant, and dejected; and, by starts,

10

His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear,

Of what he has, and has not.

All is lost;

This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me:

My fleet hath yielded to the foe; and yonder

They cast their caps up and carouse together

Like friends long lost. Triple-turn'd whore!

'tis thou

Hast sold me to this novice; and my heart

Makes only wars on thee. Bid them all fly;

20

For when I am revenged upon my charm,

I have done all. Bid them all fly; begone.

O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more:

Fortune and Antony part here; even here

Do we shake hands. All come to this? The hearts

That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave

Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets

On blossoming Caesar; and this pine is bark'd,

That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am:

O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm,--

30

Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them home;

Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end,--

Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose,

Beguiled me to the very heart of loss.

What, Eros, Eros!

Ah, thou spell! Avaunt!

Why is my lord enraged against his love?

Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving,

And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee,

And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians:

40

Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot

Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shown

For poor'st diminutives, for doits; and let

Patient Octavia plough thy visage up

With her prepared nails.

'Tis well thou'rt gone,

If it be well to live; but better 'twere

Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death

Might have prevented many. Eros, ho!

The shirt of Nessus is upon me: teach me,

50

Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage:

Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o' the moon;

And with those hands, that grasp'd the heaviest club,

Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die:

To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall

Under this plot; she dies for't. Eros, ho!

Act IV. Scene XIII. Alexandria. Cleopatra's palace.

Help me, my women! O, he is more mad

Than Telamon for his shield; the boar of Thessaly

Was never so emboss'd.

To the monument!

There lock yourself, and send him word you are dead.

The soul and body rive not more in parting

Than greatness going off.

To the monument!

Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself;

10

Say, that the last I spoke was 'Antony,'

And word it, prithee, piteously: hence, Mardian,

And bring me how he takes my death.

To the monument!

Act IV. Scene XIV. The same. Another room.

Eros, thou yet behold'st me?

Ay, noble lord.

Sometimes we see a cloud that's dragonish;

A vapour sometime like a bear or lion,

A tower'd citadel, a pendent rock,

A forked mountain, or blue promontory

With trees upon't, that nod unto the world,

And mock our eyes with air: thou hast seen

these signs;

10

They are black vesper's pageants.

Ay, my lord,

That which is now a horse, even with a thought

The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct,

As water is in water.

It does, my lord.

My good knave Eros, now thy captain is

Even such a body: here I am Antony:

Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.

I made these wars for Egypt: and the queen,--

20

Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine;

Which whilst it was mine had annex'd unto't

A million more, now lost,--she, Eros, has

Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false-play'd my glory

Unto an enemy's triumph.

Nay, weep not, gentle Eros; there is left us

Ourselves to end ourselves.

O! thy vile lady!

She has robb'd me of my sword.

No, Antony;

30

My mistress loved thee, and her fortunes mingled

With thine entirely.

Hence, saucy eunuch; peace!

She hath betray'd me and shall die the death.

Death of one person can be paid but once,

And that she has discharged: what thou wouldst do

Is done unto thy hand: the last she spake

Was 'Antony! most noble Antony!'

Then in the midst a tearing groan did break

The name of Antony; it was divided

40

Between her heart and lips: she render'd life,

Thy name so buried in her.

Dead, then?

Dead.

Unarm, Eros; the long day's task is done,

And we must sleep.

That thou depart'st hence safe,

Does pay thy labour richly; go.

Off, pluck off:

The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep

50

The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides!

Heart, once be stronger than thy continent,

Crack thy frail case! Apace, Eros, apace.

No more a soldier: bruised pieces, go;

You have been nobly borne. From me awhile.

I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and

Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now

All length is torture: since the torch is out,

Lie down, and stray no farther: now all labour

Mars what it does; yea, very force entangles

60

Itself with strength: seal then, and all is done.

Eros!--I come, my queen:--Eros!--Stay for me:

Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in hand,

And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze:

Dido and her AEneas shall want troops,

And all the haunt be ours. Come, Eros, Eros!

What would my lord?

Since Cleopatra died,

I have lived in such dishonour, that the gods

Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword

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Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's back

With ships made cities, condemn myself to lack

The courage of a woman; less noble mind

Than she which by her death our Caesar tells

'I am conqueror of myself.' Thou art sworn, Eros,

That, when the exigent should come, which now

Is come indeed, when I should see behind me

The inevitable prosecution of

Disgrace and horror, that, on my command,

Thou then wouldst kill me: do't; the time is come:

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Thou strikest not me, 'tis Caesar thou defeat'st.

Put colour in thy cheek.

The gods withhold me!

Shall I do that which all the Parthian darts,

Though enemy, lost aim, and could not?

Eros,

Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome and see

Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending down

His corrigible neck, his face subdued

To penetrative shame, whilst the wheel'd seat

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Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded

His baseness that ensued?

I would not see't.

Come, then; for with a wound I must be cured.

Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn

Most useful for thy country.

O, sir, pardon me!

When I did make thee free, sworest thou not then

To do this when I bade thee? Do it at once;

Or thy precedent services are all

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But accidents unpurposed. Draw, and come.

Turn from me, then, that noble countenance,

Wherein the worship of the whole world lies.

Lo thee!

My sword is drawn.

Then let it do at once

The thing why thou hast drawn it.

My dear master,

My captain, and my emperor, let me say,

Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell.

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'Tis said, man; and farewell.

Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now?

Now, Eros.

Why, there then: thus I do escape the sorrow

Of Antony's death.

Thrice-nobler than myself!

Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what

I should, and thou couldst not. My queen and Eros

Have by their brave instruction got upon me

A nobleness in record: but I will be

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A bridegroom in my death, and run into't

As to a lover's bed. Come, then; and, Eros,

Thy master dies thy scholar: to do thus

I learn'd of thee. How! not dead? not dead?

The guard, ho! O, dispatch me!

What's the noise?

I have done my work in, friends: O, make an end

Of what I have begun.

The star is fall'n.

And time is at his period.

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Alas, and woe!

Let him that loves me strike me dead.

Not I.

Nor I.

Nor any one.

Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly.

This sword but shown to Caesar, with this tidings,

Shall enter me with him.

Where's Antony?

There, Diomed there.

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Lives he?

Wilt thou not answer, man?

Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy sword, and give me

Sufficing strokes for death.

Most absolute lord,

My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee.

When did she send thee?

Now, my lord.

Where is she?

Lock'd in her monument. She had a prophesying fear

150

Of what hath come to pass: for when she saw--

Which never shall be found--you did suspect

She had disposed with Caesar, and that your rage

Would not be purged, she sent you word she was dead;

But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent

Me to proclaim the truth; and I am come,

I dread, too late.

Too late, good Diomed: call my guard, I prithee.

What, ho, the emperor's guard! The guard, what, ho!

Come, your lord calls!

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Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides;

'Tis the last service that I shall command you.

Woe, woe are we, sir, you may not live to wear

All your true followers out.

Most heavy day!

Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp fate

To grace it with your sorrows: bid that welcome

Which comes to punish us, and we punish it

Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up:

I have led you oft: carry me now, good friends,

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And have my thanks for all.

Act IV. Scene XV. The same. A monument.

O Charmian, I will never go from hence.

Be comforted, dear madam.

No, I will not:

All strange and terrible events are welcome,

But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow,

Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great

As that which makes it.

How now! is he dead?

His death's upon him, but not dead.

10

Look out o' the other side your monument;

His guard have brought him thither.

O sun,

Burn the great sphere thou movest in!

darkling stand

The varying shore o' the world. O Antony,

Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian, help, Iras, help;

Help, friends below; let's draw him hither.

Peace!

Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony,

20

But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself.

So it should be, that none but Antony

Should conquer Antony; but woe 'tis so!

I am dying, Egypt, dying; only

I here importune death awhile, until

Of many thousand kisses the poor last

I lay up thy lips.

I dare not, dear,--

Dear my lord, pardon,--I dare not,

Lest I be taken: not the imperious show

30

Of the full-fortuned Caesar ever shall

Be brooch'd with me; if knife, drugs,

serpents, have

Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe:

Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes

And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour

Demuring upon me. But come, come, Antony,--

Help me, my women,--we must draw thee up:

Assist, good friends.

O, quick, or I am gone.

40

Here's sport indeed! How heavy weighs my lord!

Our strength is all gone into heaviness,

That makes the weight: had I great Juno's power,

The strong-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up,

And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little,--

Wishes were ever fools,--O, come, come, come;

And welcome, welcome! die where thou hast lived:

Quicken with kissing: had my lips that power,

Thus would I wear them out.

A heavy sight!

50

I am dying, Egypt, dying:

Give me some wine, and let me speak a little.

No, let me speak; and let me rail so high,

That the false housewife Fortune break her wheel,

Provoked by my offence.

One word, sweet queen:

Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. O!

They do not go together.

Gentle, hear me:

None about Caesar trust but Proculeius.

60

My resolution and my hands I'll trust;

None about Caesar.

The miserable change now at my end

Lament nor sorrow at; but please your thoughts

In feeding them with those my former fortunes

Wherein I lived, the greatest prince o' the world,

The noblest; and do now not basely die,

Not cowardly put off my helmet to

My countryman,--a Roman by a Roman

Valiantly vanquish'd. Now my spirit is going;

70

I can no more.

Noblest of men, woo't die?

Hast thou no care of me? shall I abide

In this dull world, which in thy absence is

No better than a sty? O, see, my women,

The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord!

O, wither'd is the garland of the war,

The soldier's pole is fall'n: young boys and girls

Are level now with men; the odds is gone,

And there is nothing left remarkable

80

Beneath the visiting moon.

O, quietness, lady!

She is dead too, our sovereign.

Lady!

Madam!

O madam, madam, madam!

Royal Egypt, Empress!

Peace, peace, Iras!

No more, but e'en a woman, and commanded

By such poor passion as the maid that milks

90

And does the meanest chares. It were for me

To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods;

To tell them that this world did equal theirs

Till they had stol'n our jewel. All's but naught;

Patience is scottish, and impatience does

Become a dog that's mad: then is it sin

To rush into the secret house of death,

Ere death dare come to us? How do you, women?

What, what! good cheer! Why, how now, Charmian!

My noble girls! Ah, women, women, look,

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Our lamp is spent, it's out! Good sirs, take heart:

We'll bury him; and then, what's brave,

what's noble,

Let's do it after the high Roman fashion,

And make death proud to take us. Come, away:

This case of that huge spirit now is cold:

Ah, women, women! come; we have no friend

But resolution, and the briefest end.

Act V

Act V. Scene I. Alexandria. Octavius Caesar's camp.

Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield;

Being so frustrate, tell him he mocks

The pauses that he makes.

Caesar, I shall.

Wherefore is that? and what art thou that darest

Appear thus to us?

I am call'd Dercetas;

Mark Antony I served, who best was worthy

Best to be served: whilst he stood up and spoke,

10

He was my master; and I wore my life

To spend upon his haters. If thou please

To take me to thee, as I was to him

I'll be to Caesar; if thou pleasest not,

I yield thee up my life.

What is't thou say'st?

I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead.

The breaking of so great a thing should make

A greater crack: the round world

Should have shook lions into civil streets,

20

And citizens to their dens: the death of Antony

Is not a single doom; in the name lay

A moiety of the world.

He is dead, Caesar:

Not by a public minister of justice,

Nor by a hired knife; but that self hand,

Which writ his honour in the acts it did,

Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it,

Splitted the heart. This is his sword;

I robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd

30

With his most noble blood.

Look you sad, friends?

The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings

To wash the eyes of kings.

And strange it is,

That nature must compel us to lament

Our most persisted deeds.

His taints and honours

Waged equal with him.

A rarer spirit never

40

Did steer humanity: but you, gods, will give us

Some faults to make us men. Caesar is touch'd.

When such a spacious mirror's set before him,

He needs must see himself.

O Antony!

I have follow'd thee to this; but we do lance

Diseases in our bodies: I must perforce

Have shown to thee such a declining day,

Or look on thine; we could not stall together

In the whole world: but yet let me lament,

50

With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts,

That thou, my brother, my competitor

In top of all design, my mate in empire,

Friend and companion in the front of war,

The arm of mine own body, and the heart

Where mine his thoughts did kindle,--that our stars,

Unreconciliable, should divide

Our equalness to this. Hear me, good friends--

But I will tell you at some meeter season:

The business of this man looks out of him;

60

We'll hear him what he says. Whence are you?

A poor Egyptian yet. The queen my mistress,

Confined in all she has, her monument,

Of thy intents desires instruction,

That she preparedly may frame herself

To the way she's forced to.

Bid her have good heart:

She soon shall know of us, by some of ours,

How honourable and how kindly we

Determine for her; for Caesar cannot live

70

To be ungentle.

So the gods preserve thee!

Come hither, Proculeius. Go and say,

We purpose her no shame: give her what comforts

The quality of her passion shall require,

Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke

She do defeat us; for her life in Rome

Would be eternal in our triumph: go,

And with your speediest bring us what she says,

And how you find of her.

80

Caesar, I shall.

Gallus, go you along.

Where's Dolabella,

To second Proculeius?

Dolabella!

Let him alone, for I remember now

How he's employ'd: he shall in time be ready.

Go with me to my tent; where you shall see

How hardly I was drawn into this war;

How calm and gentle I proceeded still

90

In all my writings: go with me, and see

What I can show in this.

Act V. Scene II. Alexandria. A room in the monument.

My desolation does begin to make

A better life. 'Tis paltry to be Caesar;

Not being Fortune, he's but Fortune's knave,

A minister of her will: and it is great

To do that thing that ends all other deeds;

Which shackles accidents and bolts up change;

Which sleeps, and never palates more the dug,

The beggar's nurse and Caesar's.

Caesar sends greeting to the Queen of Egypt;

10

And bids thee study on what fair demands

Thou mean'st to have him grant thee.

What's thy name?

My name is Proculeius.

Antony

Did tell me of you, bade me trust you; but

I do not greatly care to be deceived,

That have no use for trusting. If your master

Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him,

That majesty, to keep decorum, must

20

No less beg than a kingdom: if he please

To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son,

He gives me so much of mine own, as I

Will kneel to him with thanks.

Be of good cheer;

You're fall'n into a princely hand, fear nothing:

Make your full reference freely to my lord,

Who is so full of grace, that it flows over

On all that need: let me report to him

Your sweet dependency; and you shall find

30

A conqueror that will pray in aid for kindness,

Where he for grace is kneel'd to.

Pray you, tell him

I am his fortune's vassal, and I send him

The greatness he has got. I hourly learn

A doctrine of obedience; and would gladly

Look him i' the face.

This I'll report, dear lady.

Have comfort, for I know your plight is pitied

Of him that caused it.

40

You see how easily she may be surprised:

Guard her till Caesar come.

Royal queen!

O Cleopatra! thou art taken, queen:

Quick, quick, good hands.

Hold, worthy lady, hold:

Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this

Relieved, but not betray'd.

What, of death too,

That rids our dogs of languish?

50

Cleopatra,

Do not abuse my master's bounty by

The undoing of yourself: let the world see

His nobleness well acted, which your death

Will never let come forth.

Where art thou, death?

Come hither, come! come, come, and take a queen

Worthy many babes and beggars!

O, temperance, lady!

Sir, I will eat no meat, I'll not drink, sir;

60

If idle talk will once be necessary,

I'll not sleep neither: this mortal house I'll ruin,

Do Caesar what he can. Know, sir, that I

Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court;

Nor once be chastised with the sober eye

Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up

And show me to the shouting varletry

Of censuring Rome? Rather a ditch in Egypt

Be gentle grave unto me! rather on Nilus' mud

Lay me stark naked, and let the water-flies

70

Blow me into abhorring! rather make

My country's high pyramides my gibbet,

And hang me up in chains!

You do extend

These thoughts of horror further than you shall

Find cause in Caesar.

Proculeius,

What thou hast done thy master Caesar knows,

And he hath sent for thee: for the queen,

I'll take her to my guard.

80

So, Dolabella,

It shall content me best: be gentle to her.

To Caesar I will speak what you shall please,

If you'll employ me to him.

Say, I would die.

Most noble empress, you have heard of me?

I cannot tell.

Assuredly you know me.

No matter, sir, what I have heard or known.

You laugh when boys or women tell their dreams;

90

Is't not your trick?

I understand not, madam.

I dream'd there was an Emperor Antony:

O, such another sleep, that I might see

But such another man!

If it might please ye,--

His face was as the heavens; and therein stuck

A sun and moon, which kept their course,

and lighted

The little O, the earth.

100

Most sovereign creature,--

His legs bestrid the ocean: his rear'd arm

Crested the world: his voice was propertied

As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends;

But when he meant to quail and shake the orb,

He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty,

There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas

That grew the more by reaping: his delights

Were dolphin-like; they show'd his back above

The element they lived in: in his livery

110

Walk'd crowns and crownets; realms and islands were

As plates dropp'd from his pocket.

Cleopatra!

Think you there was, or might be, such a man

As this I dream'd of?

Gentle madam, no.

You lie, up to the hearing of the gods.

But, if there be, or ever were, one such,

It's past the size of dreaming: nature wants stuff

To vie strange forms with fancy; yet, to imagine

120

And Antony, were nature's piece 'gainst fancy,

Condemning shadows quite.

Hear me, good madam.

Your loss is as yourself, great; and you bear it

As answering to the weight: would I might never

O'ertake pursued success, but I do feel,

By the rebound of yours, a grief that smites

My very heart at root.

I thank you, sir,

Know you what Caesar means to do with me?

130

I am loath to tell you what I would you knew.

Nay, pray you, sir,--

Though he be honourable,--

He'll lead me, then, in triumph?

Madam, he will; I know't.

Which is the Queen of Egypt?

It is the emperor, madam.

Arise, you shall not kneel:

I pray you, rise; rise, Egypt.

Sir, the gods

140

Will have it thus; my master and my lord

I must obey.

Take to you no hard thoughts:

The record of what injuries you did us,

Though written in our flesh, we shall remember

As things but done by chance.

Sole sir o' the world,

I cannot project mine own cause so well

To make it clear; but do confess I have

Been laden with like frailties which before

150

Have often shamed our sex.

Cleopatra, know,

We will extenuate rather than enforce:

If you apply yourself to our intents,

Which towards you are most gentle, you shall find

A benefit in this change; but if you seek

To lay on me a cruelty, by taking

Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself

Of my good purposes, and put your children

To that destruction which I'll guard them from,

160

If thereon you rely. I'll take my leave.

And may, through all the world: 'tis yours; and we,

Your scutcheons and your signs of conquest, shall

Hang in what place you please. Here, my good lord.

You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra.

This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels,

I am possess'd of: 'tis exactly valued;

Not petty things admitted. Where's Seleucus?

Here, madam.

This is my treasurer: let him speak, my lord,

170

Upon his peril, that I have reserved

To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus.

Madam,

I had rather seal my lips, than, to my peril,

Speak that which is not.

What have I kept back?

Enough to purchase what you have made known.

Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve

Your wisdom in the deed.

See, Caesar! O, behold,

180

How pomp is follow'd! mine will now be yours;

And, should we shift estates, yours would be mine.

The ingratitude of this Seleucus does

Even make me wild: O slave, of no more trust

Than love that's hired! What, goest thou back? thou shalt

Go back, I warrant thee; but I'll catch thine eyes,

Though they had wings: slave, soulless villain, dog!

O rarely base!

Good queen, let us entreat you.

O Caesar, what a wounding shame is this,

190

That thou, vouchsafing here to visit me,

Doing the honour of thy lordliness

To one so meek, that mine own servant should

Parcel the sum of my disgraces by

Addition of his envy! Say, good Caesar,

That I some lady trifles have reserved,

Immoment toys, things of such dignity

As we greet modern friends withal; and say,

Some nobler token I have kept apart

For Livia and Octavia, to induce

200

Their mediation; must I be unfolded

With one that I have bred? The gods! it smites me

Beneath the fall I have.

Prithee, go hence;

Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits

Through the ashes of my chance: wert thou a man,

Thou wouldst have mercy on me.

Forbear, Seleucus.

Be it known, that we, the greatest, are misthought

For things that others do; and, when we fall,

210

We answer others' merits in our name,

Are therefore to be pitied.

Cleopatra,

Not what you have reserved, nor what acknowledged,

Put we i' the roll of conquest: still be't yours,

Bestow it at your pleasure; and believe,

Caesar's no merchant, to make prize with you

Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be cheer'd;

Make not your thoughts your prisons: no, dear queen;

For we intend so to dispose you as

220

Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed, and sleep:

Our care and pity is so much upon you,

That we remain your friend; and so, adieu.

My master, and my lord!

Not so. Adieu.

He words me, girls, he words me, that I should not

Be noble to myself: but, hark thee, Charmian.

Finish, good lady; the bright day is done,

And we are for the dark.

Hie thee again:

230

I have spoke already, and it is provided;

Go put it to the haste.

Madam, I will.

Where is the queen?

Behold, sir.

Dolabella!

Madam, as thereto sworn by your command,

Which my love makes religion to obey,

I tell you this: Caesar through Syria

Intends his journey; and within three days

240

You with your children will he send before:

Make your best use of this: I have perform'd

Your pleasure and my promise.

Dolabella,

I shall remain your debtor.

I your servant,

Adieu, good queen; I must attend on Caesar.

Farewell, and thanks.

Now, Iras, what think'st thou?

Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shalt be shown

250

In Rome, as well as I mechanic slaves

With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall

Uplift us to the view; in their thick breaths,

Rank of gross diet, shall be enclouded,

And forced to drink their vapour.

The gods forbid!

Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras: saucy lictors

Will catch at us, like strumpets; and scald rhymers

Ballad us out o' tune: the quick comedians

Extemporally will stage us, and present

260

Our Alexandrian revels; Antony

Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see

Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness

I' the posture of a whore.

O the good gods!

Nay, that's certain.

I'll never see 't; for, I am sure, my nails

Are stronger than mine eyes.

Why, that's the way

To fool their preparation, and to conquer

270

Their most absurd intents.

Now, Charmian!

Show me, my women, like a queen: go fetch

My best attires: I am again for Cydnus,

To meet Mark Antony: sirrah Iras, go.

Now, noble Charmian, we'll dispatch indeed;

And, when thou hast done this chare, I'll give thee leave

To play till doomsday. Bring our crown and all.

Wherefore's this noise?

Here is a rural fellow

280

That will not be denied your highness presence:

He brings you figs.

Let him come in.

What poor an instrument

May do a noble deed! he brings me liberty.

My resolution's placed, and I have nothing

Of woman in me: now from head to foot

I am marble-constant; now the fleeting moon

No planet is of mine.

This is the man.

290

Avoid, and leave him.

Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there,

That kills and pains not?

Truly, I have him: but I would not be the party

that should desire you to touch him, for his biting

is immortal; those that do die of it do seldom or

never recover.

Rememberest thou any that have died on't?

Very many, men and women too. I heard of one of

them no longer than yesterday: a very honest woman,

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but something given to lie; as a woman should not

do, but in the way of honesty: how she died of the

biting of it, what pain she felt: truly, she makes

a very good report o' the worm; but he that will

believe all that they say, shall never be saved by

half that they do: but this is most fallible, the

worm's an odd worm.

Get thee hence; farewell.

I wish you all joy of the worm.

Farewell.

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You must think this, look you, that the worm will

do his kind.

Ay, ay; farewell.

Look you, the worm is not to be trusted but in the

keeping of wise people; for, indeed, there is no

goodness in worm.

Take thou no care; it shall be heeded.

Very good. Give it nothing, I pray you, for it is

not worth the feeding.

Will it eat me?

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You must not think I am so simple but I know the

devil himself will not eat a woman: I know that a

woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress her

not. But, truly, these same whoreson devils do the

gods great harm in their women; for in every ten

that they make, the devils mar five.

Well, get thee gone; farewell.

Yes, forsooth: I wish you joy o' the worm.

Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have

Immortal longings in me: now no more

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The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip:

Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear

Antony call; I see him rouse himself

To praise my noble act; I hear him mock

The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men

To excuse their after wrath: husband, I come:

Now to that name my courage prove my title!

I am fire and air; my other elements

I give to baser life. So; have you done?

Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips.

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Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell.

Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall?

If thou and nature can so gently part,

The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch,

Which hurts, and is desired. Dost thou lie still?

If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world

It is not worth leave-taking.

Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain; that I may say,

The gods themselves do weep!

This proves me base:

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If she first meet the curled Antony,

He'll make demand of her, and spend that kiss

Which is my heaven to have. Come, thou

mortal wretch,

With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate

Of life at once untie: poor venomous fool

Be angry, and dispatch. O, couldst thou speak,

That I might hear thee call great Caesar ass

Unpolicied!

O eastern star!

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Peace, peace!

Dost thou not see my baby at my breast,

That sucks the nurse asleep?

O, break! O, break!

As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle,--

O Antony!--Nay, I will take thee too.

What should I stay--

In this vile world? So, fare thee well.

Now boast thee, death, in thy possession lies

A lass unparallel'd. Downy windows, close;

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And golden Phoebus never be beheld

Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry;

I'll mend it, and then play.

Where is the queen?

Speak softly, wake her not.

Caesar hath sent--

Too slow a messenger.

O, come apace, dispatch! I partly feel thee.

Approach, ho! All's not well: Caesar's beguiled.

There's Dolabella sent from Caesar; call him.

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What work is here! Charmian, is this well done?

It is well done, and fitting for a princess

Descended of so many royal kings.

Ah, soldier!

How goes it here?

All dead.

Caesar, thy thoughts

Touch their effects in this: thyself art coming

To see perform'd the dreaded act which thou

So sought'st to hinder.

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O sir, you are too sure an augurer;

That you did fear is done.

Bravest at the last,

She levell'd at our purposes, and, being royal,

Took her own way. The manner of their deaths?

I do not see them bleed.

Who was last with them?

A simple countryman, that brought her figs:

This was his basket.

Poison'd, then.

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O Caesar,

This Charmian lived but now; she stood and spake:

I found her trimming up the diadem

On her dead mistress; tremblingly she stood

And on the sudden dropp'd.

O noble weakness!

If they had swallow'd poison, 'twould appear

By external swelling: but she looks like sleep,

As she would catch another Antony

In her strong toil of grace.

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Here, on her breast,

There is a vent of blood and something blown:

The like is on her arm.

This is an aspic's trail: and these fig-leaves

Have slime upon them, such as the aspic leaves

Upon the caves of Nile.

Most probable

That so she died; for her physician tells me

She hath pursued conclusions infinite

Of easy ways to die. Take up her bed;

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And bear her women from the monument:

She shall be buried by her Antony:

No grave upon the earth shall clip in it

A pair so famous. High events as these

Strike those that make them; and their story is

No less in pity than his glory which

Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall

In solemn show attend this funeral;

And then to Rome. Come, Dolabella, see

High order in this great solemnity.