Imatges de pàgina

From Syria to Lydia, and Ionia;

Ant. Antony, thou wouldst fay Mes. Oh, my Lord ! · Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the gen’ral

Name Cleopatra as she's call'd in Rome.
Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase, and taunț my faults
With such full licence, as both truth and malice
Have power to utter. Oh, then we bring forth weeds,
When our quick winds lye still; and our ill, told us,
Is as our earing; fare thee well a while.

Mes. At your noble pleasure.
Ant. From Sicyon, how the news ? speak there.
Mef. The Man from Sicyon, is there such an ohe ?

[Exit first Meffenget. Attend. He stays upon your will.

Ant. Let him appear;
These strong Ægyptian fetters I must break,
Or lose my self in dotage. What are you?

Enter another Messenger, with a Letter.
2 Mes. Fulvia thy Wife is dead.
Ant. Where died she?

2 Mes. In Sicyon.
Her length of fickness, with what else more serious
Importeth thee to know, this bears.
Ant. Forbear me.

[Exit fecond Mesenger, There's a great spirit gone! thus did I defire it. (7) What our Contempts do often hurl from us, We wish it ours again; the present pleasure, By revolution lowring, does become The opposite of it self; she's good, being gone ; The hand could pluck her back, that shovd her on.

(7) What our Contempts do often hurl from us,

We wish it ours again ;] If This be not Imitation, it is certainly such a Resemblance of Horace, as would be determind Imitation from a Pen of known and acknowledg'd Learning.

Virtutem incolumem odimus,
Sublatam ex oculis quærimus invidi.

Lib. III. Ode 24:

: 24

I muft from this enchanting Queen break off.
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,
My idleness doth ḥatch. How now, Enobarbus?

Enter Enobarbus.
Eno. What's your pleasure, Sir?
Ant. I must with hafte from hence.

Eno. Why, then we kill all our Women. We see, how mortal an unkindnefs is to them ; if they suffer our departure, Death's the word.

Anti 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 fhould be efteem'd nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the leaft noise of this, dies instantly; 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 harh fuch a celerity in dying.

Ant. She is cunning past man's thought.

Eno. Alack, Sir, no ; her paffions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love. We cannot call her winds and waters, fighs and tears: they are greater storms and tempests than almanacks can report. This cannot be cunning in her: if it be, she makes a show'r of rain as well as yove.

Ant. Would I had never seen her!

Eno. Oh, Sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work, which, not to have been blest withal, would have difcredited your travel.

Ant. Fulvia is dead.
Eno. Sir!
Ant. Fulvia is dead.
Eng. Fulvia ?
Ant. Dead.

Eno. Why, Sir, give the Gods a thankful facrifice : when it pleaseth their Deities to take the wife of a man from him, it fhews to man the tailor 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 were 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 broached in the State, Cannot endure my absence.

Eno. And the business, you have broach'd here, cannot be without you ; especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly depends on your aboad.

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 leave to part. For not alone The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, Do strongly speak t’uş; but the letters too Of many our contriving friends in Rome Petition us at home. Sextus Pompeius Hath giv’n the Dare to Cæfar, and commands The Empire of the Sea. Qur slipp’ry 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 pow'r, Higher than both in blood and life, stands up For the main Soldier ; whose quality going on, The sides o'th' world may danger. Much is breeding; (8) Which, like the Courser's hair, hạth yet but life,

And (8) Which, like the Cour,er's hair, &c.] This alludes to an old Opinion, which obtain'd among the Vulgar, but which was too absurd to have the Sanction either of PhiloSophers or Natural Historians, that the Hair of a Horse in corrupted Water would take Life, and become an Animal. Perhaps, I may have met with our" Author's Oracle for this absurd Opinion. Holingshead, in his Description of England, Vol. I. p. 224, has this Remark. " I might finally tell you how that in fenny Rivers Sides if you cut a Turf, and lay it with the Gräfs down

upon the Earth, in such sort as the Water may touch it as it pasieth by, you shall have à Brood of Eels; it would seem a Won! der, and yet it is believ'd with no less Affurance of some, than That

an Horse-hair, laid in a Pail full of the like Water, will in a short « time fir and become a living Creature. But sith the Certainty of

thele Things is rather prov'd by Few, thin the Certainty of them

*** wards

• known

And not a serpent's poison. Say our pleasure,
To such whole place is under us, requires
Our quick remove from hence.
Eno. I'll do't.

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Alexas, and Iras.
Cleo. Where is he?
Char. I did not see him since.
Cleo. See, where he is, who's with him, what he

I did not send you: If you find him sad,

Say, I am dancing : if in mirth, report,
That I am sudden fick. Quick, and return.

Ghar. 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 no-

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.

Enter Antony
But here comes Antony.

Cleo. I'm 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

[Seeming to faint. Will not sustain it.

Ant. Now, my dearest Queen,-
Cleo. Pray you, stand farther from me.
Ant. What's the matter?
Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's some good

news. What says the marry'd Woman? you may go; “ known to many, I let it pass at this Time.” Shakespeare, as a Poet, had nothing to do with the Truth of the Experiment, To he could furnish out a fine Simily from the receiv'd Tradicion.



'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 best know,

Cleo. Oh, 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

Though you. with swearing shake the throned Gods,
Who have been false to Fulvis ? 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, Blifs in our brows bent, none our parts so poor, But was a race of heav'n. They are so ftill, 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'st know, There were a heart in Ægypt.

Ant. Hear me, Queen;
The Atrong 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 domestick Pow'rs
Breeds scrupulous faction; the hated, grown to

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 thriy'n
Upon the present State, whose numbers threaten;
And Quietaess, grown fick of Rest, would purge


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