Imatges de pàgina

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
Dead Cefar's trencher : nay, you were a fragment
Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter hours,
Unregistred in vulgar fame, you have
Luxuriously pickț out. For I am sure,
Though you can guess what temperance should bey
You know not what it is.

Cleo. Wherefore is this?

Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards,
And say, God quit you, be familiar with
My play-fellow, your hand; this kingly seal,
And plighter of high hearts ! O that I were
Upon the hill of Bafan, to out-roar
The horned herd, for I have favage cause !
And to proclaim it civilly, were like
A halter'd neck, which does the hangman thank
For being yare about him. Is he whipp’d?

Re-enter a Servant, with Thyrcus.
Ser. Soundly, my Lord. .
Ant. Cry'd he? and begg'd a' pardon?
Serv. He did ask favour.

Ant. If that thy Father live, let him repent
Thou waft not made his Daughter; and be thou sorry
To follow Cæfar in his Triumph, since
Thou haft been whipp'd for following him. Hences

The white hand of a Lady feaver thee,
Shake to look on't.-Go get thee back to Cæfar,
Tell him thy entertainment: look, thou say,
He makes me angry with him: For he seems
Proud and disdainful, harping on what I amg


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Not what he knew I was. . He makes me angry;
And; at this time, most easie 'tis to do’t:
When my good stars, that were my former guides,
Have empty left their Orbs, and shot their fires
Into the abysm of hell. If he mislike
My speech, and what is done, tell him, he has
Hipparchus my enfranchis'd bondman, whom
He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture,
As he shall like, to quit me. Urge it thou:
Hence with thy stripes, be gone.

[Exit Thyreus. Cleo. Have you done yet?

Ant. Alack, our terrene Moon is now eclips’d,
And it portends alone the Fall of Antony.

Cleo. I must stay his time.
Ant. To flatter Cesar, would you mingle eyes
With one that týes his points ?

Cleo. Not know me yet?
Ant. Cold-hearted toward me!

Cleo. Ah, dear, if I be so,
From my cold heart let heaven ingender hail,
And poison't in the source, and the first stone
Drop in my neck; as it determinés, so
Diffolve my life! the next Cefario smite! .
"Till by degrees the memory of my womb, !
Together with


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 ;

The Hearts,

to whom I gave
Their Wishes, do difcandy, melt their Sweets
On blossoming Cæfar.
Ten Consciences, that stand'twirt me and Milan,
Candied They, and melt ere they moleft.




Lie graveless; 'till the flies and gnats of Nile
Have buried them for prey!

Ant. I'm satisfied:
Cæsar sers down in Alexandria, where
I will oppose his fate. Our force by land
Hath nobly held; our fever'd navy too
Have knit again, and float, threatning most sea-like.
Where hast thou been, my heart? dost thou heary Lady?
If from the field I should return once more
To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood;
I and my sword will earn my chronicle ;
There's hope in't yet.

Cleo. That's my brave Lord.

Ant. I will be treble-finew'd, hearted, breath'd,
And fight maliciously : for when mine hours
Were nice and lucky, men did ransome lives
Of me for jefts; but now I'll set my teeth,
And send to darkness all that stop me. Come,
Let's have one other gaudy night: call to me

my sad Captains, fill our bowls; once more Let's mock the midnight bell.

Cleo. It is my birth-day;
I had thought, t'have held it poor: But since my Lord
Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.

Ant. We will yet do well.
Cleo. Call all his noble Captains to my Lord.
Ant. Do fo, we'll speak to them, and to night I'll

The wine peep through their scars. Come on, my
There's Tap in't yet. The next time I do fight,
I'll make Death love, me: for I will contend
Even with his peftilent scythe.

[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,
The dove will peck the estridge; and I see ftill,
A diminution in our Captain's brain
Restores his heart; when valour preys on reason,
It eats the sword it fights with : I will seek
Some way to leave him.



Ś CENÉ, Cæsar's Camp.

Enter Cæsar, Agrippa, and Mecænas, with their Army.

Cæsar reading a Letter.

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E calls me boy, and chides as he had power
To beat me out of Ægypt. My messenger
He hath whipt with rods, dares me to perso

nal Combat,
Çæfar to Antony. Let the old ruffian know,
I have many other ways to die; mean time,
Laugh at his challenge.

Mec. Cæfar must think,
When One so Great begins to rage, he's hunted
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now
Make Boot of his Distraction: never anger
Made good guard for it felf.

Cæf. (43) Let our best heads
Know that to morrow the last of maný battels
We mean to fight. Within our files there are

QE (43) Let our beft Heads know,

That to morrow the last of Battles
é mean to fight.) I might very reasonably return Mr. Pope one




Of those that serv'd Mark Antony but late,
Enough to fetch him in.

See, it be done;
And feast the army; we have store to do't,
And they have earn’d the wafte. Poor' Antony !

[Exeunt. SCENE, the Palace in Alexandria.

Enter Antony and Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian,

Iras, Alexas, with others.
Ant. ,

E will not fight with me, Domitius.

Eno. No.
Ant. Why should he not?
Eno. He thinks, being twenty times of better fortuneg
He's twenty men to one.

Ant. To morrow, Soldier,
By sea and land I'll fight: or I will live,
Or bathe my dying honour in the blood
Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well?

Eno. I'll ftrike, and cry, “ take all.

Ant. Well said, come on:
Call forth my houfhold servants, let's to night

Enter Servants.
Be bounteous at our meal. Give me thy hand,
Thou hast been rightly honest; so haft thou,
And thou, and thou, and thou: you've sery'd me well,
And Kings have been your fellows.

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.


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