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Ant. Now, my dearest Queen,
Cleo. Pray you, fand farther from me.
Ant. What's the matter?

Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's some good
What says the marry'd 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 pow'r upon you: hers you are.

Ant. The Gods hest 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, Though you with swearing shake the throned Gods, Who have been false to Fulvia? riotous madness, To be entangled with these mouth-made vows, Which break themselves in swearing!

Ant. Most sweet Queen,

Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going, But bid farewel, and go: when you sued ftaying, Then was the time for words; no going, then ; Eternity was in our lips and eyes, Bliss in our brows' bent, none our parts fo poor, But was a-race of heav'n. 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 should't know, There were a heart in Ægypt.

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 domestick pow'rs Breeds scrupulous faction; the hated, grown to strength,

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Are newly grown to love : the condemnd Pompey,
Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace
Into the hearts of such as have not thriv'n
Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten;
And quietness, grown fick of reft, would purge
By any defperate change. My more particular, (4)
And that which most with you should salve 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 garboyls she awak'd; at the last, beft.
See, when, and where she died.

Cleo. O most false love!
Where be the sacred vials thou shouldīt fill
With forrowful water? now I see, I fee,
In Fulvia's death, how mine shall be receiv'd.

Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know
The purposes I bear; which are, or cease,
As you mall give th' advices. By the fire,

(4) My more particular,

And that which most with you should save my Going,

Is Fulvia's Deaib.] Thus all the more modern Editions: the first and second Folio's read, safe : All corruptedly. Antony is giving several Reasons 'to Cleopatra, which make his Departure from Ægypt absolutely necefsary; most of them, Realons of State; but the Death of Fulvia, his Wife, was a particular and private Call, which demanded his Presence in Italy. But the printed Copies would rather make us believe, that Fulvia's Death should prevent, or save him the Trouble of going. The Text, in this respect, I dare engage, runs counter to its Master's Meaning. Cleopatra is jealous of Antony's Absence and suspicious that he is seeking Colours for his Going. Antony replies to her Doubts, with the Reasons that obliged him to be absent for a Time; and tells her, that, as his Wife Fulvia is dead, and so she has no Rival to be jealous of, that Circumstance should be his best Plea and Excuse, and have the greatest Weight with her for his going. Who does not fee now, that it ought to be read as I have reform'd the Text?

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That quickens Nilus' flime, I go from hence
Thy foldier, servant, making peace or war,
As thou affect'ft.

Cleo. Cut my lace, Charmian, come;
But let it be, I'm 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 afide, and weep for her;
Then bid adieu to me and say, the tears
Belong to Ægypt. Good now play one scene
Of excellent diffembling, 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’ythoe, 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 :
Oh, 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 idleners itself.

Cleo. 'Tis sweating labour,
To bear such idleness 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! On your

sword Sit lawrell’d victory, and smooth success Vol. VII.

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Be strew'd before

your

feet!
Ant. Let us go; come,
Our separation fo abides and flies,
That thou, residing here, goeft yet with me,
And I, hence feeting, here remain with thee.
Away.

[Exeunt. SCENE changes to Cæsar's Palace in Rome. Enter Octavius Cæsar reading a letter, Lepidus, and

attendants.
OU ,'

It is
One great competitor. From Alexandria
This is the news; he fishes, drinks, and wastes
The lamps of night in revel; is not more manly
Than Cleopatra; nor the Queen of Ptolemy
More womanly than he. Hardly gave audience,
Or did

uchsafe to think that he had partners. You shall there find a man, who is the abstract Of all faults all men follow.

Lep. I must not think,
They're evils enough to darken all his goodness ;
His faults in him feem (as the spots of heav'n,
More fiery by night's blackness ;) hereditary,
Rather than purchas'd; what he cannot change,
Than what he chuses.

Cæs. You're too indulgent. Let us grant, it is not
Amils to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy,
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 stand the buffet
With knaves that smell of sweat; say, this becomes him;
(As his composure muft be rare, indeed,
Whom these things cannot blemish ;) yet muft Antony
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 surfeits, and the dryness of his bones,
Call on him for't. But to confound such time,

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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 Mesenger.
Lep. Here's more news.

Mef. Thy biddings have been done; and every hour, Most noble Casar, shalt thou have report How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea, And, it appears, he is belov'd of those That only have fear'd Cæfar: to the ports The discontents repair, and mens reports Give him much wrong'd.

Caf. I should have known no less; It hath been taught us from the primal state, (5) That he, which is, was wish'd, until he were: And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd till ne'er worth love, Comes dear’d, by being lack'd. This common body, Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, Goes to, and back, lacquying the varying tide, (6) To rot itself with motion.

Mef. (5) It hath been taught us from the primal State,

That be, wbich is, was wish'd until be were:
And tbe ebb's Man, ne'er lov'd till ne'er worth Love,

Comes fear'd, by being lack'd.] Let us examine the Sense of this in plain Prose. " The earliest « Histories inform us, that the Man in fupreme Command was " always wished to gain that Command, till he had obtained it. “ And he, whom the multitude has contentedly seen in a low. Con“ dition, when he begins to be wanted by them, becomes to be « fear'd by them". But do the Multitude fear a Man, because they want him? Certainly, we must read;

Comes dear’d, by beirg lack’d. i. e. endeared, a Favourite to them. Besides, the Context requires this Reading; for it was not Fear, but Love, that made the People flock to Young Pompey, and that he occasioned this Reflection.

Mr. Warburton. (6) Goes to, and back, lafhing the warying Tide, To rot itself with Motion, E 2

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