Sooth. You have seen and proved a fairer former fortune Than that which is to approach. Char. Then, belike, my children shall have no names.1 Pr'ythee, how many boys and wenches must I have? Sooth. If every of your wishes had a womb, And fertile every wish, a million. Char. Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch. Alex. You think, none but your sheets are privy to your wishes. Char. Nay, come, tell Iras hers. Alex. We'll know all our fortunes. Eno. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, shall be-drunk to bed. Iras. There's a palm presages chastity, if nothing else. Char. Even as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth famine. Iras. Go, you wild bedfellow; you cannot socth say. Char. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prognostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. Pr'ythee, tell her but a worky-day fortune. Sooth. Your fortunes are alike. Iras. But how, but how? give me particulars. 1 i. e. be illegitimate. Iras. Am I not an inch of fortune better than she? Char. Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than I, where would you choose it? Iras. Not in my husband's nose. Char. Our worser thoughts Heavens mend! Alexas,-come, his fortune, his fortune.-O, let him marry a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis,1 I beseech thee! And let her die too, and give him a worse! and let worse follow worse, till the worst of all follow him laughing to his grave, fifty-fold a cuckold! Good Isis, hear me this prayer, though thou deny me a matter of more weight; good Isis, I beseech thee! Iras. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the people; for, as it is a heart-breaking to see a handsome man loose-wived, so it is a deadly sorrow to behold a foul knave uncuckolded; therefore, dear Isis, keep decorum, and fortune him accordingly! Char. Amen. Alex. Lo, now! if it lay in their hands to make me a cuckold, they would make themselves whores, but they'd do 't. Eno. Hush! here comes Antony. Not he; the queen. Enter CLEOpatra. Cle. Saw you my lord? 1 A goddess worshipped by the Egyptians, Eno. Cle. Char. No, madam. No, lady. Was he not here? Cle. He was disposed to mirth, but on the sudden A Roman thought hath struck him.-Enobarbus ! Eno. Madam. Cle. Seek him, and bring him hither.-Where's Alex. Here, madam, at your service.-My lord approaches. Enter ANTONY, with a MESSENGER and Attendants. with us. Cle. We will not look upon him : go [Exeunt Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Alexas, Iras, Charmian, Soothsayer, and Attendants. Mes. Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. Ant. Against my brother Lucius ? Mes. Ay: But soon that war had end, and the time's state Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainst Cæsar; Whose better issue in the war, from Italy, Upon the first encounter, drave them. Ant. Well, what worst? Mes. The nature of bad news infects the teller. Ant. When it concerns the fool or coward. On : Things, that are past, are done with me. "Tis thus ;- Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death, (This is stiff news) hath, with his Parthian force, His conquering banner shook, from Syria Whilst Ant. Antony, thou wouldst say, Mes. O, my lord! Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the general tongue; Name Cleopatra as she 's call'd in Rome: Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase; and taunt my faults With such full license, as both truth and malice Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds, When our quick minds lie still; and our ills told us, Is as our earing.1 Fare thee well awhile. Mes. At your noble pleasure. [Exit. Ant. From Sicyon how the news? Speak there. 1 Att. The man from Sicyon.-Is there such a one? 2 Att. He stays upon your will. Ant. Let him appear. These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, 1 'When our pregnant minds lie untilled, they bring forth weeds; but the telling us of our faults is a kind of culture to them.'-M. Mason. Enter another MESSENGER. Or lose myself in dotage.-What are you? 2 Mes. In Sicyon : Where died she? Her length of sickness, with what else more serious Ant. There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it. The opposite of itself: she's good, being gone; The hand could pluck her back, that shoved her on. 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 a compelling occasion, let women die: it were pity to cast them away for nothing; though between them and a great cause they |