Puslapio vaizdai

Like perfect honour.

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

Cleo. You can do better yet; but this is meetly.
Ant. Now by my Sword.

Cleo. And Target. Still he meads.

But this is not the beft.

Look prithee, 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 muft part, but that's not it,
Sir, you and I have lov'd, but there's not it,
That you know well, fomething it is I would
Oh, my oblivion is a very Antony,

And I am all forgotten.

Ant. But that your Royalty


Holds Idlenefs your fubject, I should take you
For Idlenefs it felf.

Cleo. 'Tis fweating labour,

To bear fuch Idlenefs fo 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 lawrell'd Victory, and fmooth Succefs
Be ftrew'd before your Feet.

Ant. Let us go.

Come: Our feparation fo abides and flies,
That thou refiding here, goeft yet with me,
And I hence fleeting, here remain with thee.




Enter Octavius Cæfar reading a Letter, Lepidus, and


Caf. You may fee, Lepidus, and henceforth know,

It is not Cafar's natural Voice, to hate

One great Competitor. From Alexandria

This is the News; he fishes, drinks, and wastes

The Lamps of Night in revels; Is not more Manlie




Than Cleopatra ; nor the Queen of Ptolomy

More Womanly than he. Hardly gave Audience,
Or did vouchfafe to think he had Partners. You
Shall find there a Man, who is th'abstract of all faults;
That all Men follow.

Lep. I must not think

There are Evils enough to darken all his Goodness;
His, Faults in him, feem as the fpors of Heav'n,
More fiery by Night's blackness; Hereditary,
Rather than purchaft; what he cannot change,
Than what he chufes.

Caf. You are too indulgent. Let's grant it is
Amifs to tumble on the Bed of Ptolomy,
To give a Kingdom for a Mirth, to fit
And keep the turn of Tipling with a Slave,
To reel the Streets at Noon, and stand the Buffet

With Knaves that fmell of fweat; fay this becomes him;

As his composure must be rare indeed,

Whom these things cannot blemish, yet muft Antony
No way excufe his Foils, when we do bear

So great weight in his Lightnefs. If he fill'd
His vacancy with his Voluptuoufnefs ;
Full furfeits, and the drinefs of his Bones,
Call on him for't. But to confound fuch time,
That drums him from his fport, and fpeaks 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 prefent Pleasure,
And fo rebel to Judgment.

Enter a Messenger.

Lep. Here's more News.

Mef. Thy biddings have been done, and every hour, Moft noble Cafar, fhalt thou have report

How 'tis abroad. Pompey is frong at Sea,

And it appears, he is belov'd of those

That only have fear'd Cafar: to the Ports
The Difcontents repair, and Mens reports
Give him much wrong'd."

Caf. I fhould have known no lefs,

It hath been taught us from the primal State,
That he which is, was wifh'd, until he were:


And the ebb'd Man, ne'er lov'd 'till ne'er worth love,
Comes fear'd, by being lack'd. This common Body
Like to a Vagabond Flag upon the Stream,
Goes to, and back, lacking the varying Tide
To rot it felf with motion.

Mef. Cafar, I bring thee word,

Menecrates and Menas, famous Pirates,

Make the Sea ferve them, which they ear and wound
With Keels of every kind. Many hot inrodes
They make in Italy, the borders Maritime

Lack Blood to think on't, and flesh youth to revolt,
No Veffel can peep forth, but 'tis as foon
Taken as feen: For Pompey's Name strikes more
Than could his War refifted.

Caf. Antony,

Leave thy lafcivious Vaffals. When thou once
Wert beaten from Mutina, where thou flew'ft
Hirtius and Panfa Confuls, at thy heel

Did famine follow, whom thou fought'ft against,"
Though daintily brought up, with patience more
Than Savages could fuffer. Thou didst drink
The tale of Horfes, and the gilded Puddle
Which Beafts would cough at. Thy Pallat then did dain
The roughest Berry on the rudeft Hedge.

Yea, like the Stag, when Snow the Pasture sheets,
The Barks of Trees thou browfed'ft. On the Alps,
It is reported thou didft eat ftrange Flesh,
Which fome did die to look on; and all this,
It wounds thine honour that I fpeak it now,
Was born fo like a Soldier, that thy check
So much as lank'd not.

Lep. 'Tis pity of him.

Caf. Let his thames quickly

Drive him to Rome, 'tis time we twain

Did fhew our felves i'th'Field, and to that end
Affemble we immediate Council; Pompey
Thrives in our Idlenefs.

Lep. To morrow, Cafar,

I fhall be furnish'd to inform you rightly,
Both what, by Sea and Land, I can be able,
To front this prefent time.

B 2


Caf. 'Till which encounter, it is my Bufinefs too. FarewelLep. Farewel my Lord, what you fhall know mean time Of itirs abroad, I fhall befeech, you, Sir,

To let me be partaker.

Caf. Doubt not, Sir, I knew it for my Bond. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Alexandria.

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian.

Cleo. Charmian.

Char. Madam.

Cleo. Ha, ha-give me to drink Mandragoras.
Char. Why, Madam ?

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

My Antony is away.

Char. You think of him too much.

Cleo. O'tis Treafon.

Char. Madam, I truft not fo.

Cleo. Thou, Eupuch, Mardian?

Mar. What's your Highne's pleasure ?

Cleo. Not now to hear thee fing. I take no pleasure In ought an Eunuch has ; 'is well for thee,

That being unfeminaried, thy freer Thoughts

May not not fly forth of Egypt. Haft thou Affections?
Mar. Yes, gracious Madam.

Cleo. Indeed?

Mar. Not in deed, Madam, for I can do nothing But what indeed is honeft to be done:

Yet have I fierce Affections, and think

What Venus did with Mars.

Cleo. Oh Charmian !

Where think'ft thou he is now ? Stands he, or fits he?
Or does he walk? Or is he on his Horfe?

Oh happy Ho fe to bear the weight of Antony!

Do bravely, Horfe, for wot'ft thou whom thou mov'ft
The demy Atlas of this Earth, the Arm

And Burgonet of Man. He's fpeaking now,
Or murmuring, where's my Serpent of old Nile,
For fo he calls me ; now I feed my self
With moft delicious Poifon. Think on m
That am with Phoebus amorous pinches black,


And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Cafar,
When thou waft here above the Ground, I was
A morfe of a Monarch; and great Pompey
Would stand and make his Eyes grow in my Brow,
There would he anchor his Afpect, and die
With looking on his Life.

Enter Alexas.

Alex. Soveraign of Egypt, hail.

Cleo. How much art thou unlike Mark Antony?.
Yet coming from him, that great Med'cine hath
With his Tin& gilded thee.

How goes it with my brave Mark Antony?
Alex. Laft thing he did, dear Queen,
He kift the daft of many doubled kiffes,
This orient Pearl. His Speech fticks in my Heart,
Cleo. Mine Ear muft pluck it thence.
Alex. Good Friends, quoth he,

Say the firm Roman to great Egypt fends
This treasure of an Oyfter; at whofe foot,
To mend the petty prefent, I will piece

Her opulent Throne, with Kingdoms. All the Eaft,
Say thou, fhall call her Miftrefs. So he nodded,
And foberly did mount an Arm-gaunt Steed,

Who neigh'd fo high, that what I would have spoke,
Was beaftly dumb by him.

Cleo. What, was he fad or merry?

Alex. Like to the time o'th' Year, between the ex:reams Of hot and cold, he was not fad nor merry.

Cleo. Oh well divided difpofition; note him,

Note him good Charmian, 'tis the Man; but note him,
He was not fad, for he would fhine on those

That make their looks by his. He was not merry,
Which feem'd to tell them, his remembrance lay
In Egypt with his joy; but between both.
Oh heav'nly mingle! Be'ft thou fad, or merry,
The violence of either thee becomes,

So do's it no Man elfe. Met' thou my Pofts?
Alex. Ay, Madam, twenty feveral Meffengers,
Why do you fend fo thick ?

Cleo, Who's born that day,

When I forget to fend to Antony,

B 3


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