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.

Ca.
It hath been taught us from the primal state,

I should have known no less :

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'd1 by being lack'd. This

body,

Like a vagabond flag upon the stream,

common

Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide,
To rot itself with motion.

Mes.

2

Cæsar, I bring thee word,

Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates,

Make the sea serve them, which they ear3 and wound

With keels of every kind. Many hot inroads

They make in Italy; the borders maritime

Lack blood to think on 't, and flush youth revolt :
No vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon

Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes more
Than could his war resisted.

Cœ.

Antony,

Leave thy lascivious wassels.5 When thou once

1 Becomes endeared.

2 Floating backwards and forwards with the variation of the tide, like a page or lackey at his master's heels.

3 Plough.

4 Turn pale.

5 Intemperance.

Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st
Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel

Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st against,
Though daintily brought up, with patience more
Than savages could suffer. Thou didst drink
The stale of horses, and the gilded puddle

Which beasts would cough at: thy palate then did deign

The roughest berry on the rudest hedge;

Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets,
The barks of trees thou browsed'st: on the Alps,
It is reported, thou didst eat strange flesh,
Which some did die to look on: and all this
(It wounds thine honor that I speak it now)
Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek
So much as lank'd not.

Lep.

'Tis pity of him.

Ca. Let his shames quickly

Drive him to Rome. 'Tis time we twain

Did show ourselves i' the field; and, to that end,
Assemble we immediate council: Pompey
Thrives in our idleness.

Lep.

To-morrow, Cæsar,

I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly
Both what by sea and land I can be able,
To 'front this present time.

Ca.

It is my business too.

Lep. Farewell, my

meantime

Till which encounter,
Farewell.

lord: what you shall know

Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir,

Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and MARDIAN.

Cle. Charmian!

Char. Madam.

Cle. Ha, ha!

Give me to drink mandragora.2

Char.

Why, madam?

Cle. That I might sleep out this great gap of

Mar.

What's your highness' pleasure?

Cle. Not now to hear thee sing: I take no plea

sure

In aught an eunuch has. "Tis well for thee,
That, being unseminar'd, thy freer thoughts
May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections?
Mar. Yes, gracious madam.

1 My bounden duty.

2 A sleepy potion.

Cle. Indeed?

Mar. Not in deed, madam; for I can do nothing But what in deed is honest to be done :

Yet have I fierce affections, and think
What Venus did with Mars.

Cle.

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 movest?

The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm

And burgonet1 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 Cæsar,
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
There would he anchor his aspect, and die
With looking on his life.

brow:

Alex.

Enter ALEXAS.

Sovereign of Egypt, hail!

Cle. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony!

A burgonet is a kind of helmet.

Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath
With his tinct gilded thee.—

How goes it with my brave Mark Antony?

Alex. Last thing he did, dear queen,
He kiss'd, the last of many doubled kisses,-
This orient pearl: his speech sticks in my heart.
Cle. 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 an arm-gaunt steed,1

Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke Was beastly dumb'd by him.

Cle.

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.

Cle. 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,

1 A steed looking fierce in armour.