And give true evidence to his love, which stands CLEO. You can do better yet; but this is meetly. You'll heat my blood! no more! 81 And target. Still he mends; ANT. Now, by my sword CLEO. But this is not the best: look, pr'ythee, Charmian, How this Herculean Roman does become The carriage of his chafe. ANT. I'll leave you, Lady. CLEO. Courteous Lord, one word. Sir, you and I must part-but that's not it: And I am all forgotten. ANT. But that your royalty Holds idleness your subject, I should take you To bear such idleness so near the heart As Cleopatra this. But, Sir, forgive me; Since my becomings kill me, when they do not And all the Gods go with you! upon your sword Be strew'd before your feet! ACT I ANT. Let us go. Come; Our separation so abides, and flies, [exeunt. SCENE IV. Rome. CÆSAR'S House. Enter OCTAVIUS CÆSAR, reading a letter, LEPIDUS, CES. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know, Our great competitor. From Alexandria This is the news: He fishes, drinks, and wastes there A man who is the abstract of all faults That all men follow. LEP. 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, Than what he chooses. CAS. You are too indulgent. Let us grant, it is not 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 20 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, Call on him' for 't: but to confound such time, LEP. Enter a Messenger. Here's more news. ACT I Sc. IV 30 MESS. Thy biddings have been done; and every hour, How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea; That only have fear'd Cæsar: to the ports CES. I should have known no less: It hath been taught us from the primal state, Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, To rot itself with motion. MESS. Cæsar, I bring thee word, Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates, Make the Sea serve them, which they ear3 and wound 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 Leave thy lascivious wassails! When thou once Did Famine follow; whom thou fought'st against, 1 visit him. 2 i.c. is first desired by the mob, then feared by them. 3 plough. 41 50 60 ACT I Sc. IV The stale of horses, and the gilded puddle 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, Cæs. Let his shames quickly Drive him to Rome; 'tis time we twain Did shew ourselves i' the field; and to that end 70 80 LEP. Farewell, my Lord; what you shall know meantime Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and MARDIAN. CLEO. Charmian CHAR. Madam ? CLEO. Ha, ha! Give me to drink mandragora. CHAR. Why, Madam? CLEO. That I might sleep out this great gap of time My Antony is away. CHAR. CLEO. O, 'tis treason! You think of him too much. CHAR. Madam, I trust, not so. 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, 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 indeed is honest to be done: Yet have I fierce affections, and think What Venus did with Mars. IO 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! 21 Do bravely, Horse! for wott'st thou whom thou mov'st? 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, 30 A morsel for a Monarch; and great Pompey 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, 1 helmet. 40 ACT I Sc. V |