Enter DEMETRIUS and PHILO.

Phi. Nay, but this dotage of our general's, O'erflows the measure: Those his goodly eyes, That o'er the files and musters of the war Ilave glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn, The office and devotion of their view Upon a tawny front: his captain's heart, Which in the scuffles of great fights had burst The buckles on his breast. reneges all temper; And is become the bellows and the fan,

To cool a gipsy's will. Look, where they come !
Flourish. Enter ANTONY and CLEOPATRA, with
their Trains; Eunuchs funning her.
Take but good note, and you shall see in him
The triple pillar of the world transform'd
Into a strumpet's fool: behold and see.

Cleo. If it be love indeed, tell me how much. Ant. There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd.

Cleo. I'll set a bourn how far to be belov'd. Ant. Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth.

Att. News, ny good lord, from Rome. Ant. Grates me:- The sum? Cleo. Nay, hear them, Antony. Fulvia, perchance, is angry; Or, who knows If the scarce-bearded Cæsar have not sent His powerful mandate to you, Do this, or this; Take in that kingdom, and enfranchise that; Perform't, or else we damn thee.

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 shov'd 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 suffer our departure, death's the word.

Ant. I must be gone.

Eno. Under compelling occasion, let women die : It were pity to cast them away for nothing; though, between them and a great cause, they should be esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, dies instantly; I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment.

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 almanacks 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 others 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; 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 propose. I shall break The cause of our expedience And get her love 5 to part.

to the queen,

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,
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.

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.

4 Expedition.

O, never, was there queen,

6 Look as if I did not send you.

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! 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;

Ant.

Bliss in our brows bent 7; none our parts so poor,
But was a race 8 of heaven; They are so still,
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world,
Art turn'd the greatest liar.

How now, lady!

Ant. 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 9 of Rome: Equality of two domestick 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 thriv'd
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?

Ant. She's dead, my queen:
Look here, and, at thy sovereign leisure, read
The garboils she awak'd'; 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 receiv'd shall be.

Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepar❜d 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 2: Good now, play one scene Of excellent dissembling; and let look Like perfect honour.

Ant.

You'll heat my blood; no more.

Amiss to press 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 unworthy: 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,
Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bones,
Call on him 6 for't: but, to confound 7 such time,
That drums him from his sport, and speaks 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 present pleasure,
And so rebel to judgment.

Lep.

Enter a Messenger.

Here's more news.

Char. Madam. Cleo. Ha, ha!

hour,

Most noble Cæsar, shalt thou have report
How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea;
And it appears, he is belov'd of those
That only have fear'd Cæsar: to the ports
The discontents 8 repair, and men's reports
Give him much wrong'd.

Cæs. I should have known no less: It hath been taught us from the primal state, 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.9 This common body, Like a vagabond flag upon the stream, 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 ear and wound With keels of every kind: Many hot inroads 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, Than could his war resisted.

Antony,

Cæs. Leave thy lascivious wassels. When thou once Was 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 What 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 honour, that I speak it now,)
Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek
So much as lank'd not.

Char.

Why, madam? Cleo. That I might sleep out this great gap of time, My Antony is away.

Char. Too much.

You think of him

Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he, or sits Or does he walk? or is he on his horse?

he?

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

The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm
And burgonet' 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 he anchor his aspéct, 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. ·

Alex.

-

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.
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 6 steed,
Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke
Was beastly dumb'd by him.

Cleo.
What, was he sad, or merry?
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?