Ant. She is cunning past man's thought. Eno. Alack, sir, no; her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love: We cannot call her winds and waters, sighs and tears; they are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can report: this cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she makes a shower of rain as well as Jove.

Ant. 'Would I had never seen her!

Eno. O, sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work; which not to have been blessed withal, would have discredited your travel. Ant. Fulvia is dead.

Eno. Sir?

Ant. Fulvia is dead. Eno. Fulvia?

Ant. Dead.

Eno. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. When it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a man from him, it 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. Ant. The business she hath broached in the state, Cannot endure my absence.

Eno. And the business you have broached here, cannot be without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly depends on your abode.

Ant. No more light answers. Let our officers Have notice what we purpose. I shall break The cause of our expediences to the queen, And get her loves to part. For not alone The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, Do strongly speak to us; but the letters too Or many our contriving friends in Rome Petition us at home: Sextus Pompeius Hath given the dare to Cæsar, 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 maydanger. Much is breeding, 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.

Eno. I shall do't.

SCENE III.

[Exeunt.

Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS.
Cleo. Where is he?
Char.

I did not see him since.

Cleo. See where he is, who's with him, what he does:

I did not send you:7-If you find him sad,
Say, I am dancing; if in mirth, report
That I am sudden sick: Quick, and return.
[Exit ALEXAS.
Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him
dearly,

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

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

What should I do, I do not?

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

Look as if I did not send you.

• Leave.

Char. Tempt him not so too far: I wish, forbear;
In time we hate that which we often fear.
Enter ANTONY.

But here comes Antony.
Cleo.
I am sick, and sullen.
Ant. I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose.
Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian, I shall fall;
It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature
Will not sustain it.

Ant.

Now, my dearest queen,

Cleo. Pray you, stand further from me. Ant. What's the matter? Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's some good news. What says Would, she had never given you leave to come! the married woman?-You may go; Let her not say, 'tis I that keep you here, I have no power upon you: hers you are. Ant. The gods best know,Cleo.

So mightily betray'd? Yet, at the first,

O, never was there queen

I saw the treasons planted.
Ant.

Cleopatra,

Cleo. Why should I think, you can be mine, and

Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no color 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.
Ant.

How now, lady!
Cleo. I would, I had thy inches; thou shouldst
know,
There were a heart in Egypt.

Ant.

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

Breeds scrupulous faction: The hated, grown to strength,

Are newly grown to love: the condemn'd Pompey,
Rich in his father's honor, 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.

Cleo. Though age from folly could not give me freedom,

It does from childishness:-Can Fulvia die?
Look here, and, at thy sovereign leisure, read
Ant. She's dead, my queen:
The garboils she awaked ;2 at the last, best:
See, when, and where she died.
Clen.
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.
Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know
The purposes I bear; which are, or cease,
As you shall give the advice: Now, by the fire
That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence,
Thy soldier, servant; making peace, or war,
As thou affect'st.

Of excellent dissembling; and let it look
Like perfect honor.
Ant.
You'll heat my blood; no more.
Cleo. You can do better yet; but this is meetly.
Ant. Now by my sword,-
Cleo.
And target,-Still he mends;
But this is not the best: Look, pr'ythee, Charmian,
How this Herculean Roman does become
The carriage of his chafe.4
Ant.
I'll leave you, lady.
Cleo. Courteous lord, one word.
Sir, you and I must part,-but that's not it:
Sir, you and I have lov'd,-but there's not it;
That you know well: Something it is I would,-
O, my oblivion5 is a very Antony,
And I am all forgotten.

Ant.

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

Cleo.

'Tis sweating labor,

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 honor calls you hence;
Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly,
And all the gods go with you! upon your sword
Sit laurel'd victory! and smooth success
Be strew'd before your feet!
Ant.

Let us go. Come;
Our separation so abides, and flies,
That you, residing here, go'st yet with me,
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee.
Away.

That he, which is, was wish'd, until he were; And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd, till ne'er worth love,

Comes dear'd, by being lack'd. This common body,
Like a vagabond flag upon the stream,
Goes to, and back, lackeying the varying tide,
To rot itself with motion.
Mess.
Cesar, 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 blood2 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,
Than could his war resisted.

[Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Rome. An Apartment in Cæsar's

House.

Antony,

Cæs.
Leave thy lascivious wassels.3 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 puddles
Which beasts would cough at: thy palate then did
deign

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 honor, that I speak it now)
Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek
So much as lank'd not.
Lep.
It is pity of him.
Cæs. Let his shames quickly
Drive him to Rome: 'Tis time we twain

Cæs. 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 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,

Assemble we immediate council: Pompey
Did show ourselves i' the field; and, to that end,
Thrives in our idleness.

Lep.

To-morrow, Cæsar,

I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly
Both what by sea and land I can be able,
To 'front this present time.
Cæs.

Till which encounter,

It is my business too. Farewell.

Lep. Farewell, my lord: What you shall know meantime

Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir,
To let me be partaker.
Cæs.

I knew it for my bond.

Doubt not, sir:

[Exeunt.

Char. Madam.

Cleo. Ha, ha!—

Give me to drink mandragora.7

Char.

Cleo. That I might sleep out this great gap of time,

Why, madam!

You think of him

Char. Too much.

Cleo. Thou, eunuch! Mardian!
Mar.

What's your highness' pleasure?

Cleo. Not now to hear thee sing; I take no

pleasure

In aught an eunuch has: 'Tis well for thee,
That, being unseminar'd,8 thy freer thoughts
May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections?
Mar. Yes, gracious madam.

Cleo.

Indeed?

Mar. Not in deed, madam; for I can do nothing But what in deed is honest to be done: Yet have I fierce affections, and think, What Venus did with Mars. Cleo.

O Charmian,

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

sits he?

Or does he walk? or is he on his horse?happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony! Endeared by being missed. 2 Turn pale.

• Rage.

Procured by his own fault.

• Consume.

Oblivious memory. Visit him.

Discontented.

Feastings; in the old copy it is vaissailes, i. e. vassals.
Urine. Stagnant, slimy water. My bounden duty.
A sleepy potion.
• Unmanned.

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

The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm
And burgonet9 of men.-He's speaking now,
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 Cæsar,
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 be anchor his aspect, and die
With looking on his life.

Alex.

Enter ALEXAS.

Sovereign of Egypt, hail! Cleo. 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?
Alex. Last thing he did, dear queen,

He kiss'd, the last of many doubled kisses,—
This orient pearl;-His speech sticks in my heart.
Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence.
Alex.
Good friend, quoth he,
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 a termagant' steed,
Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have
spoke

Was beastly dumb'd by him.
Cleo.

Alex. Like to the time o' the year between the

extremes

Of hot and cold; he was nor sad nor merry.
Cleo. 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?
Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers:
Why do you send so thick!
Cleo.
Who's born that day
When I forget to send to Antony,
Shall die a beggar.-Ink and paper, Charmian.—
Welcome, my good Alexas.-Díd I, Charmian,
Ever love Cæsar so?

Char.

O that brave Cæsar! Cleo. Be choked with such another emphasis! Say, the brave Antony. Char. The valiant Cæsar! If thou with Cæsar paragon again Cleo. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth, My man of men.

Char.

By your most gracious pardon,

I sing but after you.
Cleo.
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: he shall have every day
A several greeting, or I'll unpeople Egypt.

[Exeunt

What, was he sad, or merry?

SCENE I-Messina.

A Room in Pompey's House.

Enter POMPEY, MENECRATES, and MENAS.
Pom. If the great gods be just, they shall assist
The deeds of justest men.
Mene.
Know, worthy Pompey,
That what they do delay, they not deny.
Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne,
decays

The thing we sue for.
Mene.
We, ignorant of ourselves,
Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers
Deny us for our good; so find we profit,
By losing of our prayers.
Pom.
I shall do well:
The people love me, and the sea is mine;
My power's a 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: Cæsar gets money, where
He loses hearts: Lepidus tlatters both,
Of both is flatter'd ; but he neither loves,
Nor either cares for him.

Men.

Cæsar and Lepidus

Are in the field; a mighty strength they carry.
Pom. Where have you this? 'tis false.
Men.
From Silvius, sir.
Pom. He dreams; I know, they are in Rome
together,

Looking for Antony: But all charms of love,
Salt Cleopatra, soften thy waned2 lip!

Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both!
Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts,
Keep his brain fuming; Epicurean cooks,
Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite;
That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honor,
Even till a Lethe'd dulness.-How now, Varrius?
Enter VARRIUS.

Var. 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.

Pom. I could have given less matter A better ear.-Menas, I did not think,

A helmet. 1 Furious. Declined, faded. ■ To.

This amorous surfeiter would have don'd4 his helm5
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.
Men.
I cannot hope,
Cæsar and Antony shall well greet together:
His wife, that's dead, did trespasses to Cæsar;
His brother warr'd upon him; although, I think,
Not mov'd by Antony.
Pom.
I know not, Menas,
How lesser enmities may give way to greater.
Wer't not that we stand up against them all,
'Twere pregnant they should squares between
themselves;

For they have entertained cause enough
To draw their swords: but how the fear of us
May cément their divisions, and bind up
The petty difference, we yet not know.
Be it as our gods will have it! It only stands
Our lives upon, to use our strongest hands.
Come, Menas.

[Exeunt.

By laying defects of judgment to me; but You patch'd up your excuses.

Ant.

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: The third o' the world is yours; which with a snaffle You may pace easy, but not such a wife.

Eno. 'Would we had all such wives, that the men might go to wars with the women!

Ant. So much uncurable, her garboils,3 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.
Cæs.

I wrote to you,
When rioting in Alexandria; you
Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts
Did gibe my missive out of audience.

Ant.

He fell upon me, ere admitted; then

Sir,

Be nothing of our strife; if we contend,
Out of our question wipe him.
Cæs.

You have broken The article of your oath; which you shall never Have tongue to charge me with.

Lep.

Soft, Cæsar.
Ant. No, Lepidus, let him speak;
The honor's sacred which he talks on now,
Supposing that I lack'd it: But on, Cæsar;
The article of my oath,-

Cæs. To lend me arms, and aid, when I required them;

The which you both denied.
Ant.
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
So far ask pardon, as befits mine honor
To stoop in such a case.
Lep.
'Tis nobly spoken.
Mec. 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.
Lep.
Worthily spoke, Mecenas.
Eno. Or, if you borrow one another's love for
the instant, you may, when you hear no more words
of Pompey, return it again: you shall have time to
wrangle in, when you have nothing else to do.

Ant. Thou art a soldier only; speak no more. Eno. That truth should be silent, I had almost forgot.

Ant. You wrong this presence, therefore speak

Cæs.

Say not so, Agrippa; If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof Were well deserv'd of rashness.

Ant. I am not married, Cæsar: let me hear Agrippa further speak,

Agr. 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,
And all great fears,which now import their dangers,
Would then be nothing: truths would be but 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.

Ant.

Will Cæsar speak? Cæs. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd With what is spoke already.

Ant.

What power is in Agrippa, If I would say, Agrippa, be it so, To make this good? Cæs.

The power of Cæsar, and

His power unto Octavia. Ant.

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,
And sway our great designs!

Cæs.

There is my hand. A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother Did ever love so dearly: Let her live

Not lack your company. Lep.

Let us, Lepidus, Noble Antony,

Not sickness should detain me.

[Flourish. Exeunt CESAR, ANTONY, and LEPIDUS.

Mec. Welcome from Egypt, sir.

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.

Mec. Now Antony must leave her utterly.
Eno. Never; he will not.

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety: Other women

Cloy th'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.2

Mec. If beauty, wisdom, modesty can settle
The heart of Antony, Octavia is

A blessed lottery to him.
Agr.

Let us go.

Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest,
Whilst you abide here.
Eno.

Humbly, sir, I thank you. [Exeunt.

Agr. Good Enobarbus!

Mec. We have cause to be glad, that matters are so well digested. You stay'd well by it in Egypt. Eno. Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of countenance, and made the night light with drinking. Mec. Eight wild boars roasted whole at a breakfast, and but twelve persons there: Is this true? Eno. This was but as a fly by an eagle: we had much more monstrous matter of feasts, which worthily deserved noting.

Mec. She's a most triumphant lady, if report be square9 to her.

Eno. When she first met Mark Antony, she pursed up his heart upon the river of Cydnus.

Agr. There she appeared indeed; or my reporter devised well for her.

Eno. I will tell you:

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,
The fancy out-work nature: on each side her,
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,
With diverse-color'd fans, whose wind did seem
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,
And what they undid, did.

Agr.
O, rare for Antony!
Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides,
So many mermaids, tender her i' the eyes,
And made their bends adornings: at the helm
A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackles
Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands,
That yarely frame the office. From the barge
A strange invisible pérfume hits the sense
Of the adjacent wharts. The city cast
Her people out upon her; and Antony,
Enthron'd in 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.

Agr.

Rare Egyptian!

Eno. 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;

Octa.

All which time
Before the gods my knee shall bow in prayers
To them for you.
Ant.

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.

Octa. Good-night, sir. Cæs. Good-night.

[Ex. CESAR and OCTAVIA. Ant. Now, sirrah! you do wish yourself in Egypt?

Sooth. Would I had never come from thence, nor you

Thither! Ant. Sooth.

If you can, your reason? I see't in My motion, have it not in my tongue: But yet Hie you again to Egypt. Ant. Say to me, Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Cæsar's, or mine?

Sooth. Cæsar's.

Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side:
Thy dæmon, that's thy spirit which keeps thee, is
Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable,

Where Cæsar's is not; but near him, thy angel
Becomes a Fear, as being o'erpower'd; therefore
Make space enough between you.

Ant.
Speak this no more.
Sooth. To none but thee; no more, but when to
thee.

If thou dost play with him at any game,

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.

Ant.
Get thee gone:
Say to Ventidius, I would speak with him:
[Exit Soothsayer.

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
Under his chance: if we draw lots, he speeds:
His cocks do win the battles still of mine,
When it is all to nought; and his quails3 ever
Beat mine, inhoop'd at odds. I will to Egypt:
And though I make this marriage for my peace,

Enter VENTIDIUS.

I' the east my pleasure lies:-O, come, Ventidius,
You must to Parthia; your commission's ready:
Follow me, and receive it.
[Exeunt.

a Wanton.

The ancients used to match quails as we match cocks • Inclosed.