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 beft.
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, fomething it is I would:
Oh, my oblivion is a very Antony,
And I am all forgotten.
Ant. But that your Royalty
Holds Idlenefs your fubject, I fhould take you
For Idleness it felf.
Cleo. 'Tis fweating labour,
To bear fuch Idlenefs fo near the Heart
As Cleopatra this. But, Sir, forgive me,
Since my becomings kill me, when they do not
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 lawrell'd Victory, and smooth Succefs
Be ftrew'd before your Feet.
Come: Our feparation fo abides and flies,
That thou refiding here, goeft yet with me,
And I hence fleeting, here remain with thee.
Enter Octavius Cæfar reading a Letter, Lepidus, and
Caf. You may fee, Lepidus, and henceforth know,
It is not Cafar's natural Voice, to hate
One great Competitor. From Alexandria
This is the News; he fishes, drinks, and wastes
The Lamps of Night in revels; Is not more Manlike
VOL. VI.
Than Cleopatra; nor the Queen of Ptolemy
More Womanly than he. Hardly gave Audience,
Or did vouchfafe to think he had Partners. You
Shall find there a Man, who is th'abstract of all faults;
That all Men follow.
There are Evils enough to darken all his Goodness;
His Faults in him, feem as the fpots of Heav'n,
More fiery by Night's blackness; Hereditary,
Rather than purchaft; what he cannot change,
Than what he chufes.
Caf. You are too indulgent. Let's grant it is
Amifs to tumble on the Bed of Ptolomy,
To give a Kingdom for a Mirth, to fit
And keep the turn of Tipling with a Slave,
To reel the Streets at Noon, and ftand the Buffet
With Knaves that smell of fweat; fay this becomes him;
As his compofure must be rare indeed,
Whom these things cannot blemish, yet muft Antany
No way excuse his Foils, when we do bear
So great weight in his Lightness. If he fill'd
His vacancy with his. Voluptuousness;
Full furfeits, and the drinefs of his Bones,
Call on him for't. But to confound fuch time,
That drums him from his fport, 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 prefent Pleasure,
And fo rebel to Judgment.
Mef. Thy biddings have been done, and every hour, Moft noble Cafar, fhalt thou have report
How 'tis abroad. Pompey is ftrong at Sea,
And it appears, he is belov'd of those
That only have fear'd Cafar: to the Ports
The Discontents repair, and Mens reports
Give him much wrong'd.
Caf. I fhould have known no less,
It hath been taught us from the primal State,
That he which is, was with'd, until he were:
And the ebb'd Man, ne'er lov'd 'till ne'er worth love,
Comes fear'd, by being lack'd. This common Body
Like to a Vagabond Flag upon the Stream,
Goes to, and back, lacking the varying Tide
To rot it felf with motion.
Mef. Cafar, I bring thee word,
Menecrates and Menas, famous Pirates,
Make the Sea ferve them, which they ear and wound
With Keels of every kind. Many hot inrodes
They make in Italy, the borders Maritime
Lack Blood to think on't, and flesh youth to revolt,
No Veffel can peep forth, but 'tis as foon
Taken as feen: For Pompey's Name strikes more
Than could his War refifted.
Leave thy lafcivious Vaffals. When thou once
Wert beaten from Mutina, where thou flew❜ft
Hirtius and Panfa Confuls, at thy heel
Did famine follow, whom thou fought'ft against,
Though daintily brought up, with patience more
Than Savages could fuffer. Thou didst drink
The ftale of Horfes, and the gilded Puddle
Which Beafts would cough at. Thy Pallat then did dain
The roughest Berry on the rudeft Hedge.
Yea, like the Stag, when Snow the Pafture sheets,
The Barks of Trees thou browfed'ft. On the Alps,
It is reported thou didst eat ftrange Flefh,
Which fome did die to look on; and all this,
It wounds thine honour that I fpeak it now,
Was born fo like a Soldier, that thy cheek
So much as lank'd not.
Lep. 'Tis pity of him.
Caf. Let his fhames quickly
Drive him to Rome, 'tis time we twain
Did fhew our felves i'th' Field, and to that end
Affemble we immediate Council; Pompey
Thrives in our Idlenefs.
Lep. To morrow, Cafar,
I fhall be furnish'd to inform you rightly,
Both what, by Sea and Land, I can be able,
To front this present time.
Caf. 'Till which encounter, it is my Bufinefs too. Farewel Lep. Farewel my Lord, what you shall know mean time Of ftirs abroad, I fhall befeech you, Sir,
Caf. Doubt not, Sir, I knew it for my Bond. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. Alexandria.
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian. Cleo. Charmian.
Cleo. Ha, ha-give me to drink Mandragoras.
Char. Why, Madam?
Cleo. That I might fleep out this great gap
My Antony is away.
Char. You think of him too much.
Cleo. O'tis Treason.
Char. Madam, I trust not fo.
Cleo. Thou, Eunuch, Mardian?
Mar. What's your Highness pleasure?
Cleo. Not now to hear thee fing. I take no pleasure
In ought an Eunuch has; 'tis well for thee,
That being unfeminaried, thy freer Thoughts
May not fly forth of Egypt. Haft thou Affections?
Mar. Yes, gracious Madam.
Mar. Not in deed, Madam, for I can do nothing But what indeed is honeft to be done:
Yet have I fierce Affections, and think
What Venus did with Mars.
Cleo. Oh Charmian!
Where think'ft thou he is now? Stands he, or fits he?
Or does he walk? Or is he on his Horse?
Oh happy Horse to bear the weight of Antony!
Do bravely, Horfe, for wot'ft thou whom thou mov'ft
The demy Atlas of this Earth, the Arm
And Burgonet of Man. He's fpeaking now.
Or murmuring, where's my Serpent of old Nile,
For fo he calls me; now I feed my self
With most delicious Poifon. Think on me
That am with Phoebus amorous pinches black,
And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Cafar,
When thou waft here above the Ground, I was
A morfel of a Monarch; and great Pompey
Would stand and make his Eyes grow in my Brow,
There would he anchor his Afpect, and die
With looking on his Life.
Alex. Soveraign of Ægypt, hail.
Cleo. How much art thou unlike Mark Antony? |
Yet coming from him, that great Med'cine hath
With his Tin&t gilded thee.
How goes it with my brave Mark Antony?
Alex. Laft thing he did, dear Queen,
He kift the last of many doubled kiffes,
This orient Pearl. His Speech fticks in my Heart.
Cleo. Mine Ear must pluck it thence.
Alex. Good Friend, quoth he,
Say the firm Roman to great Ægypt fends
This treasure of an Oyfter; at whofe foot,
To mend the petty prefent, I will piece
Her opulent Throne, with Kingdoms. All the Eaft,
Say thou, fhall call her Miftrefs. So he nodded,
And foberly did mount an Arm-gaunt Steed,
Who neigh'd fo high, that what I would have spoke,
Was beaftly dumb by him.
Cleo. What, was he fad or merry?
Alex. Like to the time o'th' Year, between the extreams Of hot and cold, he was not fad nor merry.
Cleo. Oh well divided difpofition; note him,
Note him good Charmian, 'tis the Man; but note him,
He was not fad, for he would fhine on those
That make their looks by his. He was not merry,
Which feem'd to tell them, his remembrance lay
In Egypt with his joy; but between both.
Oh heav'nly mingle! Be'ft thou fad, or merry,
The violence of either thee becomes,
So do's it no Man elfe. Met'ft thou my Pofts?
Alex. Ay, Madam, twenty feveral Messengers,
Why do you fend fo thick?
Cleo. Who's born that day,
When I forget to fend to Antony,
|