On pain of punishment, the world to weet,* We stand up peerless.

Cleo. Excellent Falsehood!

Why did we marry Fulvia, and not love her?-
I'll seem the fool I am not; Antony
Will be himself.

Ant. But stirr'd by Cleopatra.

Now, for the love of Love, and her soft hours, Let's not confound the time with conference harsh:

There's not a minute of our lives should stretch Without some pleasure now: What sport tonight?

Cleo. Hear the ambassadors.
Ant. Fie, wrangling queen!

Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh,
To weep; whose every passion fully strives
To make itself, in thee, fair and adinir'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; Last night you did desire it :-Speak not to us. [Exeunt ANT. and CLEO. with their Train. Dem. Is Cesar with Antonius priz'd so slight?

Phi. Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony, He comes too short of that great property Which still should go with Antony.

Dem. I'm full sorry,

That he approves the common liar, who
Thus speaks of him at Rome: But I will hope
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy!

[Exeunt.

Image: find me to marry me with Octavius Cesar, and companion me with my mistress. Sooth. You shall outlive the lady whom you

serve.

Char. O excellent! I love long life better than figs.

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:* 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.

Chur. 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, tonight, shall be-drunk to bed.

Iras. There's a palm presages chastity, if nothing else.

Char. Even as the overflowing Nilus presageth famine.

Iras. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay.

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 particu

lars.

Sooth. I have said.

Irus. 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.—0, let him marry a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis,t 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 of more weight; good Isis, I beseech thee! me this prayer, though thou deny me a matter

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.
Char. Not he, the queen.

Enter CLEOPA RA,

Cleo. Saw you my lord?
Eno. No, lady.

Cleo. Was he not here?
Char. No, madam.

Cleo. He was dispos'd to mirth; but on the sudden

[bus,A Roman thought hath struck him.-EnobarEno. Madam.

Cleo. Seek him, and bring him hither. Where's Alexas?

Alex. Here, madam, at your service.-My lord approaches.

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,

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
Importeth thee to know, this bears. [serious
[Gives a letter.
Ant. Forbear me.- [Exit MESSENGER.
There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire
What our contempts do often hurl from us, [it:
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! Enobar

* Seized.

bus!

+ In some editions minds. Tilling, plowing; prepares us to produce good seed. Waits.

Enter ENOBARBUS.

Eno. What's your pleasure, Sir? Ant. I must with haste from hence. We see how mortal an unkindness is to them; Eno. Why, then, we kill all our women: 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 patra, catching but the least noise of this, dies cause, they should be esteemed nothing. Cleoinstantly; I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment: I do think, there is mettle in death, which commits 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 cannot call her winds and waters, sighs and of nothing but the finest part of pure love: We 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.

sacrifice. Eno. Why, Sir, give the gods a thankful 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

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 crowned with consolation; your old smock the tears live in an onion, that should water brings forth a new petticoat :-and, indeed,

this sorrow.

Have notice what we purpose. I shall break
The cause of our expedience to the queen,
And get her lovet 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 Cesar, 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,

[life,

Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but And not a serpent's poison. Say, our pleasure,

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 for

bear;

In time we hate that wich we often fear.
Enter ANTON:.

But here comes Antony.

Cleo. I am sick, and sullen.

Ant. I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose,

Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian, I shall fall;

It 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; '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,

[gods,

Though you in swearing shake the thronged

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 Pompeius
Makes his approaches to the port* of Rome:
Equality of two domestic powers

Breeds scrupulous faction: The hated, grown
to strength,
[Pompey,
Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace
Are newly grown to love: the condemn'd
Into the hearts of such as have not thriv'd
Upon the present state, whose numbers threat-
[purge
And quietness, grown sick of rest, would
By any desperate change: My more parti

en;

cular,

And that which most with you should safet 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:

The garboils she awak'd; at the last, best: Look here, and, at thy sovereign leisure, read See, when, and where she died."

Cleo. O most false love!

Where be the sacred vials thou should'st 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.

And give true evidence to his love, which Ant. My precious queen, forbear;

An honourable trial.

Cleo. So Fulvia told me.

[stands

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;

ness,

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, Ling, But bid farewell, and go: when you sued stay. Then was the time for words: No going

then ;

Eternity was in our lips, and eyes; [poor,
Bliss in our brows' bent; none our parts so
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!

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 lov'd, but there's not it; That you know well: Something it is I would,O, my obliviontt is a very Antony, And I am all forgotten.

Ant. But that your royalty Holds idleness your subject, I should take you For idleness itself.

Cleo. 'Tis sweating labour,

Cleo. O Charmian,

Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he, or sits he?

Or does he walk? or is he on his horse?

O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony! Do bravely, horse! for wot'st thou whom thou mov'st?

The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm
And burgonett 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
Cesar,

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 aspect, and die
With his looking on his life.

Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence.
Alex. 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‡ steed,
Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have
Was beastly dumb'd by him.
[spoke

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?
Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messen-
Why do you send so thick?

Cleo. Who's born that day
When I forget to send to Antony,

[gers:

+ Furious.

Mene. Know, worthy Pompey, That what they do delay, they not deny. Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, The thing we sue for. [decays Mene. We, ignorant of ourselves, [powers Beg often our own harms, which the wise Deny us for our good; so find we profit, By losing of our prayers.

Pom. I shall do well:

The people love me, and the sea is mine;
My power's a crescent, and my auguring hope
Says, it will come to the full. Mark Antony
In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make

No

wars without doors: Cesar gets money,
where

He loses hearts: Lepidus flatters both,
Of both is flatter'd; but he neither loves,

Nor either cares for him.

Men. Cesar and Lepidus

Are in the field; a mighty strength they carry.
Pom. Where have you this? 'tis false.
Men. From Silvius, Sir.

Pom. He dreams; I know, they are in Rome

together,

Looking for Antony: But all charms of love
Salt Cleopatra, soften thy wan'd lip!
Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with
Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts, [both!
Keep his brain fuming; Epicurean cooks,
Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite;
That sleep and feeding may prorogue his ho-

nour,

[rius? Even tillt a Lethe'd dullness.-How now, Var

Enter VARRIUS.

Var. This is most certain that I shall deliMark Antony is every hour in Rome [ver: Expected; since he went from Egypt, 'tis A space for further travel.

Pom. I could have given less matter A better ear.-Menas, I did not think, This amorous surfeiter would have don'd; his For such a petty war: his soldiership [helms Is twice the other twain: But let us rear The higher our opiniou, that our stirring Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck The ne'er lust-wearied Antony.