Puslapio vaizdai
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ANT. There's beggary in the love that can be reckon❜d.
CLE. I'll fet a bourn how far to be belov'd.
ANT. Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new
Enter an Attendant.
[earth.

Att. News, my good lord, from Rome.
ANT. -'T grates me:_The fum.
CLE. Nay, hear them, Antony:
Fulvia, perchance, is angry; Or, who knows
If the scarce-bearded Cafar have not fent
His powerful mandate to you, Do this, or this
Take in that kingdom, and infranchise that ;
Perform't, or else we damn thee.

;

ANT. -How, my love!

CLE. Perchance? nay, and most like: You must not stay here longer, your dismission Is come from Cafar; therefore hear it, Antony.Where's Fulvia's procefs?-Cafar's, I would fay?-Both? Call in the meffengers. As I am Egypt's Queen, Thou blufheft, Antony; and that blood of thine Is Cafar's homager: fo thy cheek pays shame, When fhrill-tongu'd Fulvia fcolds. The meffengers.

ANT. Let Rome in Tyber melt! and the wide arch Of the rang'd empire fall! Here is my space; Kingdoms are clay: Our dungy earth alike Feeds beaft as man: the nobleness of life Is, to do thus; when fuch a mutual pair, And fuch a twain can do't; in which, I bind, On pain of punishment, the world to weet We ftand up peerless.

CLE. Excellent falfhood!

Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her ?-
I feem the fool I am not; Antony

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Will be himself.

ANT. But, ftir'd by Cleopatra,

Now, for the love of love, and his soft hours,
Let's not confound the time with conference harsh:
There's not a minute of our lives fhould stretch
Without fome pleasure now: What sport to-night?
CLE. Hear the embaffadors.

ANT. -Fie, wrangling Queen!

Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh,
Το weep; whose every paffion fully strives

To make itself, in thee, fair and admir'd !
No messenger, but thine; And all alone,
To-night, we'll wander through the streets, and note
The qualities of people. Come, my Queen;
Laft night you did defire it: Speak not to us.

[Exeunt ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, and Trains. DoL. Triumphant lady! Fame, I fee, is true. Tнr. Too true: Since the firft met Mark Antony Upon the river Cydnus, he has been hers.

DoL. There the appear'd indeed; or my reporter Devis'd well for her.

THr. -I will tell you, fir.

The barge fhe fat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burnt on the water: the poop was beaten gold;
Purple the fails, and fo perfumed, that
The winds were love-fick with them: the oars were filver;
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water, which they beat, to follow fafter,
As amorous of their ftrokes. For her own person,
It beggar'd all defcription: fhe did lye
In her pavilion, (cloth of gold, of tissue)
O'er-picturing that Venus, where we fee

The fancy out-work nature; on each fide her Stood pretty dimpl'd boys, like fmiling Cupids, With diverfe-colour'd fans, whofe wind did feem To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, And what they undid, did.

DOL. O, rare for Antony!

Tar. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereids, So many mermaids, tended her i'the eyes, And made their bends adornings at the helm A feeming mermaid fteers; the filken tackle Swell with the touches of thofe flower-foft hands, That yarely frame the office. From the barge, A ftrange invifible perfume hits the sense Of the adjacent wharfs: The city cast Her people out upon her: and Antony, Enthron'd i'the market-place, did fit alone, Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy, Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, And made a gap in nature. DoL.-Rare Egyptian!

THY. Upon her landing, Antony fent to her, Invited her to fupper: fhe reply'd,

It should be better, he became her gueft;
Which the intreated: Our courteous Antony,
(Whom never the word, no, woman heard fpeak)
Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast;
And, for his ordinary, pays his heart,
For what his eyes eat only.

DOL. Royal wench!

She made great Julius lay his fword to bed;
He plough'd her, and the crop'd. Now Antony
Muft leave her utterly.

THr. -Never; he will not:

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety: Other women cloy
The appetites they feed; but she makes hungry,
Where moft fhe fatisfies.

DoL.-Well; I am forry,

He too approves the common lyar, who
Thus fpeaks of him at Rome: But I will hope
Of better deeds to-morrow. Reft you happy!
[Exeunt feverally.

SCENE II. The fame. Another Room.
Enter ALEXAS, IRAS, CHARMIAN,
a Soothsayer, and Others.

CHA. Alexas, fweet Alexas,moft any thing Alexas, almost moft abfolute Alexas, where's the foothfayer that you prais'd fo to the Queen? O, that I knew this husband which, you fay, muft charge his horns with garlands! ALE. Soothfayer,

Soo.

Your will?

CHA. Is this the man?Is't you, fir, that know things? Soo. In nature's infinite book of fecrefy

A little I can read.

ALE. Shew him your hand.

Enter ENOBARBUS.

ENO. Bring in the banquet quickly; wine enough, Cleopatra's health to drink. [to fome within.

CHA. Good fir, give me good fortune.

Soo. I make not, but foresee

CHA. Pray then, foresee me one. Let me be marry'd to three Kings in a forenoon, and widow them all: let me have a child at fifty; to whom Herod of Jewry may

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do homage: find me to marry with Octavius Cæfar, and companion me with my miftrefs.

Soo. You fhall out-live the lady whom you ferve. CHA. O excellent! I love long life better than figs. Soo. You have seen and prov'd a fairer former fortune Than that which is to approach.

CHA. Then, belike, my children fhall have no names.. Nay, come, tell Iras hers.

ALE. We'll know all our fortunes.

ENO. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, fhall be drunk to bed.

IRA. There's a palm prefages chastity, if nothing else. CHA. E'en as the o'er-flowing Nilus prefageth famine. IRA. Go, you wild bed-fellow; you cannot foothsay. CHA. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prognof-tication, I cannot scratch mine ear. Prythee, tell her but a worky-day fortune.

Soo. Your fortunes are alike.

IRA. But how, but how? give me particulars."
Soo. I have faid.

IRA. Am I not an inch of fortune better than she ? CHA. Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than I, where would you choose it?

IRA. Not in my husband's nose.

CHA. Our worfer thoughts heavens mend!_Alexascome, his fortune, his fortune._O, let him marry a woman that cannot go, fweet Ifis, I beseech thee! And let her die too, and give him a worfe! and let worse follow worse, 'till the worst of all follow him laughing to his grave, fifty-fold a cuckold! Good Ifis, hear me this prayer, though thou deny me a matter of more weight; good fis, I befeech thee!

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