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Ant. You have been a boggler ever. But when we in our viciousness grow hard, (Oh misery on't!) the wise Gods seal our eyes In our own filth, drop our clear judgments, make us Adore our errors, laugh at's while we ftrue To our confusion.
Cleo. Oh, is't come to this?
Ant. I found you as a morsel, cold upon
Cleo. Wherefore is this?
Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards,
Re-enter a Servant, with Thyrcus.
Ant. If that thy Father live, let him repent
Not what he knew I was. . He makes me angry;
[Exit Thyreus. Cleo. Have you done yet?
Ant. Alack, our terrene Moon is now eclips’d,
Cleo. I must stay his time.
Cleo. Not know me yet?
Cleo. Ah, dear, if I be so,
brave Égyptians all, (42) By the discandying of this pelletted storm,
Lie (42) By the discattering of this pelletted Storm,] This Reading we owe first, I presume, to Mr. Rowe: and Mr. Pope has very faithfully fall’n into it. The old Folio's read, discandering : from which Corruption both Dr. Thirlby and I saw, we must retrieve the Word with which I. have reform'd the Text. Cleopatra's Wish is this; that the Gods would ingender Hail and poyson-it'; and that as it fell upon her and her Subjects, and melted, their Lives might determine, as That diffolv'd and discandied : the congealing of the Water into Hail he metaphorically calls candying ; and it is an Image he is fond of, in several other Panages. So, in the next Act of this very Play ;
to whom I gave
Lie graveless; 'till the flies and gnats of Nile
Ant. I'm satisfied:
Cleo. That's my brave Lord.
Ant. I will be treble-finew'd, hearted, breath'd,
my sad Captains, fill our bowls; once more Let's mock the midnight bell.
Cleo. It is my birth-day;
Ant. We will yet do well.
[Exeunt. will the cold Brook, Candied with Ice, cawdle thy Morning Taste To cure eby o'er-night's Surfeit?
Timon of Athens. No, let the candied Tongue lick absurd Pomp;
Hamlet. Why, wbat a deal of candied Courtefie This fawning Greyhound then did proffer me !
1 Henry IV.
Eno. Now he'll out-ffare the lightning; to be fu
Is to be frighted out of fear; and, in that mood,
ACT T IV.
Ś CENÉ, Cæsar's Camp.
Enter Cæsar, Agrippa, and Mecænas, with their Army.
Cæsar reading a Letter.
CA S A R.
Mec. Cæfar must think,
Cæf. (43) Let our best heads
QE (43) Let our beft Heads know,
That to morrow the last of Battles
Of those that serv'd Mark Antony but late,
See, it be done;
[Exeunt. SCENE, the Palace in Alexandria.
Enter Antony and Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian,
Iras, Alexas, with others.
E will not fight with me, Domitius.
Ant. To morrow, Soldier,
Eno. I'll ftrike, and cry, “ take all.
Ant. Well said, come on:
Cleo. What means this?
Eno. 'Tis one of those odd tricks, which Sorrow shoots Out of the mind.
Ant. And thou art honest too: I wish, I could be made so many men; of his own Civilities here, and say, the intermediate Line is in his Ear a Verse. But I have a better Opinion of his Ear than I have of his Industry, one of the Qualifications necessary to a good Editor. A small Observation of the Measure, mix'd with a little Diligence in collating, might have taught him to regulate the Lines; and to have avoided this hobbling, inharmonious, Montier of a Verse.