MES. Madam! Madam!

CLEO. Antony's dead?.

If thou fay fo, villain, thou kill'ft thy mistress:
But well and free,

If fo thou yield him, there is gold, and here
My bluest veins to kifs: a hand, that kings
Have lipt, and trembled kiffing.

MES. First, madam, he is well.

CLEO. Why, there's more gold. But firrah, mark, we use

To fay, the dead are well; bring it to that

The gold, I give thee, will I melt and pour
Down thy ill-uttering throat.

MES. Good madam, hear me.

CLEO. Well, go to, I will:

But there's no goodness in thy face. If Antony
Be free and healthful; why fo tart a favour
To trumpet fuch good tidings? if not well,

Thou shouldft come like a fury crown'd with fnakes,
Not like a formal man.

MES. Will't please you hear me?

CLEO. I have a mind to ftrike thee, ere thou fpeak'st

Yet, if thou fay Antony lives, 'tis well,

Or friends with Cæfar, or not captive to him,

I'll fet thee in a fhower of gold, and hail

Rich pearls upon thee.

MES. Madam, he's well.

CLEO. Well faid.

MES. And friends with Cæfar.

CLEO. Thou'rt an honest man.

MES. Cæfar, and he, are greater friends than ever.
CLEO. Make thee a fortune from me.

Mrs. But yet, Madam

CLEO. I do not like but yet; it does allay
The good precedence; fy upon but yet;
But yet, is as a jaylor to bring forth

Some monstrous malefactor. Pr'ythee, friend,
Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear,

The good and bad together. He's friends with Cæfar,
In ftate of health, thou sayst; and thou fay'ft free.
MES. Free, madam! no: I made no fuch report.
He's bound unto Octavia.

CLEO. For what good turn?

MES. For the beft turn i' th' bed.

CLEO. I am pale, Charmian.

MES. Madam, he's married to Octavia.

CLEO. The most infectious peftilence upon thee!

MES. Good madam, patience.

CLEO. What fay you?

[Strikes him down.

[Strikes him.

Hence, horrible villain, or I'll spurn thine eyes
Like balls before me; I'll unhair thy head;

[She hales him up and down. Thou shalt be whipt with wire, and stew'd in brine, Smarting in lingring pickle.

MES. Gracious madam,

I, that do bring the news, made not the match.
CLEO. Say, 'tis not fo, a province I will give thee,
And make thy fortunes proud; the blow, thou hadft,
Shall make thy peace, for moving me to rage,

And I will boot thee with what gift befide

Thy modefty can beg.

MES. He's married, madam.

CLEO. Rogue, thou haft liv'd too long.

[Draws a kare,

MES. Nay, then I'll run :

What mean you, madam? I have made no fault.

[Exit.

CHAR. Good madam, keep yourself within yourself,
The man is innocent.

CLEO. Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt-
Melt Egypt into Nile; and kindly creatures
Turn all to ferpents! call the flave again,
Though I am mad, I will not bite him. Call.
CHAR. He is afraid to come.

CLRO. I will not hurt him.

Thefe hands do lack nobility, that they strike
A meaner than myself, fince I myself
Have given myfelf the caufe. Come hither, fir.
Re-enter the messenger.

Though it be honest,

it is never good

To bring bad news.

Give to a gracious meffage

An hoft of tongues, but let ill tidings tell

Themselves, when they be felt.

MES. I have done my duty.

CLEO. Is he married?

I cannot hate thee worfer than I do,

If you again fay, Yes.

MES. He's married, madam.

[Atill?

CLEO. The Gods confound thee! doft thou hold there

MES. Should I lye, madam?

CLEO. Oh, I would, thou didft;

So half my Egypt were fubmerg'd, and made

A ciftern for scal'd fnakes! go, get thee hence,
Hadft thou Narciffus in thy face, to me

:

Thou would'ft appear moft ugly he is married?-
MRS. I crave your highnefs' pardon,
CLEO. He is married?.

MES. Take no offence, that I would not offend you; To punish me for what you make me do,

Seems much unequal. He's married to Octavia.

CLEO. Oh, that his fault should make a knave of thee, That art not what thou'rt sure of!-Get thee hence, The merchandises, thou haft brought from Rome, Are all too dear for me:

Lie they upon thy hand, and be undone by 'em!

CHAR. Good your highnefs, patience.

[Exit meffenger.

CLEO. In praifing Antony, I have difprais'd Cæfar.
CHAR. Many times, madam.

CLEO. I am paid for it now: lead me from hence,
I faint; oh Iras, Charmian-'tis no matter.-

Go to the fellow, good Alexas, bid him
Report the feature of Octavia, her years,
Her inclination; let him not leave out

The colour of her hair. Bring me word quickly-
Let him for ever go-let him not-Charmian-
Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon,
Th' other way's a Mars-bid you Alexas

Bring word, how tall fhe is. Pity me, Charmian,

But speak not to me. Lead me to my chamber: [Exeunt.

SCENE VI. Changes to the coaft of Italy, near Mifenum.

Enter Pompey and Menas, at one door, with drum and trumpet: At another, Cæfar, Lepidus, Antony, Eno barbus, Mecænas, Agrippa, with foldiers marching.

POMP. Your hoftages I have, fo have you mine; And we fhall talk before we fight.

CES. Moft meet,

That first we come to words; and therefore have we
Our written purposes before us fent;

Which if thou haft confider'd let us know
If 'twill tie up thy difcontented fword,
And carry back to Sicily much tall youth,
That else much perish here.

POMP. To you all three,

The fenators alone of this great world,
Chief factors for the Gods.I do not know,
Wherefore father fhould revengers want,

my

Having a fon and friends: fince Julius Cæfar,
Who at Phillippi the good Brutus ghosted,
There faw you labouring for him. What was it,
That mov'd pale Caffius to conspire ? and what
Made thee, all honour'd, honest Roman, Brutus,
With the arm'd reft, courtiers of beauteous freedom,
To drench the capitol, but that they would
Have one man, but a man? and that is it,
Hath made me rig my navy: At whose burden
The anger'd ocean foams, with which I meant
To fcourge th' ingratitude that defpightful Rome
Caft on my noble father.

CES. Take your time.

ANT. Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy fails ; We'll speak with thee at sea. At land, thou know'ft, How much we do o'er count thee.

POMP. At land, indeed,

Thou doft o'er-count me of my father's house,

But fince the cuckow builds not for himself,

Remain in't, as thou mayft.

LEP. Be pleas'd to tell us,