And that which most with you should safe 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:

Cleo.

Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure read 60
The garboils she awaked: at the last, best;

See when and where she died.

O most false love!
Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill
With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see,
In Fulvia's death, how mine received shall be.
Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know
The purposes I bear, which are, or cease,
As you shall give the advice. By the fire
That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence
Thy soldier, servant, making peace or war
As thou affect'st.

Cleo.
Cut my lace, Charmian, come;
But let it be: I am quickly ill and well,
So Antony loves.

Ant.

Cleo.

Ant.

My precious queen, forbear;
And give true evidence to his love, which stands
An honourable trial.

So Fulvia told me.

I prithee, turn aside and weep for her;
Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears
Belong to Egypt: good now, play one scene
Of excellent dissembling, and let it look
Like perfect honour.

You'll heat my blood: no more.
Cleo. You can do better yet; but this is meetly.

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80

Ant. Now, by my sword,

Cleo.

And target. Still he mends; But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Charmian, How this Herculean Roman does become

The carriage of his chafe.

Ant. I'll leave you, lady.

Cleo.

Ant.

Cleo.

Courteous lord, one word.

Sir, you and I must part, but that's not it:
Sir, you and I have loved, but there's not it:
That you know well: something it is I would,-
O, my oblivion is a very Antony,

And I am all forgotten.

But that your royalty

Holds idleness your subject, I should take you
For idleness itself.

'Tis sweating labour

To bear such idleness so near the heart

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As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me,

Ant.

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 laurel victory! and smooth success

Be strew'd before your feet!

Let us go. Come;
Our separation so abides and flies,
That thou residing here go'st yet with me,
And I hence fleeting here remain with thee.
Away!

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[Exeunt.

Scene IV.

Rome. Cæsar's house.

Enter Octavius Cæsar, reading a letter, Lepidus, and their train.

Cas. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know,
It is not Cæsar's natural vice to hate

Lep.

Our great competitor: from Alexandria

This is the news: he fishes, drinks and wastes
The lamps of night in revel: is not more manlike
Than Cleopatra, nor the queen of Ptolemy

More womanly than he: hardly gave audience, or
Vouchsafed to think he had partners: you shall find
there

A man who is the abstract of all faults

That all men follow.

I must not think there are

Evils enow to darken all his goodness:

His faults in him seem as the spots of heaven,
More fiery by night's blackness, hereditary
Rather than purchased, what he cannot change
Than what he chooses.

Cæs. You are too indulgent. Let us grant it is not
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy,

To give a kingdom for a mirth, to sit

And keep the turn of tippling with a slave,
To reel the streets at noon and stand the buffet

ΙΟ

20

With knaves that smell of sweat: say this becomes him,

As his composure must be rare indeed

Whom these things cannot blemish,-yet must Antony
No way excuse his soils, when we do bear

Lep.

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
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 judgement.

Enter a Messenger.

Here's more news.

Mess. Thy biddings have been done; and every hour, Most noble Cæsar, shalt thou have report

Cæs.

How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea;
And it appears he is beloved of those
That only have fear'd Cæsar: to the ports
The discontents repair, and men's reports
Give him much wrong'd.

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I should have known no less: 40
It had been taught us from the primal state,
That he which is was wish'd until he were;

And the ebb'd man, ne'er loved 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, lackeying the varying tide,

To rot itself with motion.

Mess.

Cæsar, I bring thee word,

Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates,

Make the sea serve them, which they ear and wound

With keels of every kind: many hot inroads

They make in Italy; the borders maritime

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Cæs.

Lep.

Lack blood to think on 't, and flush youth revolt:
No vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon
Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes more
Than could his war resisted.

Antony,

Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once
Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st
Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel

Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st against,
Though daintily brought up, with patience more 60
Than savages could suffer: thou didst drink
The stale of horses and the gilded puddle

Which beasts would cough at: thy palate then did
deign

The roughest berry on the rudest hedge;

Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets,
The barks of trees thou browsedst. On the Alps
It is reported thou didst eat strange flesh,
Which some did die to look on: and all this-
It wounds thine honour that I speak it now—
Was borne so like a soldier that thy cheek
So much as lank'd not.

'Tis pity of him.

Cæs. Let his shames quickly

Lep.

Cæs.

Drive him to Rome: 'tis time we twain

Did show ourselves i' the field; and to that end
Assemble we immediate council: Pompey
Thrives in our idleness.

To-morrow, Cæsar,
I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly
Both what by sea and land I can be able
To front this present time.

Till which encounter,

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