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 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:* 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 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 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 brings forth a new petticoat :-and indeed, the tears live in an onion, that should water this sorrow. Ant. The business she hath broach'd 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 purpose. I shall break
The cause of our expedience † to the queen,
And get her love 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 Cæsar, and commands
+ Expedition.

*Fer much less matter.

#Love's leave.)

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.

Eno. I shall do't.

SCENE III.

[Exeunt.

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.

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 forbear;

In time we hate that which we often fear.

But here comes Antony.

Enter 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.

* It was once thought that the hair of a horse, dropped into corrupt

water, became an animal.

† I. e. seem as though I did not send you

Ant. Cleopatra,—

Cleo. Why should I think, you can be mine, and true, Though you in swearing shake the thronged gods, Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness, 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,
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;

Bliss in our brows' bent; * none our parts so poor,
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!

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 of Rome:

Equality of two domestic 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 thrived

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 awaked: at the last, best:
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 received shall be.
Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepared 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;

† Flavour.

* Arch.
Render it not dangerous.

+ Gate.

Commotion.

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: * 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;

But this is not the best: look pr'ythee, 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 loved,-but there's not it;
That you know well: something it is I would,-
O, my oblivion 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,

To bear such idleness so near the heart

As Cleopatra this. But, Sir, forgive me;

Since my becomings kill me, when they do no
Eye well to you: Your honour calls you hence
Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly,

And all the gods go with you! upon your sword
Sit laurel'd victory! and smooth success

Be strew'd before your feet!

Ant. Let us go. Come;

Our separation so abides, and flies,

That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me,

And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee.

Away.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-Rome. An Apartment in CÆSAR's House.

Enter OCTAVIUS CÆSAR, LEPIDUS, and Attendants.

Cæs. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know,

It is not Cæsar's natural vice to hate

One great competitor: § from Alexandria

This is the news; He fishes, drinks, and wastes

The lamps of night in revel: is not more manlike
Than Cleopatra: nor the queen Ptolemy

More womanly than he hardly gave audience, or

Vouchsafed to think he had partners: You shall find there

A man who is the abstract of all faults

That all men follow.

Lep. I must not think, there are

Evils enough to darken all his goodness:

His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven,
More fiery by night's blackness; hereditary,

Rather than purchased;* what he cannot change,
Than what he chooses.

Cas. You are too indulgent: let us grant, it is not
Amiss to tumble on 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 that smell of sweat: 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 for't: but, to confound 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.

Enter a MESSENGER.

Lep. Here's more news.

Mess. Thy biddings have been done; and every hour, Most noble Cæsar, shalt thou have report

How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea;

And it appears, he is beloved of those

That only have fear'd Cæsar: to the ports
The discontents § 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 loved, till ne'er worth love,

Comes dear'd, || by being lack'd. This common body,

Like a vagabond flag upon the stream,

Goes to, and back, lackeying the varying tide, T

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

* Acquired.
Discontented.

+ Levity.
Endeared.

Following like a servant.

Consume.

** Plough.