With such full licence, as both truth and malice
Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds,
When our quick windslie still; and our ills
told us,

Is as our earing t. Fare thee well a while.
Mess. At your noble pleasure.

[Exit. Ant. From Sicyon how the news? Speak there. 1 Att. The man from Sicyon.-Is there such an one?

2 Att. He stays upon your will,

Ant. Let him appear.

These strong Egyptian fetters I must break,

Enter another MESSENGER.

Or lose myself in dotage.-What are you? 2 Mess. Fulvia thy wife is dead.

Ant. Where died she?

2 Mess. In Sicyon :

Her length of sickness, with what else more serious
Importeth thee to know, this bears. [Gives a Letter.
Ant. Forbear me.-
[Exit Messenger.
There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it:
What our contempts do 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!

Enter ENOBARBUS.

Eno. What's your pleasure, Sir?
Ant. I must with haste from hence.

Eno. Why, then, we kill all our women: we see how mortal an unkindness is to them; if they suf fer our departure, death's the word.

Ant. I must be gone.

Eno. 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 esteem'd 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 mettle in death, which com

In some editions minds.

+ Tilling, ploughing: prepares us to produce good Waits.

seed.

mits some loving act upon her, she hath such a celerity in dying.

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 shews 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 crown'd with consolation; your old smock brings forth a petticoat :-And, indeed, the tears live in an onion, that should water this sorrow.

Ant. The business she hath broach'd in the state, Cannot endure my absence.

Eno. And the business you have broach'd here cannot be without you; especially that of Cleopa tra'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 expedience to the queen,
And get her love+ 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
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,

• Expedition. VOL. V.

C

+ Leave.

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,

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 ;-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. What should I do, I do not?

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

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

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 pur

pose,

Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian, I shall

fall;

I 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 the married woman ?-You may go z
Look as if I did not send you.

'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.
Ant. The gods best know,-

Cleo. O, never was there queen

So mightily betray'd! Yet, at the first,
I saw the treasons planted.

Ant. Cleopatra,

Cleo. 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!

Ant. Most sweet queen,

Cleo. 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 racet 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 a while; but my full heart

Remains in use with you. Our Italy

Shines o'er with civil swords: Sextus Pompeias
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 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 safeý my
going,

Is Fulvia's death.

The arch of our eye-brows.

+ Smack or flavour.

Render my going not dangerous.

Gate.

Cleo. Though age from folly could not give me

freedom,

It does from childishness:-Can Fulvia die?
Ant. She's dead, my queen:

Look here, and, at thy sovereign leisure, read
The garboils she awaked+; at the last, best:
See, when, and where she died.

Cleo. 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.

Cleo. Cut my lace, Charmian, come ;-
But let it be. I am quickly ill, and well:
So Antony loves.

Ant. My precious queen, forbear;

And give true evidence to his love, which stands An honourable trial.

Cleo. So Fulvia told me.

I pr'ythee, 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

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 mends;

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:

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.

Can Fulvia be dead?

+ The commotion she occasioned.
Mud of the river Nile.

To me, the queen of Egypt.
Heat.

Oblivious memory.