And fertil every wish, a million. Char. Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch. Alex. You think, none but your fheets 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, fhall be to go drunk to bed. Iras. There's a palm prefages chastity, if nothing else. Char. Ev'n as the o'erflowing Nilus prefageth fa mine. Iras. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot foothfay. Char. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prog noftication, I cannot fcratch mine ear. Pr'ythee, tell her but a workyday fortune. Sooth. Your fortunes are alike. Iras. But how, but how? Sooth. I have faid. -give me particulars. Iras. Am I not an inch of fortune better than fhe? Char. Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than I, where would you chufe it? Iras. Not in my Husband's nose. Char. (3) Our worfer thoughts heav'ns mend! AleCome, his fortune; his fortune.— xas, -O, let him however it has pafs'd hitherto upon the Editors. It makes the Word Womb abfolutely fuperfluous, if only the telling her wishes beforehand would help her to the Children. The Poet certainly wrote, If ev'ry of your Wishes had a Womb, And fertil ev'ry Wish, (3) Char. Our worfer Thoughts Heav'ns mend. Alex. Come, bis Fortune, bis Fortune. O let him marry a Woman, &c.] Whofe Fortune does Alexas call out to have told? But, in fhort, This I dare pronounce to be fo palpable and fignal a Tranfpofition, that I cannot but wonder it should have flipt the Obfervation of all the Editors: especially, of the Sagacious Mr. Pope, who has made this Declaration, That if, throughout the Plays, bad all the Speeches been printed without the : him marry a Woman that cannot go, fweet Ifis, I befeech thee and let her die too, and give him a worfe; and let worfe follow work, 'till the worst of all follow him laughing to his Grave, fifty-fold a Cuckold good fis, hear me this prayer, though thou deny me a matter of more weight; good fis, I befeech thee! Iras. Amen, dear Goddess, hear that prayer of the people for, as it is a heart breaking to fee a handfome man loofe-wiv'd, fo it is a deadly forrow to behold a foul knave uncuckolded; therefore, dear Ifis, 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. Enter Cleopatra. Eno. Hufh! here comes Antony. Char. Not he, the Queen. Cleo. Saw you my Lord? Eno. No, Lady. Cleo. Was he not here? Char. No, Madam. Cleo. He was difpos'd to mirth, but on the fudden A Roman thought hath ftruck him. Enobarbus, the very Names of the Perfons, He believes, one might have applied them with Certainty to every Speaker. But in how many Instances has Mr. Pope's Want of Judgment falfified this Opinion? The Fact is evidently this. Alexas brings a Fortune-teller to Iras and Charmian, and fays Himself, We'll know all our Fortunes. Well; the Soothfayer begins with the Women; and fome Jokes pafs upon the Subject of Husbands and Chastity After which, the Women hoping for the Satisfaction of having fomething to laugh at in Alexas's Fortune, call to him to hold out his Hand, and wish heartily he may have the Prognoftication of Cuckoldom upon him. The whole Speech, therefore, must be plac'd to Charmian. There needs no ftronger Proof of This being a true Correction, than the Obfervation which Alexas immediately fubjoins on their Wishes and Zeal to hear him abufed, Ene. Eno. Madam. Cleo. Seek him, and bring him hither; where's Alexas? Alex. Here at your fervice; my Lord approaches. Enter Antony with a Messenger, and Attendants. Cleo. We will not look upon him; go with us. [Exeunt. Mef. Fulvia thy Wife first came into the field. Ant. Against my brother Lucius ? Mef. Ay, but foon that war had end, and the time's ftate Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainft Whofe bitter iffue in the war from Italy, Ant. Well, what worst? Mef. The nature of bad news infects the teller. Mef. Labienus (this is ftiff news) Hath, with his Parthian force, extended Afia; Whilft Ant. Antony, thou wouldst fay Mef. Oh, my Lord! Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the gen'ral tongue; Name Cleopatra as fhe's call'd in Rome. Rail thou in Fulvia's phrafe, and taunt my faults With fuch full licence, as both truth and malice Have power to utter. Oh, then we bring forth weeds, Mef. At your noble pleasure. Ant. From Sicyon, how the news? fpeak there. Mef. Mef. The Man from Sicyon, is there fuch an one? Attend. He stays upon your will. Ant. Let him appear; [Exit firft Meffenger. Thefe ftrong Egyptian fetters I must break, Enter another Meffenger, with a Letter. 2 Mef. Fulvia thy wife is dead. Ant. Where died fhe? 2 Mef. In Sicon. Her length of ficknefs, with what else more serious Ant. Forbear me.- The oppofite of itfelf; the's good, being gone; Eno. What's your pleasure, Sir? Ant. I muft with hafte from hence. Eno. Why, then we kill all our women. We fee, how mortal an unkindness is to them; if they fuffer our departure, death's the word. Ant. I must be gone. Eno. Under a compelling occafion, let women die. It were pity to caft them away for nothing; though between them and a great caufe, they should be efteem'd nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the leaft noife of this, dies inftantly; I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment : I do think, there is mettle in death, which commits fome loving act upon her; the hath fuch a celerity in dying. Ant. She is cunning paft man's thought. Eno. Alack, Sir, no; her paffions are made of no thing but the finest part of pure love. We cannot call her winds and waters, fighs and tears: they are greater ftorms and tempefts than almanacks can report. This cannot be cunning in her; if it be, fhe makes a fhow'r of rain as well as Jove. Ant. 'Would I had never feen her! Eno. Oh, Sir, you had then left unfeen a wonderful piece of work, which, not to have been bleft withal, would have difcredited your travel. Ant. Fulvia is dead. Eno. Sir! Ant. Fulvia is dead. Ant. Dead. Ene. Why, Sir, give the Gods a thankful facrifice: when it pleaseth their Deities to take the wife of a man from him, it fhews to man the tailor 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 were to be lamented: this grief is crowned with confolation; your old fmock brings forth a new petticoat, and, indeed, the tears live in an onion that should water this forrow. Ant. The business, fhe hath broached in the ftate, Cannot endure my abfence. Eno. And the business, you have broach'd here, cannot be without you; efpecially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly depends on your aboad. Ant, No more light answers: let our officers |