{"collection":"sks","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/sks/ff/aac.htm","path":"sks/ff/aac.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/sks/ff/aac.htm","text":"Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.\nEnter Demetrius and Philo.\nPhilo. Nay, but this dotage of our Generals\nOre-flowes the measure: those his goodly eyes\nThat o're the Files and Musters of the Warre,\nHaue glow'd like plated Mars:\nNow bend, now turne\nThe Office and Deuotion of their view\nVpon a Tawny Front. His Captaines heart,\nWhich in the scuffles of great Fights hath burst\nThe Buckles on his brest, reneages all temper,\nAnd is become the Bellowes and the Fan\nTo coole a Gypsies Lust.\nFlourish. Enter Anthony, Cleopatra, her Ladies, the Traine, with\nEunuchs\nfanning her.\nLooke where they come:\nTake but good note, and you shall see in him\n(The triple Pillar of the world) transform'd\nInto a Strumpets Foole. Behold and see\nCleo. If it be Loue indeed, tell me how much\nAnt. There's beggery in the loue that can be reckon'd\nCleo. Ile set a bourne how farre to be belou'd\nAnt. Then must thou needes finde out new Heauen,\nnew Earth.\nEnter a Messenger.\nMes. Newes (my good Lord) from Rome\nAnt. Grates me, the summe\nCleo. Nay heare them Anthony.\nFuluia perchance is angry: Or who knowes,\nIf the scarse-bearded Caesar haue not sent\nHis powrefull Mandate to you. Do this, or this;\nTake in that Kingdome, and Infranchise that:\nPerform't, or else we damne thee\nAnt. How, my Loue?\nCleo. Perchance? Nay, and most like:\nYou must not stay heere longer, your dismission\nIs come from Caesar, therefore heare it Anthony,\nWhere's Fuluias Processe? (Caesars I would say) both?\nCall in the Messengers: As I am Egypts Queene,\nThou blushest Anthony, and that blood of thine\nIs Caesars homager: else so thy cheeke payes shame,\nWhen shrill-tongu'd Fuluia scolds. The Messengers\nAnt. Let Rome in Tyber melt, and the wide Arch\nOf the raing'd Empire fall: Heere is my space,\nKingdomes are clay: Our dungie earth alike\nFeeds Beast as Man; the Noblenesse of life\nIs to do thus: when such a mutuall paire,\nAnd such a twaine can doo't, in which I binde\nOne paine of punishment, the world to weete\nWe stand vp Peerelesse\nCleo. Excellent falshood:\nWhy did he marry Fuluia, and not loue her?\nIle seeme the Foole I am not. Anthony will be himselfe\nAnt. But stirr'd by Cleopatra.\nNow for the loue of Loue, and her soft houres,\nLet's not confound the time with Conference harsh;\nThere's not a minute of our liues should stretch\nWithout some pleasure now. What sport to night?\nCleo. Heare the Ambassadors\nAnt. Fye wrangling Queene:\nWhom euery thing becomes, to chide, to laugh,\nTo weepe: who euery passion fully striues\nTo make it selfe (in Thee) faire, and admir'd.\nNo Messenger but thine, and all alone, to night\nWee'l wander through the streets, and note\nThe qualities of people. Come my Queene,\nLast night you did desire it. Speake not to vs.\nExeunt. with the Traine.\nDem. Is Caesar with Anthonius priz'd so slight?\nPhilo. Sir, sometimes when he is not Anthony,\nHe comes too short of that great Property\nWhich still should go with Anthony\nDem. I am full sorry, that hee approues the common\nLyar, who thus speakes of him at Rome; but I will hope\nof better deeds to morrow. Rest you happy.\nExeunt.\nEnter Enobarbus, Lamprius, a Southsayer, Rannius, Lucillius,\nCharmian,\nIras, Mardian the Eunuch, and Alexas.\nChar. L[ord]. Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any thing Alexas,\nalmost most absolute Alexas, where's the Soothsayer\nthat you prais'd so to'th' Queene? Oh that I knewe this\nHusband, which you say, must change his Hornes with\nGarlands\nAlex. Soothsayer\nSooth. Your will?\nChar. Is this the Man? Is't you sir that know things?\nSooth. In Natures infinite booke of Secrecie, a little I\ncan read\nAlex. Shew him your hand\nEnob. Bring in the Banket quickly: Wine enough,\nCleopatra's health to drinke\nChar. Good sir, giue me good Fortune\nSooth. I make not, but foresee\nChar. Pray then, foresee me one\nSooth. You shall be yet farre fairer then you are\nChar. He meanes in flesh\nIras. No, you shall paint when you are old\nChar. Wrinkles forbid\nAlex. Vex not his prescience, be attentiue\nChar. Hush\nSooth. You shall be more belouing, then beloued\nChar. I had rather heate my Liuer with drinking\nAlex. Nay, heare him\nChar. Good now some excellent Fortune: Let mee\nbe married to three Kings in a forenoone, and Widdow\nthem all: Let me haue a Childe at fifty, to whom Herode\nof Iewry may do Homage. Finde me to marrie me with\nOctauius Caesar, and companion me with my Mistris\nSooth. You shall out-liue the Lady whom you serue\nChar. Oh excellent, I loue long life better then Figs\nSooth. You haue seene and proued a fairer former fortune,\nthen that which is to approach\nChar. Then belike my Children shall haue no names:\nPrythee how many Boyes and Wenches must I haue\nSooth. If euery of your wishes had a wombe, & foretell\neuery wish, a Million\nChar. Out Foole, I forgiue thee for a Witch\nAlex. You thinke none but your sheets are priuie to\nyour wishes\nChar. Nay come, tell Iras hers\nAlex. Wee'l know all our Fortunes\nEnob. Mine, and most of our Fortunes to night, shall\nbe drunke to bed\nIras. There's a Palme presages Chastity, if nothing els\nChar. E'ne as the o're-flowing Nylus presageth Famine\nIras. Go you wilde Bedfellow, you cannot Soothsay\nChar. Nay, if an oyly Palme bee not a fruitfull Prognostication,\nI cannot scratch mine eare. Prythee tel her\nbut a worky day Fortune\nSooth. Your Fortunes are alike\nIras. But how, but how, giue me particulars\nSooth. I haue said\nIras. Am I not an inch of Fortune better then she?\nChar. Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better\nthen I: where would you choose it\nIras. Not in my Husbands nose\nChar. Our worser thoughts Heauens mend\nAlexas. Come, his Fortune, his Fortune. Oh let him\nmary a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis, I beseech thee,\nand let her dye too, and giue him a worse, and let worse\nfollow worse, till the worst of all follow him laughing to\nhis graue, fifty-fold a Cuckold. Good Isis heare me this\nPrayer, though thou denie me a matter of more waight:\ngood Isis I beseech thee\nIras. Amen, deere Goddesse, heare that prayer of the\npeople. For, as it is a heart-breaking to see a handsome\nman loose-Wiu'd, so it is a deadly sorrow, to beholde a\nfoule Knaue vncuckolded: Therefore deere Isis keep decorum,\nand Fortune him accordingly\nChar. Amen\nAlex. Lo now, if it lay in their hands to make mee a\nCuckold, they would make themselues Whores, but\nthey'ld doo't.\nEnter Cleopatra.\nEnob. Hush, heere comes Anthony\nChar. Not he, the Queene\nCleo. Saue you, my Lord\nEnob. No Lady\nCleo. Was he not heere?\nChar. No Madam\nCleo. He was dispos'd to mirth, but on the sodaine\nA Romane thought hath strooke him.\nEnobarbus?\nEnob. Madam\nCleo. Seeke him, and bring him hither: wher's Alexias?\nAlex. Heere at your seruice.\nMy Lord approaches.\nEnter Anthony, with a Messenger.\nCleo. We will not looke vpon him:\nGo with vs.\nExeunt.\nMessen. Fuluia thy Wife,\nFirst came into the Field\nAnt. Against my Brother Lucius?\nMessen. I: but soone that Warre had end,\nAnd the times state\nMade friends of them, ioynting their force 'gainst Caesar,\nWhose better issue in the warre from Italy,\nVpon the first encounter draue them\nAnt. Well, what worst\nMess. The Nature of bad newes infects the Teller\nAnt. When it concernes the Foole or Coward: On.\nThings that are past, are done, with me. 'Tis thus,\nWho tels me true, though in his Tale lye death,\nI heare him as he flatter'd\nMes. Labienus (this is stiffe-newes)\nHath with his Parthian Force\nExtended Asia: from Euphrates his conquering\nBanner shooke, from Syria to Lydia,\nAnd to Ionia, whil'st-\nAnt. Anthony thou would'st say\nMes. Oh my Lord\nAnt. Speake to me home,\nMince not the generall tongue, name\nCleopatra as she is call'd in Rome:\nRaile thou in Fuluia's phrase, and taunt my faults\nWith such full License, as both Truth and Malice\nHaue power to vtter. Oh then we bring forth weeds,\nWhen our quicke windes lye still, and our illes told vs\nIs as our earing: fare thee well awhile\nMes. At your Noble pleasure.\nExit Messenger\nEnter another Messenger.\nAnt. From Scicion how the newes? Speake there\n1.Mes. The man from Scicion,\nIs there such an one?\n2.Mes. He stayes vpon your will\nAnt. Let him appeare:\nThese strong Egyptian Fetters I must breake,\nOr loose my selfe in dotage.\nEnter another Messenger with a Letter.\nWhat are you?\n3.Mes. Fuluia thy wife is dead\nAnt. Where dyed she\nMes. In Scicion, her length of sicknesse,\nWith what else more serious,\nImporteth thee to know, this beares\nAntho. Forbeare me\nThere's a great Spirit gone, thus did I desire it:\nWhat our contempts doth often hurle from vs,\nWe wish it ours againe. The present pleasure,\nBy reuolution lowring, does become\nThe opposite of it selfe: she's good being gon,\nThe hand could plucke her backe, that shou'd her on.\nI must from this enchanting Queene breake off,\nTen thousand harmes, more then the illes I know\nMy idlenesse doth hatch.\nEnter Enobarbus.\nHow now Enobarbus\nEno. What's your pleasure, Sir?\nAnth. I must with haste from hence\nEno. Why then we kill all our Women. We see how\nmortall an vnkindnesse is to them, if they suffer our departure\ndeath's the word\nAnt. I must be gone\nEno. Vnder a compelling an occasion, let women die.\nIt were pitty to cast them away for nothing, though betweene\nthem and a great cause, they should be esteemed\nnothing. Cleopatra catching but the least noyse of this,\ndies instantly: I haue seene her dye twenty times vppon\nfarre poorer moment: I do think there is mettle in death,\nwhich commits some louing acte vpon her, she hath such\na celerity in dying\nAnt. She is cunning past mans thought\nEno. Alacke Sir no, her passions are made of nothing\nbut the finest part of pure Loue. We cannot cal her winds\nand waters, sighes and teares: They are greater stormes\nand Tempests then Almanackes can report. This cannot\nbe cunning in her; if it be, she makes a showre of Raine\nas well as Ioue\nAnt. Would I had neuer seene her\nEno. Oh sir, you had then left vnseene a wonderfull\npeece of worke, which not to haue beene blest withall,\nwould haue discredited your Trauaile\nAnt. Fuluia is dead\nEno. Sir\nAnt. Fuluia is dead\nEno. Fuluia?\nAnt. Dead\nEno. Why sir, giue the Gods a thankefull Sacrifice:\nwhen it pleaseth their Deities to take the wife of a man\nfrom him, it shewes to man the Tailors of the earth: comforting\ntherein, that when olde Robes are worne out,\nthere are members to make new. If there were no more\nWomen but Fuluia, then had you indeede a cut, and the\ncase to be lamented: This greefe is crown'd with Consolation,\nyour old Smocke brings foorth a new Petticoate,\nand indeed the teares liue in an Onion, that should water\nthis sorrow\nAnt. The businesse she hath broached in the State,\nCannot endure my absence\nEno. And the businesse you haue broach'd heere cannot\nbe without you, especially that of Cleopatra's, which\nwholly depends on your abode\nAnt. No more light Answeres:\nLet our Officers\nHaue notice what we purpose. I shall breake\nThe cause of our Expedience to the Queene,\nAnd get her loue to part. For not alone\nThe death of Fuluia, with more vrgent touches\nDo strongly speake to vs: but the Letters too\nOf many our contriuing Friends in Rome,\nPetition vs at home. Sextus Pompeius\nHaue giuen the dare to Caesar, and commands\nThe Empire of the Sea. Our slippery people,\nWhose Loue is neuer link'd to the deseruer,\nTill his deserts are past, begin to throw\nPompey the great, and all his Dignities\nVpon his Sonne, who high in Name and Power,\nHigher then both in Blood and Life, stands vp\nFor the maine Souldier. Whose quality going on,\nThe sides o'th' world may danger. Much is breeding,\nWhich like the Coursers heire, hath yet but life,\nAnd not a Serpents poyson. Say our pleasure,\nTo such whose places vnder vs, require\nOur quicke remoue from hence\nEnob. I shall doo't.\nEnter Cleopatra, Charmian, Alexas, and Iras.\nCleo. Where is he?\nChar. I did not see him since\nCleo. See where he is,\nWhose with him, what he does:\nI did not send you. If you finde him sad,\nSay I am dauncing: if in Myrth, report\nThat I am sodaine sicke. Quicke, and returne\nChar. Madam, me thinkes if you did loue him deerly,\nYou do not hold the method, to enforce\nThe like from him\nCleo. What should I do, I do not?\nCh. In each thing giue him way, crosse him in nothing\nCleo. Thou teachest like a foole: the way to lose him\nChar. Tempt him not so too farre. I wish forbeare,\nIn time we hate that which we often feare.\nEnter Anthony.\nBut heere comes Anthony\nCleo. I am sicke, and sullen\nAn. I am sorry to giue breathing to my purpose\nCleo. Helpe me away deere Charmian, I shall fall,\nIt cannot be thus long, the sides of Nature\nWill not sustaine it\nAnt. Now my deerest Queene\nCleo. Pray you stand farther from mee\nAnt. What's the matter?\nCleo. I know by that same eye ther's some good news.\nWhat sayes the married woman you may goe?\nWould she had neuer giuen you leaue to come.\nLet her not say 'tis I that keepe you heere,\nI haue no power vpon you: Hers you are\nAnt. The Gods best know\nCleo. Oh neuer was there Queene\nSo mightily betrayed: yet at the first\nI saw the Treasons planted\nAnt. Cleopatra\nCleo. Why should I thinke you can be mine, & true,\n(Though you in swearing shake the Throaned Gods)\nWho haue beene false to Fuluia?\nRiotous madnesse,\nTo be entangled with those mouth-made vowes,\nWhich breake themselues in swearing\nAnt. Most sweet Queene\nCleo. Nay pray you seeke no colour for your going,\nBut bid farewell, and goe:\nWhen you sued staying,\nThen was the time for words: No going then,\nEternity was in our Lippes, and Eyes,\nBlisse in our browes bent: none our parts so poore,\nBut was a race of Heauen. They are so still,\nOr thou the greatest Souldier of the world,\nArt turn'd the greatest Lyar\nAnt. How now Lady?\nCleo. I would I had thy inches, thou should'st know\nThere were a heart in Egypt\nAnt. Heare me Queene:\nThe strong necessity of Time, commands\nOur Seruices a-while: but my full heart\nRemaines in vse with you. Our Italy,\nShines o're with ciuill Swords; Sextus Pompeius\nMakes his approaches to the Port of Rome,\nEquality of two Domesticke powers,\nBreed scrupulous faction: The hated growne to strength\nAre newly growne to Loue: The condemn'd Pompey,\nRich in his Fathers Honor, creepes apace\nInto the hearts of such, as haue not thriued\nVpon the present state, whose Numbers threaten,\nAnd quietnesse growne sicke of rest, would purge\nBy any desperate change: My more particular,\nAnd that which most with you should safe my going,\nIs Fuluias death\nCleo. Though age from folly could not giue me freedom\nIt does from childishnesse. Can Fuluia dye?\nAnt. She's dead my Queene.\nLooke heere, and at thy Soueraigne leysure read\nThe Garboyles she awak'd: at the last, best,\nSee when, and where shee died\nCleo. O most false Loue!\nWhere be the Sacred Violles thou should'st fill\nWith sorrowfull water? Now I see, I see,\nIn Fuluias death, how mine receiu'd shall be\nAnt. Quarrell no more, but bee prepar'd to know\nThe purposes I beare: which are, or cease,\nAs you shall giue th' aduice. By the fire\nThat quickens Nylus slime, I go from hence\nThy Souldier, Seruant, making Peace or Warre,\nAs thou affects\nCleo. Cut my Lace, Charmian come,\nBut let it be, I am quickly ill, and well,\nSo Anthony loues\nAnt. My precious Queene forbeare,\nAnd giue true euidence to his Loue, which stands\nAn honourable Triall\nCleo. So Fuluia told me.\nI prythee turne aside, and weepe for her,\nThen bid adiew to me, and say the teares\nBelong to Egypt. Good now, play one Scene\nOf excellent dissembling, and let it looke\nLike perfect Honor\nAnt. You'l heat my blood no more?\nCleo. You can do better yet: but this is meetly\nAnt. Now by Sword\nCleo. And Target. Still he mends.\nBut this is not the best. Looke prythee Charmian,\nHow this Herculean Roman do's become\nThe carriage of his chafe\nAnt. Ile leaue you Lady\nCleo. Courteous Lord, one word:\nSir, you and I must part, but that's not it:\nSir, you and I haue lou'd, but there's not it:\nThat you know well, something it is I would:\nOh, my Obliuion is a very Anthony,\nAnd I am all forgotten\nAnt. But that your Royalty\nHolds Idlenesse your subiect, I should take you\nFor Idlenesse it selfe\nCleo. 'Tis sweating Labour,\nTo beare such Idlenesse so neere the heart\nAs Cleopatra this. But Sir, forgiue me,\nSince my becommings kill me, when they do not\nEye well to you. Your Honor calles you hence,\nTherefore be deafe to my vnpittied Folly,\nAnd all the Gods go with you. Vpon your Sword\nSit Lawrell victory, and smooth successe\nBe strew'd before your feete\nAnt. Let vs go.\nCome: Our separation so abides and flies,\nThat thou reciding heere, goes yet with mee;\nAnd I hence fleeting, heere remaine with thee.\nAway.\nExeunt.\nEnter Octauius reading a Letter, Lepidus, and their Traine.\nCaes You may see Lepidus, and henceforth know,\nIt is not Caesars Naturall vice, to hate\nOne great Competitor. From Alexandria\nThis is the newes: He fishes, drinkes, and wastes\nThe Lampes of night in reuell: Is not more manlike\nThen Cleopatra: nor the Queene of Ptolomy\nMore Womanly then he. Hardly gaue audience\nOr vouchsafe to thinke he had Partners. You\nShall finde there a man, who is th' abstracts of all faults,\nThat all men follow\nLep. I must not thinke\nThere are, euils enow to darken all his goodnesse:\nHis faults in him, seeme as the Spots of Heauen,\nMore fierie by nights Blacknesse; Hereditarie,\nRather then purchaste: what he cannot change,\nThen what he chooses\nCaes You are too indulgent. Let's graunt it is not\nAmisse to tumble on the bed of Ptolomy,\nTo giue a Kingdome for a Mirth, to sit\nAnd keepe the turne of Tipling with a Slaue,\nTo reele the streets at noone, and stand the Buffet\nWith knaues that smels of sweate: Say this becoms him\n(As his composure must be rare indeed,\nWhom these things cannot blemish) yet must Anthony\nNo way excuse his foyles, when we do beare\nSo great waight in his lightnesse. If he fill'd\nHis vacancie with his Voluptuousnesse,\nFull surfets, and the drinesse of his bones,\nCall on him for't. But to confound such time,\nThat drummes him from his sport, and speakes as lowd\nAs his owne State, and ours, 'tis to be chid:\nAs we rate Boyes, who being mature in knowledge,\nPawne their experience to their present pleasure,\nAnd so rebell to iudgement.\nEnter a Messenger.\nLep. Heere's more newes\nMes. Thy biddings haue beene done, & euerie houre\nMost Noble Caesar, shalt thou haue report\nHow 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at Sea,\nAnd it appeares, he is belou'd of those\nThat only haue feard Caesar: to the Ports\nThe discontents repaire, and mens reports\nGiue him much wrong'd\nCaes I should haue knowne no lesse,\nIt hath bin taught vs from the primall state\nThat he which is was wisht, vntill he were:\nAnd the ebb'd man,\nNe're lou'd, till ne're worth loue,\nComes fear'd, by being lack'd. This common bodie,\nLike to a Vagabond Flagge vpon the Streame,\nGoes too, and backe, lacking the varrying tyde\nTo rot it selfe with motion\nMes. Caesar I bring thee word,\nMenacrates and Menas famous Pyrates\nMakes the Sea serue them, which they eare and wound\nWith keeles of euery kinde. Many hot inrodes\nThey make in Italy, the Borders Maritime\nLacke blood to thinke on't, and flush youth reuolt,\nNo Vessell can peepe forth: but 'tis as soone\nTaken as seene: for Pompeyes name strikes more\nThen could his Warre resisted\nCaesar. Anthony,\nLeaue thy lasciuious Vassailes. When thou once\nWas beaten from Medena, where thou slew'st\nHirsius, and Pansa Consuls, at thy heele\nDid Famine follow, whom thou fought'st against,\n(Though daintily brought vp) with patience more\nThen Sauages could suffer. Thou did'st drinke\nThe stale of Horses, and the gilded Puddle\nWhich Beasts would cough at. Thy pallat the[n] did daine\nThe roughest Berry, on the rudest Hedge.\nYea, like the Stagge, when Snow the Pasture sheets,\nThe barkes of Trees thou brows'd. On the Alpes,\nIt is reported thou did'st eate strange flesh,\nWhich some did dye to looke on: And all this\n(It wounds thine Honor that I speake it now)\nWas borne so like a Soldiour, that thy cheeke\nSo much as lank'd not\nLep. 'Tis pitty of him\nCaes Let his shames quickely\nDriue him to Rome, 'tis time we twaine\nDid shew our selues i'th' Field, and to that end\nAssemble me immediate counsell, Pompey\nThriues in our Idlenesse\nLep. To morrow Caesar,\nI shall be furnisht to informe you rightly\nBoth what by Sea and Land I can be able\nTo front this present time\nCaes Til which encounter, it is my busines too. Farwell\nLep. Farwell my Lord, what you shal know mean time\nOf stirres abroad, I shall beseech you Sir\nTo let me be partaker\nCaesar. Doubt not sir, I knew it for my Bond.\nExeunt.\nEnter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, & Mardian.\nCleo. Charmian\nChar. Madam\nCleo. Ha, ha, giue me to drinke Mandragora\nChar. Why Madam?\nCleo. That I might sleepe out this great gap of time:\nMy Anthony is away\nChar. You thinke of him too much\nCleo. O 'tis Treason\nChar. Madam, I trust not so\nCleo. Thou, Eunuch Mardian?\nMar. What's your Highnesse pleasure?\nCleo. Not now to heare thee sing. I take no pleasure\nIn ought an Eunuch ha's: Tis well for thee,\nThat being vnseminar'd, thy freer thoughts\nMay not flye forth of Egypt. Hast thou Affections?\nMar. Yes gracious Madam\nCleo. Indeed?\nMar. Not in deed Madam, for I can do nothing\nBut what in deede is honest to be done:\nYet haue I fierce Affections, and thinke\nWhat Venus did with Mars\nCleo. Oh Charmion:\nWhere think'st thou he is now? Stands he, or sits he?\nOr does he walke? Or is he on his Horse?\nOh happy horse to beare the weight of Anthony!\nDo brauely Horse, for wot'st thou whom thou moou'st,\nThe demy Atlas of this Earth, the Arme\nAnd Burganet of men. Hee's speaking now,\nOr murmuring, where's my Serpent of old Nyle,\n(For so he cals me:) Now I feede my selfe\nWith most delicious poyson. Thinke on me\nThat am with Phoebus amorous pinches blacke,\nAnd wrinkled deepe in time. Broad-fronted Caesar,\nWhen thou was't heere aboue the ground, I was\nA morsell for a Monarke: and great Pompey\nWould stand and make his eyes grow in my brow,\nThere would he anchor his Aspect, and dye\nWith looking on his life.\nEnter Alexas from Caesar.\nAlex. Soueraigne of Egypt, haile\nCleo. How much vnlike art thou Marke Anthony?\nYet comming from him, that great Med'cine hath\nWith his Tinct gilded thee.\nHow goes it with my braue Marke Anthonie?\nAlex. Last thing he did (deere Queene)\nHe kist the last of many doubled kisses\nThis Orient Pearle. His speech stickes in my heart\nCleo. Mine eare must plucke it thence\nAlex. Good Friend, quoth he:\nSay the firme Roman to great Egypt sends\nThis treasure of an Oyster: at whose foote\nTo mend the petty present, I will peece\nHer opulent Throne, with Kingdomes. All the East,\n(Say thou) shall call her Mistris. So he nodded,\nAnd soberly did mount an Arme-gaunt Steede,\nWho neigh'd so hye, that what I would haue spoke,\nWas beastly dumbe by him\nCleo. What was he sad, or merry?\nAlex. Like to the time o'th' yeare, between y extremes\nOf hot and cold, he was nor sad nor merrie\nCleo. Oh well diuided disposition: Note him,\nNote him good Charmian, 'tis the man; but note him.\nHe was not sad, for he would shine on those\nThat make their lookes by his. He was not merrie,\nWhich seem'd to tell them, his remembrance lay\nIn Egypt with his ioy, but betweene both.\nOh heauenly mingle! Bee'st thou sad, or merrie,\nThe violence of either thee becomes,\nSo do's it no mans else. Met'st thou my Posts?\nAlex. I Madam, twenty seuerall Messengers.\nWhy do you send so thicke?\nCleo. Who's borne that day, when I forget to send\nto Anthonie, shall dye a Begger. Inke and paper Charmian.\nWelcome my good Alexas. Did I Charmian, euer\nloue Caesar so?\nChar. Oh that braue Caesar!\nCleo. Be choak'd with such another Emphasis,\nSay the braue Anthony\nChar. The valiant Caesar\nCleo. By Isis, I will giue thee bloody teeth,\nIf thou with Caesar Paragon againe:\nMy man of men\nChar. By your most gracious pardon,\nI sing but after you\nCleo. My Sallad dayes,\nWhen I was greene in iudgement, cold in blood,\nTo say, as I saide then. But come, away,\nGet me Inke and Paper,\nhe shall haue euery day a seuerall greeting, or Ile vnpeople\nEgypt.\nExeunt.\nEnter Pompey, Menecrates, and Menas, in warlike manner.\nPom. If the great Gods be iust, they shall assist\nThe deeds of iustest men\nMene. Know worthy Pompey, that what they do delay,\nthey not deny\nPom. Whiles we are sutors to their Throne, decayes\nthe thing we sue for\nMene. We ignorant of our selues,\nBegge often our owne harmes, which the wise Powres\nDeny vs for our good: so finde we profit\nBy loosing of our Prayers\nPom. I shall do well:\nThe people loue me, and the Sea is mine;\nMy powers are Cressent, and my Auguring hope\nSayes it will come to'th' full. Marke Anthony\nIn Egypt sits at dinner, and will make\nNo warres without doores. Caesar gets money where\nHe looses hearts: Lepidus flatters both,\nOf both is flatter'd: but he neither loues,\nNor either cares for him\nMene. Caesar and Lepidus are in the field,\nA mighty strength they carry\nPom. Where haue you this? 'Tis false\nMene. From Siluius, Sir\nPom. He dreames: I know they are in Rome together\nLooking for Anthony: but all the charmes of Loue,\nSalt Cleopatra soften thy wand lip,\nLet Witchcraft ioyne with Beauty, Lust with both,\nTye vp the Libertine in a field of Feasts,\nKeepe his Braine fuming. Epicurean Cookes,\nSharpen with cloylesse sawce his Appetite,\nThat sleepe and feeding may prorogue his Honour,\nEuen till a Lethied dulnesse-\nEnter Varrius.\nHow now Varrius?\nVar. This is most certaine, that I shall deliuer:\nMarke Anthony is euery houre in Rome\nExpected. Since he went from Egypt, 'tis\nA space for farther Trauaile\nPom. I could haue giuen lesse matter\nA better eare. Menas, I did not thinke\nThis amorous Surfetter would haue donn'd his Helme\nFor such a petty Warre: His Souldiership\nIs twice the other twaine: But let vs reare\nThe higher our Opinion, that our stirring\nCan from the lap of Egypts Widdow, plucke\nThe neere Lust-wearied Anthony\nMene. I cannot hope,\nCaesar and Anthony shall well greet together;\nHis Wife that's dead, did trespasses to Caesar,\nHis Brother wan'd vpon him, although I thinke\nNot mou'd by Anthony\nPom. I know not Menas,\nHow lesser Enmities may giue way to greater,\nWere't not that we stand vp against them all:\n'Twer pregnant they should square between themselues,\nFor they haue entertained cause enough\nTo draw their swords: but how the feare of vs\nMay Ciment their diuisions, and binde vp\nThe petty difference, we yet not know:\nBee't as our Gods will haue't; it onely stands\nOur liues vpon, to vse our strongest hands\nCome Menas.\nExeunt.\nEnter Enobarbus and Lepidus.\nLep. Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed,\nAnd shall become you well, to intreat your Captaine\nTo soft and gentle speech\nEnob. I shall intreat him\nTo answer like himselfe: if Caesar moue him,\nLet Anthony looke ouer Caesars head,\nAnd speake as lowd as Mars. By Iupiter,\nWere I the wearer of Anthonio's Beard,\nI would not shaue't to day\nLep. 'Tis not a time for priuate stomacking\nEno. Euery time serues for the matter that is then\nborne in't\nLep. But small to greater matters must giue way\nEno. Not if the small come first\nLep. Your speech is passion: but pray you stirre\nNo Embers vp. Heere comes the Noble Anthony.\nEnter Anthony and Ventidius.\nEno. And yonder Caesar.\nEnter Caesar, Mecenas, and Agrippa.\nAnt. If we compose well heere, to Parthia:\nHearke Ventidius\nCaesar. I do not know Mecenas, aske Agrippa\nLep. Noble Friends:\nThat which combin'd vs was most great, and let not\nA leaner action rend vs. What's amisse,\nMay it be gently heard. When we debate\nOur triuiall difference loud, we do commit\nMurther in healing wounds. Then Noble Partners,\nThe rather for I earnestly beseech,\nTouch you the sowrest points with sweetest tearmes,\nNor curstnesse grow to'th' matter\nAnt. 'Tis spoken well:\nWere we before our Armies, and to fight,\nI should do thus.\nFlourish.\nCaes Welcome to Rome\nAnt. Thanke you\nCaes Sit\nAnt. Sit sir\nCaes Nay then\nAnt. I learne, you take things ill, which are not so:\nOr being, concerne you not\nCaes I must be laught at, if or for nothing, or a little, I\nShould say my selfe offended, and with you\nChiefely i'th' world. More laught at, that I should\nOnce name you derogately: when to sound your name\nIt not concern'd me\nAnt. My being in Egypt Caesar, what was't to you?\nCaes No more then my reciding heere at Rome\nMight be to you in Egypt: yet if you there\nDid practise on my State, your being in Egypt\nMight be my question\nAnt. How intend you, practis'd?\nCaes You may be pleas'd to catch at mine intent,\nBy what did heere befall me. Your Wife and Brother\nMade warres vpon me, and their contestation\nWas Theame for you, you were the word of warre\nAnt. You do mistake your busines, my Brother neuer\nDid vrge me in his Act: I did inquire it.\nAnd haue my Learning from some true reports\nThat drew their swords with you, did he not rather\nDiscredit my authority with yours,\nAnd make the warres alike against my stomacke,\nHauing alike your cause. Of this, my Letters\nBefore did satisfie you. If you'l patch a quarrell,\nAs matter whole you haue to make it with,\nIt must not be with this\nCaes You praise your selfe, by laying defects of iudgement\nto me: but you patcht vp your excuses\nAnth. Not so, not so:\nI know you could not lacke, I am certaine on't,\nVery necessity of this thought, that I\nYour Partner in the cause 'gainst which he fought,\nCould not with gracefull eyes attend those Warres\nWhich fronted mine owne peace. As for my wife,\nI would you had her spirit, in such another,\nThe third oth' world is yours, which with a Snaffle,\nYou may pace easie, but not such a wife\nEnobar. Would we had all such wiues, that the men\nmight go to Warres with the women\nAnth. So much vncurbable, her Garboiles (Caesar)\nMade out of her impatience: which not wanted\nShrodenesse of policie to: I greeuing grant,\nDid you too much disquiet, for that you must,\nBut say I could not helpe it\nCaesar. I wrote to you, when rioting in Alexandria you\nDid pocket vp my Letters: and with taunts\nDid gibe my Misiue out of audience\nAnt. Sir, he fell vpon me, ere admitted, then:\nThree Kings I had newly feasted, and did want\nOf what I was i'th' morning: but next day\nI told him of my selfe, which was as much\nAs to haue askt him pardon. Let this Fellow\nBe nothing of our strife: if we contend\nOut of our question wipe him\nCaesar. You haue broken the Article of your oath,\nwhich you shall neuer haue tongue to charge me with\nLep. Soft Caesar\nAnt. No Lepidus, let him speake,\nThe Honour is Sacred which he talks on now,\nSupposing that I lackt it: but on Caesar,\nThe Article of my oath\nCaesar. To lend me Armes, and aide when I requir'd\nthem, the which you both denied\nAnth. Neglected rather:\nAnd then when poysoned houres had bound me vp\nFrom mine owne knowledge, as neerely as I may,\nIle play the penitent to you. But mine honesty,\nShall not make poore my greatnesse, nor my power\nWorke without it. Truth is, that Fuluia,\nTo haue me out of Egypt, made Warres heere,\nFor which my selfe, the ignorant motiue, do\nSo farre aske pardon, as befits mine Honour\nTo stoope in such a case\nLep. 'Tis Noble spoken\nMece. If it might please you, to enforce no further\nThe griefes betweene ye: to forget them quite,\nWere to remember: that the present neede,\nSpeakes to attone you\nLep. Worthily spoken Mecenas\nEnobar. Or if you borrow one anothers Loue for the\ninstant, you may when you heare no more words of\nPompey returne it againe: you shall haue time to wrangle\nin, when you haue nothing else to do\nAnth. Thou art a Souldier, onely speake no more\nEnob. That trueth should be silent, I had almost forgot\nAnth. You wrong this presence, therefore speake no\nmore\nEnob. Go too then: your Considerate stone\nCaesar. I do not much dislike the matter, but\nThe manner of his speech: for't cannot be,\nWe shall remaine in friendship, our conditions\nSo diffring in their acts. Yet if I knew,\nWhat Hoope should hold vs staunch from edge to edge\nAth' world: I would persue it\nAgri. Giue me leaue Caesar\nCaesar. Speake Agrippa\nAgri. Thou hast a Sister by the Mothers side, admir'd\nOctauia: Great Mark Anthony is now a widdower\nCaesar. Say not, say Agrippa; if Cleopater heard you, your\nproofe were well deserued of rashnesse\nAnth. I am not marryed Caesar: let me heere Agrippa\nfurther speake\nAgri. To hold you in perpetuall amitie,\nTo make you Brothers, and to knit your hearts\nWith an vn-slipping knot, take Anthony,\nOctauia to his wife: whose beauty claimes\nNo worse a husband then the best of men: whose\nVertue, and whose generall graces, speake\nThat which none else can vtter. By this marriage,\nAll little Ielousies which now seeme great,\nAnd all great feares, which now import their dangers,\nWould then be nothing. Truth's would be tales,\nWhere now halfe tales be truth's: her loue to both,\nWould each to other, and all loues to both\nDraw after her. Pardon what I haue spoke,\nFor 'tis a studied not a present thought,\nBy duty ruminated\nAnth. Will Caesar speake?\nCaesar. Not till he heares how Anthony is toucht,\nWith what is spoke already\nAnth. What power is in Agrippa,\nIf I would say Agrippa, be it so,\nTo make this good?\nCaesar. The power of Caesar,\nAnd his power, vnto Octauia\nAnth. May I neuer\n(To this good purpose, that so fairely shewes)\nDreame of impediment: let me haue thy hand\nFurther this act of Grace: and from this houre,\nThe heart of Brothers gouerne in our Loues,\nAnd sway our great Designes\nCaesar. There's my hand:\nA Sister I bequeath you, whom no Brother\nDid euer loue so deerely. Let her liue\nTo ioyne our kingdomes, and our hearts, and neuer\nFlie off our Loues againe\nLepi. Happily, Amen\nAnt. I did not think to draw my Sword 'gainst Pompey,\nFor he hath laid strange courtesies, and great\nOf late vpon me. I must thanke him onely,\nLeast my remembrance, suffer ill report:\nAt heele of that, defie him\nLepi. Time cals vpon's,\nOf vs must Pompey presently be sought,\nOr else he seekes out vs\nAnth. Where lies he?\nCaesar. About the Mount-Mesena\nAnth. What is his strength by land?\nCaesar. Great, and encreasing:\nBut by Sea he is an absolute Master\nAnth. So is the Fame.\nWould we had spoke together. Hast we for it,\nYet ere we put our selues in Armes, dispatch we\nThe businesse we haue talkt of\nCaesar. With most gladnesse,\nAnd do inuite you to my Sisters view,\nWhether straight Ile lead you\nAnth. Let vs Lepidus not lacke your companie\nLep. Noble Anthony, not sickenesse should detaine\nme.\nFlourish. Exit omnes. Manet Enobarbus, Agrippa, Mecenas.\nMec. Welcome from aegypt Sir\nEno. Halfe the heart of Caesar, worthy Mecenas. My\nhonourable Friend Agrippa\nAgri. Good Enobarbus\nMece. We haue cause to be glad, that matters are so\nwell disgested: you staid well by't in Egypt\nEnob. I Sir, we did sleepe day out of countenaunce:\nand made the night light with drinking\nMece. Eight Wilde-Boares rosted whole at a breakfast:\nand but twelue persons there. Is this true?\nEno. This was but as a Flye by an Eagle: we had much\nmore monstrous matter of Feast, which worthily deserued\nnoting\nMecenas. She's a most triumphant Lady, if report be\nsquare to her\nEnob. When she first met Marke Anthony, she purst\nvp his heart vpon the Riuer of Sidnis\nAgri. There she appear'd indeed: or my reporter deuis'd\nwell for her\nEno. I will tell you,\nThe Barge she sat in, like a burnisht Throne\nBurnt on the water: the Poope was beaten Gold,\nPurple the Sailes: and so perfumed that\nThe Windes were Loue-sicke.\nWith them the Owers were Siluer,\nWhich to the tune of Flutes kept stroke, and made\nThe water which they beate, to follow faster;\nAs amorous of their strokes. For her owne person,\nIt beggerd all discription, she did lye\nIn her Pauillion, cloth of Gold, of Tissue,\nO're-picturing that Venus, where we see\nThe fancie out-worke Nature. On each side her,\nStood pretty Dimpled Boyes, like smiling Cupids,\nWith diuers coulour'd Fannes whose winde did seeme,\nTo gloue the delicate cheekes which they did coole,\nAnd what they vndid did\nAgrip. Oh rare for Anthony\nEno. Her Gentlewoman, like the Nereides,\nSo many Mer-maides tended her i'th' eyes,\nAnd made their bends adornings. At the Helme,\nA seeming Mer-maide steeres: The Silken Tackle,\nSwell with the touches of those Flower-soft hands,\nThat yarely frame the office. From the Barge\nA strange inuisible perfume hits the sense\nOf the adiacent Wharfes. The Citty cast\nHer people out vpon her: and Anthony\nEnthron'd i'th' Market-place, did sit alone,\nWhisling to'th' ayre: which but for vacancie,\nHad gone to gaze on Cleopater too,\nAnd made a gap in Nature\nAgri. Rare Egiptian\nEno. Vpon her landing, Anthony sent to her,\nInuited her to Supper: she replyed,\nIt should be better, he became her guest:\nWhich she entreated, our Courteous Anthony,\nWhom nere the word of no woman hard speake,\nBeing barber'd ten times o're, goes to the Feast;\nAnd for his ordinary, paies his heart,\nFor what his eyes eate onely\nAgri. Royall Wench:\nShe made great Caesar lay his Sword to bed,\nHe ploughed her, and she cropt\nEno. I saw her once\nHop forty Paces through the publicke streete,\nAnd hauing lost her breath, she spoke, and panted,\nThat she did make defect, perfection,\nAnd breathlesse powre breath forth\nMece. Now Anthony, must leaue her vtterly\nEno. Neuer he will not:\nAge cannot wither her, nor custome stale\nHer infinite variety: other women cloy\nThe appetites they feede, but she makes hungry,\nWhere most she satisfies. For vildest things\nBecome themselues in her, that the holy Priests\nBlesse her, when she is Riggish\nMece. If Beauty, Wisedome, Modesty, can settle\nThe heart of Anthony: Octauia is\nA blessed Lottery to him\nAgrip. Let vs go. Good Enobarbus, make your selfe\nmy guest, whilst you abide heere\nEno. Humbly Sir I thanke you.\nExeunt.\nEnter Anthony, Caesar, Octauia betweene them.\nAnth. The world, and my great office, will\nSometimes deuide me from your bosome\nOcta. All which time, before the Gods my knee shall\nbowe my prayers to them for you\nAnth. Goodnight Sir. My Octauia\nRead not my blemishes in the worlds report:\nI haue not kept my square, but that to come\nShall all be done byth' Rule: good night deere Lady:\nGood night Sir\nCaesar. Goodnight.\nEnter.\nEnter Soothsaier.\nAnth. Now sirrah: you do wish your selfe in Egypt?\nSooth. Would I had neuer come from thence, nor you\nthither\nAnt. If you can, your reason?\nSooth. I see it in my motion: haue it not in my tongue,\nBut yet hie you to Egypt againe\nAntho. Say to me, whose Fortunes shall rise higher\nCaesars or mine?\nSooth. Caesars. Therefore (oh Anthony) stay not by his side\nThy Daemon that thy spirit which keepes thee, is\nNoble, Couragious, high vnmatchable,\nWhere Caesars is not. But neere him, thy Angell\nBecomes a feare: as being o're-powr'd, therefore\nMake space enough betweene you\nAnth. Speake this no more\nSooth. To none but thee no more but: when to thee,\nIf thou dost play with him at any game,\nThou art sure to loose: And of that Naturall lucke,\nHe beats thee 'gainst the oddes. Thy Luster thickens,\nWhen he shines by: I say againe, thy spirit\nIs all affraid to gouerne thee neere him:\nBut he alway 'tis Noble\nAnth. Get thee gone:\nSay to Ventigius I would speake with him.\nEnter.\nHe shall to Parthia, be it Art or hap,\nHe hath spoken true. The very Dice obey him,\nAnd in our sports my better cunning faints,\nVnder his chance, if we draw lots he speeds,\nHis Cocks do winne the Battaile, still of mine,\nWhen it is all to naught: and his Quailes euer\nBeate mine (in hoopt) at odd's. I will to Egypte:\nAnd though I make this marriage for my peace,\nI'th' East my pleasure lies. Oh come Ventigius.\nEnter Ventigius.\nYou must to Parthia, your Commissions ready:\nFollow me, and reciue't.\nExeunt.\nEnter Lepidus, Mecenas and Agrippa.\nLepidus. Trouble your selues no further: pray you\nhasten your Generals after\nAgr. Sir, Marke Anthony, will e'ne but kisse Octauia,\nand weele follow\nLepi. Till I shall see you in your Souldiers dresse,\nWhich will become you both: Farewell\nMece. We shall: as I conceiue the iourney, be at\nMount before you Lepidus\nLepi. Your way is shorter, my purposes do draw me\nmuch about, you'le win two dayes vpon me\nBoth. Sir good successe\nLepi. Farewell.\nExeunt.\nEnter Cleopater, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas.\nCleo. Giue me some Musicke: Musicke, moody foode\nof vs that trade in Loue\nOmnes. The Musicke, hoa.\nEnter Mardian the Eunuch.\nCleo. Let it alone, let's to Billiards: come Charmian\nChar. My arme is sore, best play with Mardian\nCleopa. As well a woman with an Eunuch plaide, as\nwith a woman. Come you'le play with me Sir?\nMardi. As well as I can Madam\nCleo. And when good will is shewed,\nThough't come to short\nThe Actor may pleade pardon. Ile none now,\nGiue me mine Angle, weele to'th' Riuer there\nMy Musicke playing farre off. I will betray\nTawny fine fishes, my bended hooke shall pierce\nTheir slimy iawes: and as I draw them vp,\nIle thinke them euery one an Anthony,\nAnd say, ah ha; y'are caught\nChar. 'Twas merry when you wager'd on your Angling,\nwhen your diuer did hang a salt fish on his hooke\nwhich he with feruencie drew vp\nCleo. That time? Oh times:\nI laught him out of patience: and that night\nI laught him into patience, and next morne,\nEre the ninth houre, I drunke him to his bed:\nThen put my Tires and Mantles on him, whilst\nI wore his Sword Phillippan. Oh from Italie,\nEnter a Messenger.\nRamme thou thy fruitefull tidings in mine eares,\nThat long time haue bin barren\nMes. Madam, Madam\nCleo. Anthonyo's dead.\nIf thou say so Villaine, thou kil'st thy Mistris:\nBut well and free, if thou so yeild him.\nThere is Gold, and heere\nMy blewest vaines to kisse: a hand that Kings\nHaue lipt, and trembled kissing\nMes. First Madam, he is well\nCleo. Why there's more Gold.\nBut sirrah marke, we vse\nTo say, the dead are well: bring it to that,\nThe Gold I giue thee, will I melt and powr\nDowne thy ill vttering throate\nMes. Good Madam heare me\nCleo. Well, go too I will:\nBut there's no goodnesse in thy face if Anthony\nBe free and healthfull; so tart a fauour\nTo trumpet such good tidings. If not well,\nThou shouldst come like a Furie crown'd with Snakes,\nNot like a formall man\nMes. Wilt please you heare me?\nCleo. I haue a mind to strike thee ere thou speak'st:\nYet if thou say Anthony liues, 'tis well,\nOr friends with Caesar, or not Captiue to him,\nIle set thee in a shower of Gold, and haile\nRich Pearles vpon thee\nMes. Madam, he's well\nCleo. Well said\nMes. And Friends with Caesar\nCleo. Th'art an honest man\nMes. Caesar, and he, are greater Friends then euer\nCleo. Make thee a Fortune from me\nMes. But yet Madam\nCleo. I do not like but yet, it does alay\nThe good precedence, fie vpon but yet,\nBut yet is as a Iaylor to bring foorth\nSome monstrous Malefactor. Prythee Friend,\nPowre out the packe of matter to mine eare,\nThe good and bad together: he's friends with Caesar,\nIn state of health thou saist, and thou saist, free\nMes. Free Madam, no: I made no such report,\nHe's bound vnto Octauia\nCleo. For what good turne?\nMes. For the best turne i'th' bed\nCleo. I am pale Charmian\nMes. Madam, he's married to Octauia\nCleo. The most infectious Pestilence vpon thee.\nStrikes him downe.\nMes. Good Madam patience\nCleo. What say you?\nStrikes him.\nHence horrible Villaine, or Ile spurne thine eyes\nLike balls before me: Ile vnhaire thy head,\nShe hales him vp and downe.\nThou shalt be whipt with Wyer, and stew'd in brine,\nSmarting in lingring pickle\nMes. Gratious Madam,\nI that do bring the newes, made not the match\nCleo. Say 'tis not so, a Prouince I will giue thee,\nAnd make thy Fortunes proud: the blow thou had'st\nShall make thy peace, for mouing me to rage,\nAnd I will boot thee with what guift beside\nThy modestie can begge\nMes. He's married Madam\nCleo. Rogue, thou hast liu'd too long.\nDraw a knife.\nMes. Nay then Ile runne:\nWhat meane you Madam, I haue made no fault.\nEnter.\nChar. Good Madam keepe your selfe within your selfe,\nThe man is innocent\nCleo. Some Innocents scape not the thunderbolt:\nMelt Egypt into Nyle: and kindly creatures\nTurne all to Serpents. Call the slaue againe,\nThough I am mad, I will not byte him: Call?\nChar. He is afeard to come\nCleo. I will not hurt him,\nThese hands do lacke Nobility, that they strike\nA meaner then my selfe: since I my selfe\nHaue giuen my selfe the cause. Come hither Sir.\nEnter the Messenger againe.\nThough it be honest, it is neuer good\nTo bring bad newes: giue to a gratious Message\nAn host of tongues, but let ill tydings tell\nThemselues, when they be felt\nMes. I haue done my duty\nCleo. Is he married?\nI cannot hate thee worser then I do,\nIf thou againe say yes\nMes. He's married Madam\nCleo. The Gods confound thee,\nDost thou hold there still?\nMes. Should I lye Madame?\nCleo. Oh, I would thou didst:\nSo halfe my Egypt were submerg'd and made\nA Cesterne for scal'd Snakes. Go get thee hence,\nHad'st thou Narcissus in thy face to me,\nThou would'st appeere most vgly: He is married?\nMes. I craue your Highnesse pardon\nCleo. He is married?\nMes. Take no offence, that I would not offend you,\nTo punnish me for what you make me do\nSeemes much vnequall, he's married to Octauia\nCleo. Oh that his fault should make a knaue of thee,\nThat art not what th'art sure of. Get thee hence,\nThe Marchandize which thou hast brought from Rome\nAre all too deere for me:\nLye they vpon thy hand, and be vndone by em\nChar. Good your Highnesse patience\nCleo. In praysing Anthony, I haue disprais'd Caesar\nChar. Many times Madam\nCleo. I am paid for't now: lead me from hence,\nI faint, oh Iras, Charmian: 'tis no matter.\nGo to the Fellow, good Alexas bid him\nReport the feature of Octauia: her yeares,\nHer inclination, let him not leaue out\nThe colour of her haire. Bring me word quickly,\nLet him for euer go, let him not Charmian,\nThough he be painted one way like a Gorgon,\nThe other wayes a Mars. Bid you Alexas\nBring me word, how tall she is: pitty me Charmian,\nBut do not speake to me. Lead me to my Chamber.\nExeunt.\nFlourish. Enter Pompey, at one doore with Drum and Trumpet: at\nanother\nCaesar, Lepidus, Anthony, Enobarbus, Mecenas, Agrippa, Menas\nwith Souldiers\nMarching.\nPom. Your Hostages I haue, so haue you mine:\nAnd we shall talke before we fight\nCaesar. Most meete that first we come to words,\nAnd therefore haue we\nOur written purposes before vs sent,\nWhich if thou hast considered, let vs know,\nIf 'twill tye vp thy discontented Sword,\nAnd carry backe to Cicelie much tall youth,\nThat else must perish heere\nPom. To you all three,\nThe Senators alone of this great world,\nChiefe Factors for the Gods. I do not know,\nWherefore my Father should reuengers want,\nHauing a Sonne and Friends, since Iulius Caesar,\nWho at Phillippi the good Brutus ghosted,\nThere saw you labouring for him. What was't\nThat mou'd pale Cassius to conspire? And what\nMade all-honor'd, honest, Romaine Brutus,\nWith the arm'd rest, Courtiers of beautious freedome,\nTo drench the Capitoll, but that they would\nHaue one man but a man, and that his it\nHath made me rigge my Nauie. At whose burthen,\nThe anger'd Ocean fomes, with which I meant\nTo scourge th' ingratitude, that despightfull Rome\nCast on my Noble Father\nCaesar. Take your time\nAnt. Thou can'st not feare vs Pompey with thy sailes.\nWeele speake with thee at Sea. At land thou know'st\nHow much we do o're-count thee\nPom. At Land indeed\nThou dost orecount me of my Fathers house:\nBut since the Cuckoo buildes not for himselfe,\nRemaine in't as thou maist\nLepi. Be pleas'd to tell vs,\n(For this is from the present how you take)\nThe offers we haue sent you\nCaesar. There's the point\nAnt. Which do not be entreated too,\nBut waigh what it is worth imbrac'd\nCaesar. And what may follow to try a larger Fortune\nPom. You haue made me offer\nOf Cicelie, Sardinia: and I must\nRid all the Sea of Pirats. Then, to send\nMeasures of Wheate to Rome: this greed vpon,\nTo part with vnhackt edges, and beare backe\nOur Targes vndinted\nOmnes. That's our offer\nPom. Know then I came before you heere,\nA man prepar'd\nTo take this offer. But Marke Anthony,\nPut me to some impatience: though I loose\nThe praise of it by telling. You must know\nWhen Caesar and your Brother were at blowes,\nYour Mother came to Cicelie, and did finde\nHer welcome Friendly\nAnt. I haue heard it Pompey,\nAnd am well studied for a liberall thanks,\nWhich I do owe you\nPom. Let me haue your hand:\nI did not thinke Sir, to haue met you heere,\nAnt. The beds i'th' East are soft, and thanks to you,\nThat cal'd me timelier then my purpose hither:\nFor I haue gained by't\nCaesar. Since I saw you last, ther's a change vpon you\nPom. Well, I know not,\nWhat counts harsh Fortune cast's vpon my face,\nBut in my bosome shall she neuer come,\nTo make my heart her vassaile\nLep. Well met heere\nPom. I hope so Lepidus, thus we are agreed:\nI craue our composion may be written\nAnd seal'd betweene vs,\nCaesar. That's the next to do\nPom. Weele feast each other, ere we part, and lett's\nDraw lots who shall begin\nAnt. That will I Pompey\nPompey. No Anthony take the lot: but first or last,\nyour fine Egyptian cookerie shall haue the fame, I haue\nheard that Iulius Caesar, grew fat with feasting there\nAnth. You haue heard much\nPom. I haue faire meaning Sir\nAnt. And faire words to them\nPom. Then so much haue I heard,\nAnd I haue heard Appolodorus carried-\nEno. No more that: he did so\nPom. What I pray you?\nEno. A certaine Queene to Caesar in a Matris\nPom. I know thee now, how far'st thou Souldier?\nEno. Well, and well am like to do, for I perceiue\nFoure Feasts are toward\nPom. Let me shake thy hand,\nI neuer hated thee: I haue seene thee fight,\nWhen I haue enuied thy behauiour\nEnob. Sir, I neuer lou'd you much, but I ha' prais'd ye,\nWhen you haue well deseru'd ten times as much,\nAs I haue said you did\nPom. Inioy thy plainnesse,\nIt nothing ill becomes thee:\nAboord my Gally, I inuite you all.\nWill you leade Lords?\nAll. Shew's the way, sir\nPom. Come.\nExeunt. Manet Enob. & Menas]\nMen. Thy Father Pompey would ne're haue made this\nTreaty. You, and I haue knowne sir\nEnob. At Sea, I thinke\nMen. We haue Sir\nEnob. You haue done well by water\nMen. And you by Land\nEnob. I will praise any man that will praise me, thogh\nit cannot be denied what I haue done by Land\nMen. Nor what I haue done by water\nEnob. Yes some-thing you can deny for your owne\nsafety: you haue bin a great Theefe by Sea\nMen. And you by Land\nEnob. There I deny my Land seruice: but giue mee\nyour hand Menas, if our eyes had authority, heere they\nmight take two Theeues kissing\nMen. All mens faces are true, whatsomere their hands\nare\nEnob. But there is neuer a fayre Woman, ha's a true\nFace\nMen. No slander, they steale hearts\nEnob. We came hither to fight with you\nMen. For my part, I am sorry it is turn'd to a Drinking.\nPompey doth this day laugh away his Fortune\nEnob. If he do, sure he cannot weep't backe againe\nMen. Y'haue said Sir, we look'd not for Marke Anthony\nheere, pray you, is he married to Cleopatra?\nEnob. Caesars Sister is call'd Octauia\nMen. True Sir, she was the wife of Caius Marcellus\nEnob. But she is now the wife of Marcus Anthonius\nMen. Pray'ye sir\nEnob. 'Tis true\nMen. Then is Caesar and he, for euer knit together\nEnob. If I were bound to Diuine of this vnity, I wold\nnot Prophesie so\nMen. I thinke the policy of that purpose, made more\nin the Marriage, then the loue of the parties\nEnob. I thinke so too. But you shall finde the band\nthat seemes to tye their friendship together, will bee the\nvery strangler of their Amity: Octauia is of a holy, cold,\nand still conuersation\nMen. Who would not haue his wife so?\nEno. Not he that himselfe is not so: which is Marke\nAnthony: he will to his Egyptian dish againe: then shall\nthe sighes of Octauia blow the fire vp in Caesar, and (as I\nsaid before) that which is the strength of their Amity,\nshall proue the immediate Author of their variance. Anthony\nwill vse his affection where it is. Hee married but\nhis occasion heere\nMen. And thus it may be. Come Sir, will you aboord?\nI haue a health for you\nEnob. I shall take it sir: we haue vs'd our Throats in\nEgypt\nMen. Come, let's away.\nExeunt.\nMusicke playes. Enter two or three Seruants with a Banket.\n1 Heere they'l be man: some o' their Plants are ill\nrooted already, the least winde i'th' world wil blow them\ndowne\n2 Lepidus is high Coulord\n1 They haue made him drinke Almes drinke\n2 As they pinch one another by the disposition, hee\ncries out, no more; reconciles them to his entreatie, and\nhimselfe to'th' drinke\n1 But it raises the greater warre betweene him & his\ndiscretion\n2 Why this it is to haue a name in great mens Fellowship:\nI had as liue haue a Reede that will doe me no\nseruice, as a Partizan I could not heaue\n1 To be call'd into a huge Sphere, and not to be seene\nto moue in't, are the holes where eyes should bee, which\npittifully disaster the cheekes.\nA Sennet sounded. Enter Caesar, Anthony, Pompey, Lepidus,\nAgrippa,\nMecenas, Enobarbus, Menes, with other Captaines.\nAnt. Thus do they Sir: they take the flow o'th' Nyle\nBy certaine scales i'th' Pyramid: they know\nBy'th' height, the lownesse, or the meane: If dearth\nOr Foizon follow. The higher Nilus swels,\nThe more it promises: as it ebbes, the Seedsman\nVpon the slime and Ooze scatters his graine,\nAnd shortly comes to Haruest\nLep. Y'haue strange Serpents there?\nAnth. I Lepidus\nLep. Your Serpent of Egypt, is bred now of your mud\nby the operation of your Sun: so is your Crocodile\nAnt. They are so\nPom. Sit, and some Wine: A health to Lepidus\nLep. I am not so well as I should be:\nBut Ile ne're out\nEnob. Not till you haue slept: I feare me you'l bee in\ntill then\nLep. Nay certainly, I haue heard the Ptolomies Pyramisis\nare very goodly things: without contradiction I\nhaue heard that\nMenas. Pompey, a word\nPomp. Say in mine eare, what is't\nMen. Forsake thy seate I do beseech thee Captaine,\nAnd heare me speake a word\nPom. Forbeare me till anon.\nWhispers in's Eare.\nThis Wine for Lepidus\nLep. What manner o' thing is your Crocodile?\nAnt. It is shap'd sir like it selfe, and it is as broad as it\nhath bredth; It is iust so high as it is, and mooues with it\nowne organs. It liues by that which nourisheth it, and\nthe Elements once out of it, it Transmigrates\nLep. What colour is it of?\nAnt. Of it owne colour too\nLep. 'Tis a strange Serpent\nAnt. 'Tis so, and the teares of it are wet\nCaes Will this description satisfie him?\nAnt. With the Health that Pompey giues him, else he\nis a very Epicure\nPomp. Go hang sir, hang: tell me of that? Away:\nDo as I bid you. Where's this Cup I call'd for?\nMen. If for the sake of Merit thou wilt heare mee,\nRise from thy stoole\nPom. I thinke th'art mad: the matter?\nMen. I haue euer held my cap off to thy Fortunes\nPom. Thou hast seru'd me with much faith: what's\nelse to say? Be iolly Lords\nAnth. These Quicke-sands Lepidus,\nKeepe off, them for you sinke\nMen. Wilt thou be Lord of all the world?\nPom. What saist thou?\nMen. Wilt thou be Lord of the whole world?\nThat's twice\nPom. How should that be?\nMen. But entertaine it, and though thou thinke me\npoore, I am the man will giue thee all the world\nPom. Hast thou drunke well\nMen. No Pompey, I haue kept me from the cup,\nThou art if thou dar'st be, the earthly Ioue:\nWhat ere the Ocean pales, or skie inclippes,\nIs thine, if thou wilt ha't\nPom. Shew me which way?\nMen. These three World-sharers, these Competitors\nAre in thy vessell. Let me cut the Cable,\nAnd when we are put off, fall to their throates:\nAll there is thine\nPom. Ah, this thou shouldst haue done,\nAnd not haue spoke on't. In me 'tis villanie,\nIn thee, 't had bin good seruice: thou must know,\n'Tis not my profit that does lead mine Honour:\nMine Honour it, Repent that ere thy tongue,\nHath so betraide thine acte. Being done vnknowne,\nI should haue found it afterwards well done,\nBut must condemne it now: desist, and drinke\nMen. For this, Ile neuer follow\nThy paul'd Fortunes more,\nWho seekes and will not take, when once 'tis offer'd,\nShall neuer finde it more\nPom. This health to Lepidus\nAnt. Beare him ashore,\nIle pledge it for him Pompey\nEno. Heere's to thee Menas\nMen. Enobarbus, welcome\nPom. Fill till the cup be hid\nEno. There's a strong Fellow Menas\nMen. Why?\nEno. A beares the third part of the world man: seest\nnot?\nMen. The third part, then he is drunk: would it were\nall, that it might go on wheeles\nEno. Drinke thou: encrease the Reeles\nMen. Come\nPom. This is not yet an Alexandrian Feast\nAnt. It ripen's, towards it: strike the Vessells hoa.\nHeere's to Caesar\nCaesar. I could well forbear't, it's monstrous labour\nwhen I wash my braine, and it grow fouler\nAnt. Be a Child o'th' time\nCaesar. Possesse it, Ile make answer: but I had rather\nfast from all, foure dayes, then drinke so much in one\nEnob. Ha my braue Emperour, shall we daunce now\nthe Egyptian Backenals, and celebrate our drinke?\nPom. Let's ha't good Souldier\nAnt. Come, let's all take hands,\nTill that the conquering Wine hath steep't our sense,\nIn soft and delicate Lethe\nEno. All take hands:\nMake battery to our eares with the loud Musicke,\nThe while, Ile place you, then the Boy shall sing.\nThe holding euery man shall beate as loud,\nAs his strong sides can volly.\nMusicke Playes. Enobarbus places them hand in hand.\nThe Song.\nCome thou Monarch of the Vine,\nPlumpie Bacchus, with pinke eyne:\nIn thy Fattes our Cares be drown'd,\nWith thy Grapes our haires be Crown'd.\nCup vs till the world go round,\nCup vs till the world go round\nCaesar. What would you more?\nPompey goodnight. Good Brother\nLet me request you of our grauer businesse\nFrownes at this leuitie. Gentle Lords let's part,\nYou see we haue burnt our cheekes. Strong Enobarbe\nIs weaker then the Wine, and mine owne tongue\nSpleet's what it speakes: the wilde disguise hath almost\nAntickt vs all. What needs more words? goodnight.\nGood Anthony your hand\nPom. Ile try you on the shore\nAnth. And shall Sir, giues your hand\nPom. Oh Anthony, you haue my Father house.\nBut what, we are Friends?\nCome downe into the Boate\nEno. Take heed you fall not Menas: Ile not on shore,\nNo to my Cabin: these Drummes,\nThese Trumpets, Flutes: what\nLet Neptune heare, we bid aloud farewell\nTo these great Fellowes. Sound and be hang'd, sound out.\nSound a Flourish with Drummes.\nEnor. Hoo saies a there's my Cap\nMen. Hoa, Noble Captaine, come.\nExeunt.\nEnter Ventidius as it were in triumph, the dead body of Pacorus\nborne\nbefore him.\nVen. Now darting Parthya art thou stroke, and now\nPleas'd Fortune does of Marcus Crassus death\nMake me reuenger. Beare the Kings Sonnes body,\nBefore our Army, thy Pacorus Orades,\nPaies this for Marcus Crassus\nRomaine. Noble Ventidius,\nWhil'st yet with Parthian blood thy Sword is warme,\nThe Fugitiue Parthians follow. Spurre through Media,\nMesapotamia, and the shelters, whether\nThe routed flie. So thy grand Captaine Anthony\nShall set thee on triumphant Chariots, and\nPut Garlands on thy head\nVen. Oh Sillius, Sillius,\nI haue done enough. A lower place note well\nMay make too great an act. For learne this Sillius,\nBetter to leaue vndone, then by our deed\nAcquire too high a Fame, when him we serues away.\nCaesar and Anthony, haue euer wonne\nMore in their officer, then person. Sossius\nOne of my place in Syria, his Lieutenant,\nFor quicke accumulation of renowne,\nWhich he atchiu'd by'th' minute, lost his fauour.\nWho does i'th' Warres more then his Captaine can,\nBecomes his Captaines Captaine: and Ambition\n(The Souldiers vertue) rather makes choise of losse\nThen gaine, which darkens him.\nI could do more to do Anthonius good,\nBut 'twould offend him. And in his offence,\nShould my performance perish\nRom. Thou hast Ventidius that, without the which a\nSouldier and his Sword graunts scarce distinction: thou\nwilt write to Anthony\nVen. Ile humbly signifie what in his name,\nThat magicall word of Warre we haue effected,\nHow with his Banners, and his well paid ranks,\nThe nere-yet beaten Horse of Parthia,\nWe haue iaded out o'th' Field\nRom. Where is he now?\nVen. He purposeth to Athens, whither with what hast\nThe waight we must conuay with's, will permit:\nWe shall appeare before him. On there, passe along.\nExeunt.\nEnter Agrippa at one doore, Enobarbus at another.\nAgri. What are the Brothers parted?\nEno. They haue dispatcht with Pompey, he is gone,\nThe other three are Sealing. Octauia weepes\nTo part from Rome: Caesar is sad, and Lepidus\nSince Pompey's feast, as Menas saies, is troubled\nWith the Greene-Sicknesse\nAgri. 'Tis a Noble Lepidus\nEno. A very fine one: oh, how he loues Caesar\nAgri. Nay but how deerely he adores Mark Anthony\nEno. Caesar? why he's the Iupiter of men\nAnt. What's Anthony, the God of Iupiter?\nEno. Spake you of Caesar? How, the non-pareill?\nAgri. Oh Anthony, oh thou Arabian Bird!\nEno. Would you praise Caesar, say Caesar go no further\nAgr. Indeed he plied them both with excellent praises\nEno. But he loues Caesar best, yet he loues Anthony:\nHoo, Hearts, Tongues, Figure,\nScribes, Bards, Poets, cannot\nThinke speake, cast, write, sing, number: hoo,\nHis loue to Anthony. But as for Caesar,\nKneele downe, kneele downe, and wonder\nAgri. Both he loues\nEno. They are his Shards, and he their Beetle, so:\nThis is to horse: Adieu, Noble Agrippa\nAgri. Good Fortune worthy Souldier, and farewell.\nEnter Caesar, Anthony, Lepidus, and Octauia.\nAntho. No further Sir\nCaesar. You take from me a great part of my selfe:\nVse me well in't. Sister, proue such a wife\nAs my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest Band\nShall passe on thy approofe: most Noble Anthony,\nLet not the peece of Vertue which is set\nBetwixt vs, as the Cyment of our loue\nTo keepe it builded, be the Ramme to batter\nThe Fortresse of it: for better might we\nHaue lou'd without this meane, if on both parts\nThis be not cherisht\nAnt. Make me not offended, in your distrust\nCaesar. I haue said\nAnt. You shall not finde,\nThough you be therein curious, the lest cause\nFor what you seeme to feare, so the Gods keepe you,\nAnd make the hearts of Romaines serue your ends:\nWe will heere part\nCaesar. Farewell my deerest Sister, fare thee well,\nThe Elements be kind to thee, and make\nThy spirits all of comfort: fare thee well\nOcta. My Noble Brother\nAnth. The Aprill's in her eyes, it is Loues spring,\nAnd these the showers to bring it on: be cheerfull\nOcta. Sir, looke well to my Husbands house: and-\nCaesar. What Octauia?\nOcta. Ile tell you in your eare\nAnt. Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can\nHer heart informe her tongue.\nThe Swannes downe feather\nThat stands vpon the Swell at the full of Tide:\nAnd neither way inclines\nEno. Will Caesar weepe?\nAgr. He ha's a cloud in's face\nEno. He were the worse for that were he a Horse, so is\nhe being a man\nAgri. Why Enobarbus:\nWhen Anthony found Iulius Caesar dead,\nHe cried almost to roaring: And he wept,\nWhen at Phillippi he found Brutus slaine\nEno. That year indeed, he was trobled with a rheume,\nWhat willingly he did confound, he wail'd,\nBeleeu't till I weepe too\nCaesar. No sweet Octauia,\nYou shall heare from me still: the time shall not\nOut-go my thinking on you\nAnt. Come Sir, come,\nIle wrastle with you in my strength of loue,\nLooke heere I haue you, thus I let you go,\nAnd giue you to the Gods\nCaesar. Adieu, be happy\nLep. Let all the number of the Starres giue light\nTo thy faire way\nCaesar. Farewell, farewell.\nKisses Octauia.\nAnt. Farewell.\nTrumpets sound. Exeunt.\nEnter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas.\nCleo. Where is the Fellow?\nAlex. Halfe afeard to come\nCleo. Go too, go too: Come hither Sir.\nEnter the Messenger as before.\nAlex. Good Maiestie: Herod of Iury dare not looke\nvpon you, but when you are well pleas'd\nCleo. That Herods head, Ile haue: but how? When\nAnthony is gone, through whom I might commaund it:\nCome thou neere\nMes. Most gratious Maiestie\nCleo. Did'st thou behold Octauia?\nMes. I dread Queene\nCleo. Where?\nMes. Madam in Rome, I lookt her in the face: and\nsaw her led betweene her Brother, and Marke Anthony\nCleo. Is she as tall as me?\nMes. She is not Madam\nCleo. Didst heare her speake?\nIs she shrill tongu'd or low?\nMes. Madam, I heard her speake, she is low voic'd\nCleo. That's not so good: he cannot like her long\nChar. Like her? Oh Isis: 'tis impossible\nCleo. I thinke so Charmian: dull of tongue, & dwarfish\nWhat Maiestie is in her gate, remember\nIf ere thou look'st on Maiestie\nMes. She creepes: her motion, & her station are as one.\nShe shewes a body, rather then a life,\nA Statue, then a Breather\nCleo. Is this certaine?\nMes. Or I haue no obseruance\nCha. Three in Egypt cannot make better note\nCleo. He's very knowing, I do perceiu't,\nThere's nothing in her yet.\nThe Fellow ha's good iudgement\nChar. Excellent\nCleo. Guesse at her yeares, I prythee\nMess. Madam, she was a widdow\nCleo. Widdow? Charmian, hearke\nMes. And I do thinke she's thirtie\nCle. Bear'st thou her face in mind? is't long or round?\nMess. Round, euen to faultinesse\nCleo. For the most part too, they are foolish that are\nso. Her haire what colour?\nMess. Browne Madam: and her forehead\nAs low as she would wish it\nCleo. There's Gold for thee,\nThou must not take my former sharpenesse ill,\nI will employ thee backe againe: I finde thee\nMost fit for businesse. Go, make thee ready,\nOur Letters are prepar'd\nChar. A proper man\nCleo. Indeed he is so: I repent me much\nThat so I harried him. Why me think's by him,\nThis Creature's no such thing\nChar. Nothing Madam\nCleo. The man hath seene some Maiesty, and should\nknow\nChar. Hath he seene Maiestie? Isis else defend: and\nseruing you so long\nCleopa. I haue one thing more to aske him yet good\nCharmian: but 'tis no matter, thou shalt bring him to me\nwhere I will write; all may be well enough\nChar. I warrant you Madam.\nExeunt.\nEnter Anthony and Octauia.\nAnt. Nay, nay Octauia, not onely that,\nThat were excusable, that and thousands more\nOf semblable import, but he hath wag'd\nNew Warres 'gainst Pompey. Made his will, and read it,\nTo publicke eare, spoke scantly of me,\nWhen perforce he could not\nBut pay me tearmes of Honour: cold and sickly\nHe vented then most narrow measure: lent me,\nWhen the best hint was giuen him: he not took't,\nOr did it from his teeth\nOctaui. Oh my good Lord,\nBeleeue not all, or if you must beleeue,\nStomacke not all. A more vnhappie Lady,\nIf this deuision chance, ne're stood betweene\nPraying for both parts:\nThe good Gods wil mocke me presently,\nWhen I shall pray: Oh blesse my Lord, and Husband,\nVndo that prayer, by crying out as loud,\nOh blesse my Brother. Husband winne, winne Brother,\nPrayes, and distroyes the prayer, no midway\n'Twixt these extreames at all\nAnt. Gentle Octauia,\nLet your best loue draw to that point which seeks\nBest to preserue it: if I loose mine Honour,\nI loose my selfe: better I were not yours\nThen your so branchlesse. But as you requested,\nYour selfe shall go between's, the meane time Lady,\nIle raise the preparation of a Warre\nShall staine your Brother, make your soonest hast,\nSo your desires are yours\nOct. Thanks to my Lord,\nThe Ioue of power make me most weake, most weake,\nYour reconciler: Warres 'twixt you twaine would be,\nAs if the world should cleaue, and that slaine men\nShould soalder vp the Rift\nAnth. When it appeeres to you where this begins,\nTurne your displeasure that way, for our faults\nCan neuer be so equall, that your loue\nCan equally moue with them. Prouide your going,\nChoose your owne company, and command what cost\nYour heart he's mind too.\nExeunt.\nEnter Enobarbus, and Eros.\nEno. How now Friend Eros?\nEros. Ther's strange Newes come Sir\nEno. What man?\nEro. Caesar & Lepidus haue made warres vpon Pompey\nEno. This is old, what is the successe?\nEros. Caesar hauing made vse of him in the warres\n'gainst Pompey: presently denied him riuality, would not\nlet him partake in the glory of the action, and not resting\nhere, accuses him of Letters he had formerly wrote to\nPompey. Vpon his owne appeale seizes him, so the poore\nthird is vp, till death enlarge his Confine\nEno. Then would thou hadst a paire of chaps no more,\nand throw betweene them all the food thou hast, they'le\ngrinde the other. Where's Anthony?\nEros. He's walking in the garden thus, and spurnes\nThe rush that lies before him. Cries Foole Lepidus,\nAnd threats the throate of that his Officer,\nThat murdred Pompey\nEno. Our great Nauies rig'd\nEros. For Italy and Caesar, more Domitius,\nMy Lord desires you presently: my Newes\nI might haue told heareafter\nEno. 'Twillbe naught, but let it be: bring me to Anthony\nEros. Come Sir,\nExeunt.\nEnter Agrippa, Mecenas, and Caesar.\nCaes Contemning Rome he ha's done all this, & more\nIn Alexandria: heere's the manner of't:\nI'th' Market-place on a Tribunall siluer'd,\nCleopatra and himselfe in Chaires of Gold\nWere publikely enthron'd: at the feet, sat\nCaesarion whom they call my Fathers Sonne,\nAnd all the vnlawfull issue, that their Lust\nSince then hath made betweene them. Vnto her,\nHe gaue the stablishment of Egypt, made her\nOf lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia, absolute Queene\nMece. This in the publike eye?\nCaesar. I'th' common shew place, where they exercise,\nHis Sonnes hither proclaimed the King of Kings,\nGreat Media, Parthia, and Armenia\nHe gaue to Alexander. To Ptolomy he assign'd,\nSyria, Silicia, and Phoenetia: she\nIn th' abiliments of the Goddesse Isis\nThat day appeer'd, and oft before gaue audience,\nAs 'tis reported so\nMece. Let Rome be thus inform'd\nAgri. Who queazie with his insolence already,\nWill their good thoughts call from him\nCaesar. The people knowes it,\nAnd haue now receiu'd his accusations\nAgri. Who does he accuse?\nCaesar. Caesar, and that hauing in Cicilie\nSextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him\nHis part o'th' Isle. Then does he say, he lent me\nSome shipping vnrestor'd. Lastly, he frets\nThat Lepidus of the Triumpherate, should be depos'd,\nAnd being that, we detaine all his Reuenue\nAgri. Sir, this should be answer'd\nCaesar. 'Tis done already, and the Messenger gone:\nI haue told him Lepidus was growne too cruell,\nThat he his high Authority abus'd,\nAnd did deserue his change: for what I haue conquer'd,\nI grant him part: but then in his Armenia,\nAnd other of his conquer'd Kingdoms, I demand the like\nMec. Hee'l neuer yeeld to that\nCaes Nor must not then be yeelded to in this.\nEnter Octauia with her Traine.\nOcta. Haile Caesar, and my L[ord]. haile most deere Caesar\nCaesar. That euer I should call thee Cast-away\nOcta. You haue not call'd me so, nor haue you cause\nCaes Why haue you stoln vpon vs thus? you come not\nLike Caesars Sister, The wife of Anthony\nShould haue an Army for an Vsher, and\nThe neighes of Horse to tell of her approach,\nLong ere she did appeare. The trees by'th' way\nShould haue borne men, and expectation fainted,\nLonging for what it had not. Nay, the dust\nShould haue ascended to the Roofe of Heauen,\nRais'd by your populous Troopes: But you are come\nA Market-maid to Rome, and haue preuented\nThe ostentation of our loue; which left vnshewne,\nIs often left vnlou'd: we should haue met you\nBy Sea, and Land, supplying euery Stage\nWith an augmented greeting\nOcta. Good my Lord,\nTo come thus was I not constrain'd, but did it\nOn my free-will. My Lord Marke Anthony,\nHearing that you prepar'd for Warre, acquainted\nMy greeued eare withall: whereon I begg'd\nHis pardon for returne\nCaes Which soone he granted,\nBeing an abstract 'tweene his Lust, and him\nOcta. Do not say so, my Lord\nCaes I haue eyes vpon him,\nAnd his affaires come to me on the wind: wher is he now?\nOcta. My Lord, in Athens\nCaesar. No my most wronged Sister, Cleopatra\nHath nodded him to her. He hath giuen his Empire\nVp to a Whore, who now are leuying\nThe Kings o'th' earth for Warre. He hath assembled,\nBochus the King of Lybia, Archilaus\nOf Cappadocia, Philadelphos King\nOf Paphlagonia: the Thracian King Adullas,\nKing Manchus of Arabia, King of Pont,\nHerod of Iewry, Mithridates King\nOf Comageat, Polemen and Amintas,\nThe Kings of Mede, and Licoania,\nWith a more larger List of Scepters\nOcta. Aye me most wretched,\nThat haue my heart parted betwixt two Friends,\nThat does afflict each other\nCaes Welcom hither: your Letters did with-holde our breaking\nforth\nTill we perceiu'd both how you were wrong led,\nAnd we in negligent danger: cheere your heart,\nBe you not troubled with the time, which driues\nO're your content, these strong necessities,\nBut let determin'd things to destinie\nHold vnbewayl'd their way. Welcome to Rome,\nNothing more deere to me: You are abus'd\nBeyond the marke of thought: and the high Gods\nTo do you Iustice, makes his Ministers\nOf vs, and those that loue you. Best of comfort,\nAnd euer welcom to vs\nAgrip. Welcome Lady\nMec. Welcome deere Madam,\nEach heart in Rome does loue and pitty you,\nOnely th' adulterous Anthony, most large\nIn his abhominations, turnes you off,\nAnd giues his potent Regiment to a Trull\nThat noyses it against vs\nOcta. Is it so sir?\nCaes Most certaine: Sister welcome: pray you\nBe euer knowne to patience. My deer'st Sister.\nExeunt.\nEnter Cleopatra, and Enobarbus.\nCleo. I will be euen with thee, doubt it not\nEno. But why, why, why?\nCleo. Thou hast forespoke my being in these warres,\nAnd say'st it is not fit\nEno. Well: is it, is it\nCleo. If not, denounc'd against vs, why should not\nwe be there in person\nEnob. Well, I could reply: if wee should serue with\nHorse and Mares together, the Horse were meerly lost:\nthe Mares would beare a Soldiour and his Horse\nCleo. What is't you say?\nEnob. Your presence needs must puzle Anthony,\nTake from his heart, take from his Braine, from's time,\nWhat should not then be spar'd. He is already\nTraduc'd for Leuity, and 'tis said in Rome,\nThat Photinus an Eunuch, and your Maides\nMannage this warre\nCleo. Sinke Rome, and their tongues rot\nThat speake against vs. A Charge we beare i'th' Warre,\nAnd as the president of my Kingdome will\nAppeare there for a man. Speake not against it,\nI will not stay behinde.\nEnter Anthony and Camidias.\nEno. Nay I haue done, here comes the Emperor\nAnt. Is it not strange Camidius,\nThat from Tarientum, and Brandusium,\nHe could so quickly cut the Ionian Sea,\nAnd take in Troine. You haue heard on't (Sweet?)\nCleo. Celerity is neuer more admir'd,\nThen by the negligent\nAnt. A good rebuke,\nWhich might haue well becom'd the best of men\nTo taunt at slacknesse. Camidius, wee\nWill fight with him by Sea\nCleo. By Sea, what else?\nCam. Why will my Lord, do so?\nAnt. For that he dares vs too't\nEnob. So hath my Lord, dar'd him to single fight\nCam. I, and to wage this Battell at Pharsalia,\nWhere Caesar fought with Pompey. But these offers\nWhich serue not for his vantage, he shakes off,\nAnd so should you\nEnob. Your Shippes are not well mann'd,\nYour Marriners are Militers, Reapers, people\nIngrost by swift Impresse. In Caesars Fleete,\nAre those, that often haue 'gainst Pompey fought,\nTheir shippes are yare, yours heauy: no disgrace\nShall fall you for refusing him at Sea,\nBeing prepar'd for Land\nAnt. By Sea, by Sea\nEno. Most worthy Sir, you therein throw away\nThe absolute Soldiership you haue by Land,\nDistract your Armie, which doth most consist\nOf Warre-markt-footmen, leaue vnexecuted\nYour owne renowned knowledge, quite forgoe\nThe way which promises assurance, and\nGiue vp your selfe meerly to chance and hazard,\nFrom firme Securitie\nAnt. Ile fight at Sea\nCleo. I haue sixty Sailes, Caesar none better\nAnt. Our ouer-plus of shipping will we burne,\nAnd with the rest full mann'd, from th' head of Action\nBeate th' approaching Caesar. But if we faile,\nWe then can doo't at Land.\nEnter a Messenger.\nThy Businesse?\nMes. The Newes is true, my Lord, he is descried,\nCaesar ha's taken Toryne\nAnt. Can he be there in person? 'Tis impossible\nStrange, that his power should be. Camidius,\nOur nineteene Legions thou shalt hold by Land,\nAnd our twelue thousand Horse. Wee'l to our Ship,\nAway my Thetis.\nEnter a Soldiour.\nHow now worthy Souldier?\nSoul. Oh Noble Emperor, do not fight by Sea,\nTrust not to rotten plankes: Do you misdoubt\nThis Sword, and these my Wounds; let th' Egyptians\nAnd the Phoenicians go a ducking: wee\nHaue vs'd to conquer standing on the earth,\nAnd fighting foot to foot\nAnt. Well, well, away.\nexit Ant. Cleo. & Enob\nSoul. By Hercules I thinke I am i'th' right\nCam. Souldier thou art: but his whole action growes\nNot in the power on't: so our Leaders leade,\nAnd we are Womens mens\nSoul. You keepe by Land the Legions and the Horse\nwhole, do you not?\nVen. Marcus Octauius, Marcus Iusteus,\nPublicola, and Celius, are for Sea:\nBut we keepe whole by Land. This speede of Caesars\nCarries beyond beleefe\nSoul. While he was yet in Rome,\nHis power went out in such distractions,\nAs beguilde all Spies\nCam. Who's his Lieutenant, heare you?\nSoul. They say, one Towrus\nCam. Well, I know the man.\nEnter a Messenger.\nMes. The Emperor cals Camidius\nCam. With Newes the times with Labour,\nAnd throwes forth each minute, some.\nExeunt.\nEnter Caesar with his Army, marching.\nCaes Towrus?\nTow. My Lord\nCaes Strike not by Land,\nKeepe whole, prouoke not Battaile\nTill we haue done at Sea. Do not exceede\nThe Prescript of this Scroule: Our fortune lyes\nVpon this iumpe.\nEnter.\nEnter Anthony, and Enobarbus.\nAnt. Set we our Squadrons on yond side o'th' Hill,\nIn eye of Caesars battaile, from which place\nWe may the number of the Ships behold,\nAnd so proceed accordingly.\nEnter.\nCamidius Marcheth with his Land Army one way ouer the stage,\nand Towrus\nthe Lieutenant of Caesar the other way: After their going in, is\nheard the\nnoise of a Sea fight. Alarum. Enter Enobarbus and Scarus.\nEno. Naught, naught, al naught, I can behold no longer:\nThantoniad, the Egyptian Admirall,\nWith all their sixty flye, and turne the Rudder:\nTo see't, mine eyes are blasted.\nEnter Scarrus.\nScar. Gods, & Goddesses, all the whol synod of them!\nEno. What's thy passion\nScar. The greater Cantle of the world, is lost\nWith very ignorance, we haue kist away\nKingdomes, and Prouinces\nEno. How appeares the Fight?\nScar. On our side, like the Token'd Pestilence,\nWhere death is sure. Yon ribaudred Nagge of Egypt,\n(Whom Leprosie o're-take) i'th' midst o'th' fight,\nWhen vantage like a payre of Twinnes appear'd\nBoth as the same, or rather ours the elder;\n(The Breeze vpon her) like a Cow in Iune,\nHoists Sailes, and flyes\nEno. That I beheld:\nMine eyes did sicken at the sight, and could not\nIndure a further view\nScar. She once being looft,\nThe Noble ruine of her Magicke, Anthony,\nClaps on his Sea-wing, and (like a doting Mallard)\nLeauing the Fight in heighth, flyes after her:\nI neuer saw an Action of such shame;\nExperience, Man-hood, Honor, ne're before,\nDid violate so it selfe\nEnob. Alacke, alacke.\nEnter Camidius\nCam. Our Fortune on the Sea is out of breath,\nAnd sinkes most lamentably. Had our Generall\nBin what he knew himselfe, it had gone well:\nOh his ha's giuen example for our flight,\nMost grossely by his owne\nEnob. I, are you thereabouts? Why then goodnight\nindeede\nCam. Toward Peloponnesus are they fled\nScar. 'Tis easie toot,\nAnd there I will attend what further comes\nCamid. To Caesar will I render\nMy Legions and my Horse, sixe Kings alreadie\nShew me the way of yeelding\nEno. Ile yet follow\nThe wounded chance of Anthony, though my reason\nSits in the winde against me.\nEnter Anthony with Attendants.\nAnt. Hearke, the Land bids me tread no more vpon't,\nIt is asham'd to beare me. Friends, come hither,\nI am so lated in the world, that I\nHaue lost my way for euer. I haue a shippe,\nLaden with Gold, take that, diuide it: flye,\nAnd make your peace with Caesar\nOmnes. Fly? Not wee\nAnt. I haue fled my selfe, and haue instructed cowards\nTo runne, and shew their shoulders. Friends be gone,\nI haue my selfe resolu'd vpon a course,\nWhich has no neede of you. Be gone,\nMy Treasure's in the Harbour. Take it: Oh,\nI follow'd that I blush to looke vpon,\nMy very haires do mutiny: for the white\nReproue the browne for rashnesse, and they them\nFor feare, and doting. Friends be gone, you shall\nHaue Letters from me to some Friends, that will\nSweepe your way for you. Pray you looke not sad,\nNor make replyes of loathnesse, take the hint\nWhich my dispaire proclaimes. Let them be left\nWhich leaues it selfe, to the Sea-side straight way;\nI will possesse you of that ship and Treasure.\nLeaue me, I pray a little: pray you now,\nNay do so: for indeede I haue lost command,\nTherefore I pray you, Ile see you by and by.\nSits downe\nEnter Cleopatra led by Charmian and Eros.\nEros. Nay gentle Madam, to him, comfort him\nIras. Do most deere Queene\nChar. Do, why, what else?\nCleo. Let me sit downe: Oh Iuno\nAnt. No, no, no, no, no\nEros. See you heere, Sir?\nAnt. Oh fie, fie, fie\nChar. Madam\nIras. Madam, oh good Empresse\nEros. Sir, sir\nAnt. Yes my Lord, yes; he at Philippi kept\nHis sword e'ne like a dancer, while I strooke\nThe leane and wrinkled Cassius, and 'twas I\nThat the mad Brutus ended: he alone\nDealt on Lieutenantry, and no practise had\nIn the braue squares of Warre: yet now: no matter\nCleo. Ah stand by\nEros. The Queene my Lord, the Queene\nIras. Go to him, Madam, speake to him,\nHee's vnqualitied with very shame\nCleo. Well then, sustaine me: Oh\nEros. Most Noble Sir arise, the Queene approaches,\nHer head's declin'd, and death will cease her, but\nYour comfort makes the rescue\nAnt. I haue offended Reputation,\nA most vnnoble sweruing\nEros. Sir, the Queene\nAnt. Oh whether hast thou lead me Egypt, see\nHow I conuey my shame, out of thine eyes,\nBy looking backe what I haue left behinde\nStroy'd in dishonor\nCleo. Oh my Lord, my Lord,\nForgiue my fearfull sayles, I little thought\nYou would haue followed\nAnt. Egypt, thou knew'st too well,\nMy heart was to thy Rudder tyed by'th' strings,\nAnd thou should'st towe me after. O're my spirit\nThe full supremacie thou knew'st, and that\nThy becke, might from the bidding of the Gods\nCommand mee\nCleo. Oh my pardon\nAnt. Now I must\nTo the young man send humble Treaties, dodge\nAnd palter in the shifts of lownes, who\nWith halfe the bulke o'th' world plaid as I pleas'd,\nMaking, and marring Fortunes. You did know\nHow much you were my Conqueror, and that\nMy Sword, made weake by my affection, would\nObey it on all cause\nCleo. Pardon, pardon\nAnt. Fall not a teare I say, one of them rates\nAll that is wonne and lost: Giue me a kisse,\nEuen this repayes me.\nWe sent our Schoolemaster, is a come backe?\nLoue I am full of Lead: some Wine\nWithin there, and our Viands: Fortune knowes,\nWe scorne her most, when most she offers blowes.\nExeunt.\nEnter Caesar, Agrippa, and Dollabello, with others.\nCaes Let him appeare that's come from Anthony.\nKnow you him\nDolla. Caesar, 'tis his Schoolemaster,\nAn argument that he is pluckt, when hither\nHe sends so poore a Pinnion of his Wing,\nWhich had superfluous Kings for Messengers,\nNot many Moones gone by.\nEnter Ambassador from Anthony.\nCaesar. Approach, and speake\nAmb. Such as I am, I come from Anthony:\nI was of late as petty to his ends,\nAs is the Morne-dew on the Mertle leafe\nTo his grand Sea\nCaes Bee't so, declare thine office\nAmb. Lord of his Fortunes he salutes thee, and\nRequires to liue in Egypt, which not granted\nHe Lessons his Requests, and to thee sues\nTo let him breath betweene the Heauens and Earth\nA priuate man in Athens: this for him.\nNext, Cleopatra does confesse thy Greatnesse,\nSubmits her to thy might, and of thee craues\nThe Circle of the Ptolomies for her heyres,\nNow hazarded to thy Grace\nCaes For Anthony,\nI haue no eares to his request. The Queene,\nOf Audience, nor Desire shall faile, so shee\nFrom Egypt driue her all-disgraced Friend,\nOr take his life there. This if shee performe,\nShe shall not sue vnheard. So to them both\nAmb. Fortune pursue thee\nCaes Bring him through the Bands:\nTo try thy Eloquence, now 'tis time, dispatch,\nFrom Anthony winne Cleopatra, promise\nAnd in our Name, what she requires, adde more\nFrom thine inuention, offers. Women are not\nIn their best Fortunes strong; but want will periure\nThe ne're touch'd Vestall. Try thy cunning Thidias,\nMake thine owne Edict for thy paines, which we\nWill answer as a Law\nThid. Caesar. I go\nCaesar. Obserue how Anthony becomes his flaw,\nAnd what thou think'st his very action speakes\nIn euery power that mooues\nThid. Caesar, I shall.\nExeunt.\nEnter Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, & Iras.\nCleo. What shall we do, Enobarbus?\nEno. Thinke, and dye\nCleo. Is Anthony, or we in fault for this?\nEno. Anthony onely, that would make his will\nLord of his Reason. What though you fled,\nFrom that great face of Warre, whose seuerall ranges\nFrighted each other? Why should he follow?\nThe itch of his Affection should not then\nHaue nickt his Captain-ship, at such a point,\nWhen halfe to halfe the world oppos'd, he being\nThe meered question? 'Twas a shame no lesse\nThen was his losse, to course your flying Flagges,\nAnd leaue his Nauy gazing\nCleo. Prythee peace.\nEnter the Ambassador, with Anthony.\nAnt. Is that his answer?\nAmb. I my Lord\nAnt. The Queene shall then haue courtesie,\nSo she will yeeld vs vp\nAm. He sayes so\nAntho. Let her know't. To the Boy Caesar send this\ngrizled head, and he will fill thy wishes to the brimme,\nWith Principalities\nCleo. That head my Lord?\nAnt. To him againe, tell him he weares the Rose\nOf youth vpon him: from which, the world should note\nSomething particular: His Coine, Ships, Legions,\nMay be a Cowards, whose Ministers would preuaile\nVnder the seruice of a Childe, as soone\nAs i'th' Command of Caesar. I dare him therefore\nTo lay his gay Comparisons a-part,\nAnd answer me declin'd, Sword against Sword,\nOur selues alone: Ile write it: Follow me\nEno. Yes like enough: hye battel'd Caesar will\nVnstate his happinesse, and be Stag'd to'th' shew\nAgainst a Sworder. I see mens Iudgements are\nA parcell of their Fortunes, and things outward\nDo draw the inward quality after them\nTo suffer all alike, that he should dreame,\nKnowing all measures, the full Caesar will\nAnswer his emptinesse; Caesar thou hast subdu'de\nHis iudgement too.\nEnter a Seruant.\nSer. A Messenger from Caesar\nCleo. What no more Ceremony? See my Women,\nAgainst the blowne Rose may they stop their nose,\nThat kneel'd vnto the Buds. Admit him sir\nEno. Mine honesty, and I, beginne to square,\nThe Loyalty well held to Fooles, does make\nOur Faith meere folly: yet he that can endure\nTo follow with Allegeance a falne Lord,\nDoes conquer him that did his Master conquer,\nAnd earnes a place i'th' Story.\nEnter Thidias.\nCleo. Caesars will\nThid. Heare it apart\nCleo. None but Friends: say boldly\nThid. So haply are they Friends to Anthony\nEnob. He needs as many (Sir) as Caesar ha's,\nOr needs not vs. If Caesar please, our Master\nWill leape to be his Friend: For vs you know,\nWhose he is, we are, and that is Caesars\nThid. So. Thus then thou most renown'd, Caesar intreats,\nNot to consider in what case thou stand'st\nFurther then he is Caesars\nCleo. Go on, right Royall\nThid. He knowes that you embrace not Anthony\nAs you did loue, but as you feared him\nCleo. Oh\nThid. The scarre's vpon your Honor, therefore he\nDoes pitty, as constrained blemishes,\nNot as deserued\nCleo. He is a God,\nAnd knowes what is most right. Mine Honour\nWas not yeelded, but conquer'd meerely\nEno. To be sure of that, I will aske Anthony.\nSir, sir, thou art so leakie\nThat we must leaue thee to thy sinking, for\nThy deerest quit thee.\nExit Enob.\nThid. Shall I say to Caesar,\nWhat you require of him: for he partly begges\nTo be desir'd to giue. It much would please him,\nThat of his Fortunes you should make a staffe\nTo leane vpon. But it would warme his spirits\nTo heare from me you had left Anthony,\nAnd put your selfe vnder his shrowd, the vniuersal Landlord\nCleo. What's your name?\nThid. My name is Thidias\nCleo. Most kinde Messenger,\nSay to great Caesar this in disputation,\nI kisse his conqu'ring hand: Tell him, I am prompt\nTo lay my Crowne at's feete, and there to kneele.\nTell him, from his all-obeying breath, I heare\nThe doome of Egypt\nThid. 'Tis your Noblest course:\nWisedome and Fortune combatting together,\nIf that the former dare but what it can,\nNo chance may shake it. Giue me grace to lay\nMy dutie on your hand\nCleo. Your Caesars Father oft,\n(When he hath mus'd of taking kingdomes in)\nBestow'd his lips on that vnworthy place,\nAs it rain'd kisses.\nEnter Anthony and Enobarbus.\nAnt. Fauours? By Ioue that thunders. What art thou Fellow?\nThid. One that but performes\nThe bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest\nTo haue command obey'd\nEno. You will be whipt\nAnt. Approch there: ah you Kite. Now Gods & diuels\nAuthority melts from me of late. When I cried hoa,\nLike Boyes vnto a musse, Kings would start forth,\nAnd cry, your will. Haue you no eares?\nI am Anthony yet. Take hence this Iack, and whip him.\nEnter a Seruant.\nEno. 'Tis better playing with a Lions whelpe,\nThen with an old one dying\nAnt. Moone and Starres,\nWhip him: wer't twenty of the greatest Tributaries\nThat do acknowledge Caesar, should I finde them\nSo sawcy with the hand of she heere, what's her name\nSince she was Cleopatra? Whip him Fellowes,\nTill like a Boy you see him crindge his face,\nAnd whine aloud for mercy. Take him hence\nThid. Marke Anthony\nAnt. Tugge him away: being whipt\nBring him againe, the Iacke of Caesars shall\nBeare vs an arrant to him.\nExeunt. with Thidius.\nYou were halfe blasted ere I knew you: Ha?\nHaue I my pillow left vnprest in Rome,\nForborne the getting of a lawfull Race,\nAnd by a Iem of women, to be abus'd\nBy one that lookes on Feeders?\nCleo. Good my Lord\nAnt. You haue beene a boggeler euer,\nBut when we in our viciousnesse grow hard\n(Oh misery on't) the wise Gods seele our eyes\nIn our owne filth, drop our cleare iudgements, make vs\nAdore our errors, laugh at's while we strut\nTo our confusion\nCleo. Oh, is't come to this?\nAnt. I found you as a Morsell, cold vpon\nDead Caesars Trencher: Nay, you were a Fragment\nOf Gneius Pompeyes, besides what hotter houres\nVnregistred in vulgar Fame, you haue\nLuxuriously pickt out. For I am sure,\nThough you can guesse what Temperance should be,\nYou know not what it is\nCleo. Wherefore is this?\nAnt. To let a Fellow that will take rewards,\nAnd say, God quit you, be familiar with\nMy play-fellow, your hand; this Kingly Seale,\nAnd plighter of high hearts. O that I were\nVpon the hill of Basan, to out-roare\nThe horned Heard, for I haue sauage cause,\nAnd to proclaime it ciuilly, were like\nA halter'd necke, which do's the Hangman thanke,\nFor being yare about him. Is he whipt?\nEnter a Seruant with Thidias.\nSer. Soundly, my Lord\nAnt. Cried he? and begg'd a Pardon?\nSer. He did aske fauour\nAnt. If that thy Father liue, let him repent\nThou was't not made his daughter, and be thou sorrie\nTo follow Caesar in his Triumph, since\nThou hast bin whipt. For following him, henceforth\nThe white hand of a Lady Feauer thee,\nShake thou to looke on't. Get thee backe to Caesar,\nTell him thy entertainment: looke thou say\nHe makes me angry with him. For he seemes\nProud and disdainfull, harping on what I am,\nNot what he knew I was. He makes me angry,\nAnd at this time most easie 'tis to doo't:\nWhen my good Starres, that were my former guides\nHaue empty left their Orbes, and shot their Fires\nInto th' Abisme of hell. If he mislike,\nMy speech, and what is done, tell him he has\nHiparchus, my enfranched Bondman, whom\nHe may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture,\nAs he shall like to quit me. Vrge it thou:\nHence with thy stripes, be gone.\nExit Thid.\nCleo. Haue you done yet?\nAnt. Alacke our Terrene Moone is now Eclipst,\nAnd it portends alone the fall of Anthony\nCleo. I must stay his time?\nAnt. To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes\nWith one that tyes his points\nCleo. Not know me yet?\nAnt. Cold-hearted toward me?\nCleo. Ah (Deere) if I be so,\nFrom my cold heart let Heauen ingender haile,\nAnd poyson it in the sourse, and the first stone\nDrop in my necke: as it determines so\nDissolue my life, the next Caesarian smile,\nTill by degrees the memory of my wombe,\nTogether with my braue Egyptians all,\nBy the discandering of this pelleted storme,\nLye grauelesse, till the Flies and Gnats of Nyle\nHaue buried them for prey\nAnt. I am satisfied:\nCaesar sets downe in Alexandria, where\nI will oppose his Fate. Our force by Land,\nHath Nobly held, our seuer'd Nauie too\nHaue knit againe, and Fleete, threatning most Sea-like.\nWhere hast thou bin my heart? Dost thou heare Lady?\nIf from the Field I shall returne once more\nTo kisse these Lips, I will appeare in Blood,\nI, and my Sword, will earne our Chronicle,\nThere's hope in't yet\nCleo. That's my braue Lord\nAnt. I will be trebble-sinewed, hearted, breath'd,\nAnd fight maliciously: for when mine houres\nWere nice and lucky, men did ransome liues\nOf me for iests: But now, Ile set my teeth,\nAnd send to darkenesse all that stop me. Come,\nLet's haue one other gawdy night: Call to me\nAll my sad Captaines, fill our Bowles once more:\nLet's mocke the midnight Bell\nCleo. It is my Birth-day,\nI had thought t'haue held it poore. But since my Lord\nIs Anthony againe, I will be Cleopatra\nAnt. We will yet do well\nCleo. Call all his Noble Captaines to my Lord\nAnt. Do so, wee'l speake to them,\nAnd to night Ile force\nThe Wine peepe through their scarres.\nCome on (my Queene)\nThere's sap in't yet. The next time I do fight\nIle make death loue me: for I will contend\nEuen with his pestilent Sythe.\nExeunt.\nEno. Now hee'l out-stare the Lightning, to be furious\nIs to be frighted out of feare, and in that moode\nThe Doue will pecke the Estridge; and I see still\nA diminution in our Captaines braine,\nRestores his heart; when valour prayes in reason,\nIt eates the Sword it fights with: I will seeke\nSome way to leaue him.\nExeunt.\nEnter Caesar, Agrippa, & Mecenas with his Army, Caesar reading\na Letter.\nCaes He calles me Boy, and chides as he had power\nTo beate me out of Egypt. My Messenger\nHe hath whipt with Rods, dares me to personal Combat.\nCaesar to Anthony: let the old Ruffian know,\nI haue many other wayes to dye: meane time\nLaugh at his Challenge\nMece. Caesar must thinke,\nWhen one so great begins to rage, hee's hunted\nEuen to falling. Giue him no breath, but now\nMake boote of his distraction: Neuer anger\nMade good guard for it selfe\nCaes Let our best heads know,\nThat to morrow, the last of many Battailes\nWe meane to fight. Within our Files there are,\nOf those that seru'd Marke Anthony but late,\nEnough to fetch him in. See it done,\nAnd Feast the Army, we haue store to doo't,\nAnd they haue earn'd the waste. Poore Anthony.\nExeunt.\nEnter Anthony, Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, Iras, Alexas,\nwith others.\nAnt. He will not fight with me, Domitian?\nEno. No?\nAnt. Why should he not?\nEno. He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune,\nHe is twenty men to one\nAnt. To morrow Soldier,\nBy Sea and Land Ile fight: or I will liue,\nOr bathe my dying Honor in the blood\nShall make it liue againe. Woo't thou fight well\nEno. Ile strike, and cry, Take all\nAnt. Well said, come on:\nCall forth my Houshold Seruants, lets to night\nEnter 3 or 4 Seruitors.\nBe bounteous at our Meale. Giue me thy hand,\nThou hast bin rightly honest, so hast thou,\nThou, and thou, and thou: you haue seru'd me well,\nAnd Kings haue beene your fellowes\nCleo. What meanes this?\nEno. 'Tis one of those odde tricks which sorow shoots\nOut of the minde\nAnt. And thou art honest too:\nI wish I could be made so many men,\nAnd all of you clapt vp together, in\nAn Anthony: that I might do you seruice,\nSo good as you haue done\nOmnes. The Gods forbid\nAnt. Well, my good Fellowes, wait on me to night:\nScant not my Cups, and make as much of me,\nAs when mine Empire was your Fellow too,\nAnd suffer'd my command\nCleo. What does he meane?\nEno. To make his Followers weepe\nAnt. Tend me to night;\nMay be, it is the period of your duty,\nHaply you shall not see me more, or if,\nA mangled shadow. Perchance to morrow,\nYou'l serue another Master. I looke on you,\nAs one that takes his leaue. Mine honest Friends,\nI turne you not away, but like a Master\nMarried to your good seruice, stay till death:\nTend me to night two houres, I aske no more,\nAnd the Gods yeeld you for't\nEno. What meane you (Sir)\nTo giue them this discomfort? Looke they weepe,\nAnd I an Asse, am Onyon-ey'd; for shame,\nTransforme vs not to women\nAnt. Ho, ho, ho:\nNow the Witch take me, if I meant it thus.\nGrace grow where those drops fall (my hearty Friends)\nYou take me in too dolorous a sense,\nFor I spake to you for your comfort, did desire you\nTo burne this night with Torches: Know (my hearts)\nI hope well of to morrow, and will leade you,\nWhere rather Ile expect victorious life,\nThen death, and Honor. Let's to Supper, come,\nAnd drowne consideration.\nExeunt.\nEnter a Company of Soldiours.\n1.Sol. Brother, goodnight: to morrow is the day\n2.Sol. It will determine one way: Fare you well.\nHeard you of nothing strange about the streets\n1 Nothing: what newes?\n2 Belike 'tis but a Rumour, good night to you\n1 Well sir, good night.\nThey meete other Soldiers.\n2 Souldiers, haue carefull Watch\n1 And you: Goodnight, goodnight.\nThey place themselues in euery corner of the Stage.\n2 Heere we: and if to morrow\nOur Nauie thriue, I haue an absolute hope\nOur Landmen will stand vp\n1 'Tis a braue Army, and full of purpose.\nMusicke of the Hoboyes is vnder the Stage.\n2 Peace, what noise?\n1 List, list\n2 Hearke\n1 Musicke i'th' Ayre\n3 Vnder the earth\n4 It signes well, do's it not?\n3 No\n1 Peace I say: What should this meane?\n2 'Tis the God Hercules, whom Anthony loued,\nNow leaues him\n1 Walke, let's see if other Watchmen\nDo heare what we do?\n2 How now Maisters?\nSpeak together.\nOmnes. How now? how now? do you heare this?\n1 I, is't not strange?\n3 Do you heare Masters? Do you heare?\n1 Follow the noyse so farre as we haue quarter.\nLet's see how it will giue off\nOmnes. Content: 'Tis strange.\nExeunt.\nEnter Anthony and Cleopatra, with others.\nAnt. Eros, mine Armour Eros\nCleo. Sleepe a little\nAnt. No my Chucke. Eros, come mine Armor Eros.\nEnter Eros.\nCome good Fellow, put thine Iron on,\nIf Fortune be not ours to day, it is\nBecause we braue her. Come\nCleo. Nay, Ile helpe too, Anthony.\nWhat's this for? Ah let be, let be, thou art\nThe Armourer of my heart: False, false: This, this,\nSooth-law Ile helpe: Thus it must bee\nAnt. Well, well, we shall thriue now.\nSeest thou my good Fellow. Go, put on thy defences\nEros. Briefely Sir\nCleo. Is not this buckled well?\nAnt. Rarely, rarely:\nHe that vnbuckles this, till we do please\nTo daft for our Repose, shall heare a storme.\nThou fumblest Eros, and my Queenes a Squire\nMore tight at this, then thou: Dispatch. O Loue,\nThat thou couldst see my Warres to day, and knew'st\nThe Royall Occupation, thou should'st see\nA Workeman in't.\nEnter an Armed Soldier.\nGood morrow to thee, welcome,\nThou look'st like him that knowes a warlike Charge:\nTo businesse that we loue, we rise betime,\nAnd go too't with delight\nSoul. A thousand Sir, early though't be, haue on their\nRiueted trim, and at the Port expect you.\nShowt. Trumpets Flourish. Enter Captaines, and Souldiers.\nAlex. The Morne is faire: Good morrow Generall\nAll. Good morrow Generall\nAnt. 'Tis well blowne Lads.\nThis Morning, like the spirit of a youth\nThat meanes to be of note, begins betimes.\nSo, so: Come giue me that, this way, well-sed.\nFare thee well Dame, what ere becomes of me,\nThis is a Soldiers kisse: rebukeable,\nAnd worthy shamefull checke it were, to stand\nOn more Mechanicke Complement, Ile leaue thee.\nNow like a man of Steele, you that will fight,\nFollow me close, Ile bring you too't: Adieu.\nExeunt.\nChar. Please you retyre to your Chamber?\nCleo. Lead me:\nHe goes forth gallantly: That he and Caesar might\nDetermine this great Warre in single fight;\nThen Anthony; but now. Well on.\nExeunt.\nTrumpets sound. Enter Anthony, and Eros.\nEros. The Gods make this a happy day to Anthony\nAnt. Would thou, & those thy scars had once preuaild\nTo make me fight at Land\nEros. Had'st thou done so,\nThe Kings that haue reuolted, and the Soldier\nThat has this morning left thee, would haue still\nFollowed thy heeles\nAnt. Whose gone this morning?\nEros. Who? one euer neere thee, call for Enobarbus,\nHe shall not heare thee, or from Caesars Campe,\nSay I am none of thine\nAnt. What sayest thou?\nSold. Sir he is with Caesar\nEros. Sir, his Chests and Treasure he has not with him\nAnt. Is he gone?\nSol. Most certaine\nAnt. Go Eros, send his Treasure after, do it,\nDetaine no iot I charge thee: write to him,\n(I will subscribe) gentle adieu's, and greetings;\nSay, that I wish he neuer finde more cause\nTo change a Master. Oh my Fortunes haue\nCorrupted honest men. Dispatch Enobarbus.\nExit\nFlourish. Enter Agrippa, Caesar, with Enobarbus, and Dollabella.\nCaes Go forth Agrippa, and begin the fight:\nOur will is Anthony be tooke aliue:\nMake it so knowne\nAgrip. Caesar, I shall\nCaesar. The time of vniuersall peace is neere:\nProue this a prosp'rous day, the three nook'd world\nShall beare the Oliue freely.\nEnter a Messenger.\nMes. Anthony is come into the Field\nCaes Go charge Agrippa,\nPlant those that haue reuolted in the Vant,\nThat Anthony may seeme to spend his Fury\nVpon himselfe.\nExeunt.\nEnob. Alexas did reuolt, and went to Iewry on\nAffaires of Anthony, there did disswade\nGreat Herod to incline himselfe to Caesar,\nAnd leaue his Master Anthony. For this paines,\nCaesar hath hang'd him: Camindius and the rest\nThat fell away, haue entertainment, but\nNo honourable trust: I haue done ill,\nOf which I do accuse my selfe so sorely,\nThat I will ioy no more.\nEnter a Soldier of Caesars.\nSol. Enobarbus, Anthony\nHath after thee sent all thy Treasure, with\nHis Bounty ouer-plus. The Messenger\nCame on my guard, and at thy Tent is now\nVnloading of his Mules\nEno. I giue it you\nSol. Mocke not Enobarbus,\nI tell you true: Best you saf't the bringer\nOut of the hoast, I must attend mine Office,\nOr would haue done't my selfe. Your Emperor\nContinues still a Ioue.\nExit\nEnob. I am alone the Villaine of the earth,\nAnd feele I am so most. Oh Anthony,\nThou Mine of Bounty, how would'st thou haue payed\nMy better seruice, when my turpitude\nThou dost so Crowne with Gold. This blowes my hart,\nIf swift thought breake it not: a swifter meane\nShall out-strike thought, but thought will doo't. I feele\nI fight against thee: No I will go seeke\nSome Ditch, wherein to dye: the foul'st best fits\nMy latter part of life.\nEnter.\nAlarum, Drummes and Trumpets. Enter Agrippa.\nAgrip. Retire, we haue engag'd our selues too farre:\nCaesar himselfe ha's worke, and our oppression\nExceeds what we expected.\nEnter.\nAlarums. Enter Anthony, and Scarrus wounded.\nScar. O my braue Emperor, this is fought indeed,\nHad we done so at first, we had drouen them home\nWith clowts about their heads.\nFar off.\nAnt. Thou bleed'st apace\nScar. I had a wound heere that was like a T,\nBut now 'tis made an H\nAnt. They do retyre\nScar. Wee'l beat 'em into Bench-holes, I haue yet\nRoome for six scotches more\nEnter Eros.\nEros. They are beaten Sir, and our aduantage serues\nFor a faire victory\nScar. Let vs score their backes,\nAnd snatch 'em vp, as we take Hares behinde,\n'Tis sport to maul a Runner\nAnt. I will reward thee\nOnce for thy sprightly comfort, and ten-fold\nFor thy good valour. Come thee on\nScar. Ile halt after.\nExeunt.\nAlarum. Enter Anthony againe in a March. Scarrus, with others.\nAnt. We haue beate him to his Campe: Runne one\nBefore, & let the Queen know of our guests: to morrow\nBefore the Sun shall see's, wee'l spill the blood\nThat ha's to day escap'd. I thanke you all,\nFor doughty handed are you, and haue fought\nNot as you seru'd the Cause, but as't had beene\nEach mans like mine: you haue shewne all Hectors.\nEnter the Citty, clip your Wiues, your Friends,\nTell them your feats, whil'st they with ioyfull teares\nWash the congealement from your wounds, and kisse\nThe Honour'd-gashes whole.\nEnter Cleopatra.\nGiue me thy hand,\nTo this great Faiery, Ile commend thy acts,\nMake her thankes blesse thee. Oh thou day o'th' world,\nChaine mine arm'd necke, leape thou, Attyre and all\nThrough proofe of Harnesse to my heart, and there\nRide on the pants triumphing\nCleo. Lord of Lords.\nOh infinite Vertue, comm'st thou smiling from\nThe worlds great snare vncaught\nAnt. Mine Nightingale,\nWe haue beate them to their Beds.\nWhat Gyrle, though gray\nDo somthing mingle with our yonger brown, yet ha we\nA Braine that nourishes our Nerues, and can\nGet gole for gole of youth. Behold this man,\nCommend vnto his Lippes thy fauouring hand,\nKisse it my Warriour: He hath fought to day,\nAs if a God in hate of Mankinde, had\nDestroyed in such a shape\nCleo. Ile giue thee Friend\nAn Armour all of Gold: it was a Kings\nAnt. He has deseru'd it, were it Carbunkled\nLike holy Phoebus Carre. Giue me thy hand,\nThrough Alexandria make a iolly March,\nBeare our hackt Targets, like the men that owe them.\nHad our great Pallace the capacity\nTo Campe this hoast, we all would sup together,\nAnd drinke Carowses to the next dayes Fate\nWhich promises Royall perill, Trumpetters\nWith brazen dinne blast you the Citties eare,\nMake mingle with our ratling Tabourines,\nThat heauen and earth may strike their sounds together,\nApplauding our approach.\nExeunt.\nEnter a Centerie, and his Company, Enobarbus followes.\nCent. If we be not releeu'd within this houre,\nWe must returne to'th' Court of Guard: the night\nIs shiny, and they say, we shall embattaile\nBy'th' second houre i'th' Morne\n1.Watch. This last day was a shrew'd one too's\nEnob. Oh beare me witnesse night\n2 What man is this?\n1 Stand close, and list him\nEnob. Be witnesse to me (O thou blessed Moone)\nWhen men reuolted shall vpon Record\nBeare hatefull memory: poore Enobarbus did\nBefore thy face repent\nCent. Enobarbus?\n2 Peace: Hearke further\nEnob. Oh Soueraigne Mistris of true Melancholly,\nThe poysonous dampe of night dispunge vpon me,\nThat Life, a very Rebell to my will,\nMay hang no longer on me. Throw my heart\nAgainst the flint and hardnesse of my fault,\nWhich being dried with greefe, will breake to powder,\nAnd finish all foule thoughts. Oh Anthony,\nNobler then my reuolt is Infamous,\nForgiue me in thine owne particular,\nBut let the world ranke me in Register\nA Master leauer, and a fugitiue:\nOh Anthony! Oh Anthony!\n1 Let's speake to him\nCent. Let's heare him, for the things he speakes\nMay concerne Caesar\n2 Let's do so; but he sleepes\nCent. Swoonds rather, for so bad a Prayer as his\nWas neuer yet for sleepe\n1 Go we to him\n2 Awake sir, awake, speake to vs\n1 Heare you sir?\nCent. The hand of death hath raught him.\nDrummes afarre off.\nHearke the Drummes demurely wake the sleepers:\nLet vs beare him to'th' Court of Guard: he is of note:\nOur houre is fully out\n2 Come on then, he may recouer yet.\nExeunt.\nEnter Anthony and Scarrus, with their Army.\nAnt. Their preparation is to day by Sea,\nWe please them not by Land\nScar. For both, my Lord\nAnt. I would they'ld fight i'th' Fire, or i'th' Ayre,\nWee'ld fight there too. But this it is, our Foote\nVpon the hilles adioyning to the Citty\nShall stay with vs. Order for Sea is giuen,\nThey haue put forth the Hauen:\nWhere their appointment we may best discouer,\nAnd looke on their endeuour.\nExeunt.\nEnter Caesar, and his Army.\nCaes But being charg'd, we will be still by Land,\nWhich as I tak't we shall, for his best force\nIs forth to Man his Gallies. To the Vales,\nAnd hold our best aduantage.\nExeunt.\nAlarum afarre off, as at a Sea-fight. Enter Anthony, and Scarrus.\nAnt. Yet they are not ioyn'd:\nWhere yon'd Pine does stand, I shall discouer all.\nIle bring thee word straight, how 'tis like to go.\nEnter.\nScar. Swallowes haue built\nIn Cleopatra's Sailes their nests. The Auguries\nSay, they know not, they cannot tell, looke grimly,\nAnd dare not speake their knowledge. Anthony,\nIs valiant, and deiected, and by starts\nHis fretted Fortunes giue him hope and feare\nOf what he has, and has not.\nEnter Anthony.\nAnt. All is lost:\nThis fowle Egyptian hath betrayed me:\nMy Fleete hath yeelded to the Foe, and yonder\nThey cast their Caps vp, and Carowse together\nLike Friends long lost. Triple-turn'd Whore, 'tis thou\nHast sold me to this Nouice, and my heart\nMakes onely Warres on thee. Bid them all flye:\nFor when I am reueng'd vpon my Charme,\nI haue done all. Bid them all flye, be gone.\nOh Sunne, thy vprise shall I see no more,\nFortune, and Anthony part heere, euen heere\nDo we shake hands? All come to this? The hearts\nThat pannelled me at heeles, to whom I gaue\nTheir wishes, do dis-Candie, melt their sweets\nOn blossoming Caesar: And this Pine is barkt,\nThat ouer-top'd them all. Betray'd I am.\nOh this false Soule of Egypt! this graue Charme,\nWhose eye beck'd forth my Wars, & cal'd them home:\nWhose Bosome was my Crownet, my chiefe end,\nLike a right Gypsie, hath at fast and loose\nBeguil'd me, to the very heart of losse.\nWhat Eros, Eros?\nEnter Cleopatra.\nAh, thou Spell! Auaunt\nCleo. Why is my Lord enrag'd against his Loue?\nAnt. Vanish, or I shall giue thee thy deseruing,\nAnd blemish Caesars Triumph. Let him take thee,\nAnd hoist thee vp to the shouting Plebeians,\nFollow his Chariot, like the greatest spot\nOf all thy Sex. Most Monster-like be shewne\nFor poor'st Diminitiues, for Dolts, and let\nPatient Octauia, plough thy visage vp\nWith her prepared nailes.\nexit Cleopatra.\n'Tis well th'art gone,\nIf it be well to liue. But better 'twere\nThou fell'st into my furie, for one death\nMight haue preuented many. Eros, hoa!\nThe shirt of Nessus is vpon me, teach me\nAlcides, thou mine Ancestor, thy rage.\nLet me lodge Licas on the hornes o'th' Moone,\nAnd with those hands that graspt the heauiest Club,\nSubdue my worthiest selfe: The Witch shall die,\nTo the young Roman Boy she hath sold me, and I fall\nVnder this plot: She dyes for't. Eros hoa?\nEnter.\nEnter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, Mardian.\nCleo. Helpe me my women: Oh hee's more mad\nThen Telamon for his Shield, the Boare of Thessaly\nWas neuer so imbost\nChar. To'th' Monument, there locke your selfe,\nAnd send him word you are dead:\nThe Soule and Body riue not more in parting,\nThen greatnesse going off\nCleo. To'th' Monument:\nMardian, go tell him I haue slaine my selfe:\nSay, that the last I spoke was Anthony,\nAnd word it (prythee) pitteously. Hence Mardian,\nAnd bring me how he takes my death to'th' Monument.\nExeunt.\nEnter Anthony, and Eros.\nAnt. Eros, thou yet behold'st me?\nEros. I Noble Lord\nAnt. Sometime we see a clowd that's Dragonish,\nA vapour sometime, like a Beare, or Lyon,\nA toward Cittadell, a pendant Rocke,\nA forked Mountaine, or blew Promontorie\nWith Trees vpon't, that nodde vnto the world,\nAnd mocke our eyes with Ayre.\nThou hast seene these Signes,\nThey are blacke Vespers Pageants\nEros. I my Lord\nAnt. That which is now a Horse, euen with a thoght\nthe Racke dislimes, and makes it indistinct\nAs water is in water\nEros. It does my Lord\nAnt. My good Knaue Eros, now thy Captaine is\nEuen such a body: Heere I am Anthony,\nYet cannot hold this visible shape (my Knaue)\nI made these warres for Egypt, and the Queene,\nWhose heart I thought I had, for she had mine:\nWhich whil'st it was mine, had annext vntoo't\nA Million moe, (now lost:) shee Eros has\nPackt Cards with Caesars, and false plaid my Glory\nVnto an Enemies triumph.\nNay, weepe not gentle Eros, there is left vs\nOur selues to end our selues.\nEnter Mardian.\nOh thy vilde Lady, she has rob'd me of my Sword\nMar. No Anthony,\nMy Mistris lou'd thee, and her Fortunes mingled\nwith thine intirely\nAnt. Hence sawcy Eunuch peace, she hath betraid me,\nAnd shall dye the death\nMar. Death of one person, can be paide but once,\nAnd that she ha's discharg'd. What thou would'st do\nIs done vnto thy hand: the last she spake\nWas Anthony, most Noble Anthony.\nThen in the midd'st a tearing grone did breake\nThe name of Anthony: it was diuided\nBetweene her heart, and lips: she tendred life\nThy name so buried in her\nAnt. Dead then?\nMar. Dead\nAnt. Vnarme Eros, the long dayes taske is done,\nAnd we must sleepe: That thou depart'st hence safe\nDoes pay thy labour richly: Go.\nexit Mardian.\nOff, plucke off,\nThe seuen-fold shield of Aiax cannot keepe\nThe battery from my heart. Oh cleaue my sides.\nHeart, once be stronger then thy Continent,\nCracke thy fraile Case. Apace Eros, apace;\nNo more a Soldier: bruised peeces go,\nYou haue bin Nobly borne. From me awhile.\nexit Eros\nI will o're-take thee Cleopatra, and\nWeepe for my pardon. So it must be, for now\nAll length is Torture: since the Torch is out,\nLye downe and stray no farther. Now all labour\nMarres what it does: yea, very force entangles\nIt selfe with strength: Seale then and all is done.\nEros? I come my Queene. Eros? Stay for me,\nWhere Soules do couch on Flowers, wee'l hand in hand,\nAnd with our sprightly Port make the Ghostes gaze:\nDido, and her Aeneas shall want Troopes,\nAnd all the haunt be ours. Come Eros, Eros.\nEnter Eros.\nEros. What would my Lord?\nAnt. Since Cleopatra dyed,\nI haue liu'd in such dishonour, that the Gods\nDetest my basenesse. I, that with my Sword,\nQuarter'd the World, and o're greene Neptunes backe\nWith Ships, made Cities; condemne my selfe, to lacke\nThe Courage of a Woman, lesse Noble minde\nThen she which by her death, our Caesar telles\nI am Conqueror of my selfe. Thou art sworne Eros,\nThat when the exigent should come, which now\nIs come indeed: When I should see behinde me\nTh' ineuitable prosecution of disgrace and horror,\nThat on my command, thou then would'st kill me.\nDoo't, the time is come: Thou strik'st not me,\n'Tis Caesar thou defeat'st. Put colour in thy Cheeke\nEros. The Gods with-hold me,\nShall I do that which all the Parthian Darts,\n(Though Enemy) lost ayme, and could not\nAnt. Eros,\nWould'st thou be window'd in great Rome, and see\nThy Master thus with pleacht Armes, bending downe\nHis corrigible necke, his face subdu'de\nTo penetratiue shame; whil'st the wheel'd seate\nOf Fortunate Caesar drawne before him, branded\nHis Basenesse that ensued\nEros. I would not see't\nAnt. Come then: for with a wound I must be cur'd.\nDraw that thy honest Sword, which thou hast worne\nMost vsefull for thy Country\nEros. Oh sir, pardon me\nAnt. When I did make thee free, swor'st y not then\nTo do this when I bad thee? Do it at once,\nOr thy precedent Seruices are all\nBut accidents vnpurpos'd. Draw, and come\nEros. Turne from me then that Noble countenance,\nWherein the worship of the whole world lyes\nAnt. Loe thee\nEros. My sword is drawne\nAnt. Then let it do at once\nThe thing why thou hast drawne it\nEros. My deere Master,\nMy Captaine, and my Emperor. Let me say\nBefore I strike this bloody stroke, Farwell\nAnt. 'Tis said man, and farewell\nEros. Farewell great Chiefe. Shall I strike now?\nAnt. Now Eros.\nKilles himselfe.\nEros. Why there then:\nThus I do escape the sorrow of Anthonies death\nAnt. Thrice-Nobler then my selfe,\nThou teachest me: Oh valiant Eros, what\nI should, and thou could'st not, my Queene and Eros\nHaue by their braue instruction got vpon me\nA Noblenesse in Record. But I will bee\nA Bride-groome in my death, and run intoo't\nAs to a Louers bed. Come then, and Eros,\nThy Master dies thy Scholler; to do thus\nI learnt of thee. How, not dead? Not dead?\nThe Guard, how? Oh dispatch me.\nEnter a Guard.\n1.Guard. What's the noise?\nAnt. I haue done my worke ill Friends:\nOh make an end of what I haue begun\n2 The Starre is falne\n1 And time is at his Period\nAll. Alas, and woe\nAnt. Let him that loues me, strike me dead\n1 Not I\n2 Nor I\n3 Nor any one.\nExeunt.\nDecretus. Thy death and fortunes bid thy folowers fly\nThis sword but shewne to Caesar with this tydings,\nShall enter me with him.\nEnter Diomedes.\nDio. Where's Anthony?\nDecre. There Diomed there\nDiom. Liues he: wilt thou not answer man?\nAnt. Art thou there Diomed?\nDraw thy sword, and giue mee,\nSuffising strokes for death\nDiom. Most absolute Lord:\nMy Mistris Cleopatra sent me to thee\nAnt. When did shee send thee?\nDiom. Now my Lord\nAnth. Where is she?\nDiom. Lockt in her Monument: she had a Prophesying feare\nOf what hath come to passe: for when she saw\n(Which neuer shall be found) you did suspect\nShe had dispos'd with Caesar, and that your rage\nWould not be purg'd, she sent you word she was dead:\nBut fearing since how it might worke, hath sent\nMe to proclaime the truth, and I am come\nI dread, too late\nAnt. Too late good Diomed: call my Guard I prythee\nDio. What hoa: the Emperors Guard,\nThe Guard, what hoa? Come, your Lord calles.\nEnter 4. or 5. of the Guard of Anthony.\nAnt. Beare me good Friends where Cleopatra bides,\n'Tis the last seruice that I shall command you\n1 Woe, woe are we sir, you may not liue to weare\nAll your true Followers out\nAll. Most heauy day\nAnt. Nay good my Fellowes, do not please sharp fate\nTo grace it with your sorrowes. Bid that welcome\nWhich comes to punish vs, and we punish it\nSeeming to beare it lightly. Take me vp,\nI haue led you oft, carry me now good Friends,\nAnd haue my thankes for all.\nExit bearing Anthony\nEnter Cleopatra, and her Maides aloft, with Charmian & Iras.\nCleo. Oh Charmian, I will neuer go from hence\nChar. Be comforted deere Madam\nCleo. No, I will not:\nAll strange and terrible euents are welcome,\nBut comforts we dispise; our size of sorrow\nProportion'd to our cause, must be as great\nAs that which makes it.\nEnter Diomed.\nHow now? is he dead?\nDiom. His death's vpon him, but not dead.\nLooke out o'th other side your Monument,\nHis Guard haue brought him thither.\nEnter Anthony, and the Guard.\nCleo. Oh Sunne,\nBurne the great Sphere thou mou'st in, darkling stand\nThe varrying shore o'th' world. O Antony, Antony, Antony\nHelpe Charmian, helpe Iras helpe: helpe Friends\nBelow, let's draw him hither\nAnt. Peace,\nNot Caesars Valour hath o'rethrowne Anthony,\nBut Anthonie's hath Triumpht on it selfe\nCleo. So it should be,\nThat none but Anthony should conquer Anthony,\nBut woe 'tis so\nAnt. I am dying Egypt, dying; onely\nI heere importune death a-while, vntill\nOf many thousand kisses, the poore last\nI lay vpon thy lippes\nCleo. I dare not Deere,\nDeere my Lord pardon: I dare not,\nLeast I be taken: nor th' Imperious shew\nOf the full-Fortun'd Caesar, euer shall\nBe brooch'd with me, if Knife, Drugges, Serpents haue\nEdge, sting, or operation. I am safe:\nYour Wife Octauia, with her modest eyes,\nAnd still Conclusion, shall acquire no Honour\nDemuring vpon me: but come, come Anthony,\nHelpe me my women, we must draw thee vp:\nAssist good Friends\nAnt. Oh quicke, or I am gone\nCleo. Heere's sport indeede:\nHow heauy weighes my Lord?\nOur strength is all gone into heauinesse,\nThat makes the waight. Had I great Iuno's power,\nThe strong wing'd Mercury should fetch thee vp,\nAnd set thee by Ioues side. Yet come a little,\nWishers were euer Fooles. Oh come, come, come,\nThey heaue Anthony aloft to Cleopatra.\nAnd welcome, welcome. Dye when thou hast liu'd,\nQuicken with kissing: had my lippes that power,\nThus would I weare them out\nAll. A heauy sight\nAnt. I am dying Egypt, dying.\nGiue me some Wine, and let me speake a little\nCleo. No, let me speake, and let me rayle so hye,\nThat the false Huswife Fortune, breake her Wheele,\nProuok'd by my offence\nAnt. One word (sweet Queene)\nOf Caesar seeke your Honour, with your safety. Oh\nCleo. They do not go together\nAnt. Gentle heare me,\nNone about Caesar trust, but Proculeius\nCleo. My Resolution, and my hands, Ile trust,\nNone about Caesar\nAnt. The miserable change now at my end,\nLament nor sorrow at: but please your thoughts\nIn feeding them with those my former Fortunes\nWherein I liued. The greatest Prince o'th' world,\nThe Noblest: and do now not basely dye,\nNot Cowardly put off my Helmet to\nMy Countreyman. A Roman, by a Roman\nValiantly vanquish'd. Now my Spirit is going,\nI can no more\nCleo. Noblest of men, woo't dye?\nHast thou no care of me, shall I abide\nIn this dull world, which in thy absence is\nNo better then a Stye? Oh see my women:\nThe Crowne o'th' earth doth melt. My Lord?\nOh wither'd is the Garland of the Warre,\nThe Souldiers pole is falne: young Boyes and Gyrles\nAre leuell now with men: The oddes is gone,\nAnd there is nothing left remarkeable\nBeneath the visiting Moone\nChar. Oh quietnesse, Lady\nIras. She's dead too, our Soueraigne\nChar. Lady\nIras. Madam\nChar. Oh Madam, Madam, Madam\nIras. Royall Egypt: Empresse\nChar. Peace, peace, Iras\nCleo. No more but in a Woman, and commanded\nBy such poore passion, as the Maid that Milkes,\nAnd doe's the meanest chares. It were for me,\nTo throw my Scepter at the iniurious Gods,\nTo tell them that this World did equall theyrs,\nTill they had stolne our Iewell. All's but naught:\nPatience is sortish, and impatience does\nBecome a Dogge that's mad: Then is it sinne,\nTo rush into the secret house of death,\nEre death dare come to vs. How do you Women?\nWhat, what good cheere? Why how now Charmian?\nMy Noble Gyrles? Ah Women, women! Looke\nOur Lampe is spent, it's out. Good sirs, take heart,\nWee'l bury him: And then, what's braue, what's Noble,\nLet's doo't after the high Roman fashion,\nAnd make death proud to take vs. Come, away,\nThis case of that huge Spirit now is cold.\nAh Women, Women! Come, we haue no Friend\nBut Resolution, and the breefest end.\nExeunt., bearing of Anthonies body.\nEnter Caesar, Agrippa, Dollabella, Menas, with his Counsell of\nWarre.\nCaesar. Go to him Dollabella, bid him yeeld,\nBeing so frustrate, tell him,\nHe mockes the pawses that he makes\nDol. Caesar, I shall.\nEnter Decretas with the sword of Anthony.\nCaes Wherefore is that? And what art thou that dar'st\nAppeare thus to vs?\nDec. I am call'd Decretas,\nMarke Anthony I seru'd, who best was worthie\nBest to be seru'd: whil'st he stood vp, and spoke\nHe was my Master, and I wore my life\nTo spend vpon his haters. If thou please\nTo take me to thee, as I was to him,\nIle be to Caesar: if y pleasest not, I yeild thee vp my life\nCaesar. What is't thou say'st?\nDec. I say (Oh Caesar) Anthony is dead\nCaesar. The breaking of so great a thing, should make\nA greater cracke. The round World\nShould haue shooke Lyons into ciuill streets,\nAnd Cittizens to their dennes. The death of Anthony\nIs not a single doome, in the name lay\nA moity of the world\nDec. He is dead Caesar,\nNot by a publike minister of Iustice,\nNor by a hyred Knife, but that selfe-hand\nWhich writ his Honor in the Acts it did,\nHath with the Courage which the heart did lend it,\nSplitted the heart. This is his Sword,\nI robb'd his wound of it: behold it stain'd\nWith his most Noble blood\nCaes Looke you sad Friends,\nThe Gods rebuke me, but it is Tydings\nTo wash the eyes of Kings\nDol. And strange it is,\nThat Nature must compell vs to lament\nOur most persisted deeds\nMec. His taints and Honours, wag'd equal with him\nDola. A Rarer spirit neuer\nDid steere humanity: but you Gods will giue vs\nSome faults to make vs men. Caesar is touch'd\nMec. When such a spacious Mirror's set before him,\nHe needes must see him selfe\nCaesar. Oh Anthony,\nI haue followed thee to this, but we do launch\nDiseases in our Bodies. I must perforce\nHaue shewne to thee such a declining day,\nOr looke on thine: we could not stall together,\nIn the whole world. But yet let me lament\nWith teares as Soueraigne as the blood of hearts,\nThat thou my Brother, my Competitor,\nIn top of all designe; my Mate in Empire,\nFriend and Companion in the front of Warre,\nThe Arme of mine owne Body, and the Heart\nWhere mine his thoughts did kindle; that our Starres\nVnreconciliable, should diuide our equalnesse to this.\nHeare me good Friends,\nBut I will tell you at some meeter Season,\nThe businesse of this man lookes out of him,\nWee'l heare him what he sayes.\nEnter an aegyptian.\nWhence are you?\naegyp. A poore Egyptian yet, the Queen my mistris\nConfin'd in all, she has her Monument\nOf thy intents, desires, instruction,\nThat she preparedly may frame her selfe\nTo'th' way shee's forc'd too\nCaesar. Bid her haue good heart,\nShe soone shall know of vs, by some of ours,\nHow honourable, and how kindely Wee\nDetermine for her. For Caesar cannot leaue to be vngentle\naegypt. So the Gods preserue thee.\nEnter.\nCaes Come hither Proculeius. Go and say\nWe purpose her no shame: giue her what comforts\nThe quality of her passion shall require;\nLeast in her greatnesse, by some mortall stroke\nShe do defeate vs. For her life in Rome,\nWould be eternall in our Triumph: Go,\nAnd with your speediest bring vs what she sayes,\nAnd how you finde of her\nPro. Caesar I shall.\nExit Proculeius.\nCaes Gallus, go you along: where's Dolabella, to second\nProculeius?\nAll. Dolabella\nCaes Let him alone: for I remember now\nHow hee's imployd: he shall in time be ready.\nGo with me to my Tent, where you shall see\nHow hardly I was drawne into this Warre,\nHow calme and gentle I proceeded still\nIn all my Writings. Go with me, and see\nWhat I can shew in this.\nExeunt.\nEnter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian.\nCleo. My desolation does begin to make\nA better life: Tis paltry to be Caesar:\nNot being Fortune, hee's but Fortunes knaue,\nA minister of her will: and it is great\nTo do that thing that ends all other deeds,\nWhich shackles accedents, and bolts vp change;\nWhich sleepes, and neuer pallates more the dung,\nThe beggers Nurse, and Caesars.\nEnter Proculeius.\nPro. Caesar sends greeting to the Queene of Egypt,\nAnd bids thee study on what faire demands\nThou mean'st to haue him grant thee\nCleo. What's thy name?\nPro. My name is Proculeius\nCleo. Anthony\nDid tell me of you, bad me trust you, but\nI do not greatly care to be deceiu'd\nThat haue no vse for trusting. If your Master\nWould haue a Queene his begger, you must tell him,\nThat Maiesty to keepe decorum, must\nNo lesse begge then a Kingdome: If he please\nTo giue me conquer'd Egypt for my Sonne,\nHe giues me so much of mine owne, as I\nWill kneele to him with thankes\nPro. Be of good cheere:\nY'are falne into a Princely hand, feare nothing,\nMake your full reference freely to my Lord,\nWho is so full of Grace, that it flowes ouer\nOn all that neede. Let me report to him\nYour sweet dependancie, and you shall finde\nA Conqueror that will pray in ayde for kindnesse,\nWhere he for grace is kneel'd too\nCleo. Pray you tell him,\nI am his Fortunes Vassall, and I send him\nThe Greatnesse he has got. I hourely learne\nA Doctrine of Obedience, and would gladly\nLooke him i'th' Face\nPro. This Ile report (deere Lady)\nHaue comfort, for I know your plight is pittied\nOf him that caus'd it\nPro. You see how easily she may be surpriz'd:\nGuard her till Caesar come\nIras. Royall Queene\nChar. Oh Cleopatra, thou art taken Queene\nCleo. Quicke, quicke, good hands\nPro. Hold worthy Lady, hold:\nDoe not your selfe such wrong, who are in this\nReleeu'd, but not betraid\nCleo. What of death too that rids our dogs of languish\nPro. Cleopatra, do not abuse my Masters bounty, by\nTh' vndoing of your selfe: Let the World see\nHis Noblenesse well acted, which your death\nWill neuer let come forth\nCleo. Where art thou Death?\nCome hither come; Come, come, and take a Queene\nWorth many Babes and Beggers\nPro. Oh temperance Lady\nCleo. Sir, I will eate no meate, Ile not drinke sir,\nIf idle talke will once be necessary\nIle not sleepe neither. This mortall house Ile ruine,\nDo Caesar what he can. Know sir, that I\nWill not waite pinnion'd at your Masters Court,\nNor once be chastic'd with the sober eye\nOf dull Octauia. Shall they hoyst me vp,\nAnd shew me to the showting Varlotarie\nOf censuring Rome? Rather a ditch in Egypt.\nBe gentle graue vnto me, rather on Nylus mudde\nLay me starke-nak'd, and let the water-Flies\nBlow me into abhorring; rather make\nMy Countries high pyramides my Gibbet,\nAnd hang me vp in Chaines\nPro. You do extend\nThese thoughts of horror further then you shall\nFinde cause in Caesar.\nEnter Dolabella.\nDol. Proculeius,\nWhat thou hast done, thy Master Caesar knowes,\nAnd he hath sent for thee: for the Queene,\nIle take her to my Guard\nPro. So Dolabella,\nIt shall content me best: Be gentle to her,\nTo Caesar I will speake, what you shall please,\nIf you'l imploy me to him.\nExit Proculeius\nCleo. Say, I would dye\nDol. Most Noble Empresse, you haue heard of me\nCleo. I cannot tell\nDol. Assuredly you know me\nCleo. No matter sir, what I haue heard or knowne:\nYou laugh when Boyes or Women tell their Dreames,\nIs't not your tricke?\nDol. I vnderstand not, Madam\nCleo. I dreampt there was an Emperor Anthony.\nOh such another sleepe, that I might see\nBut such another man\nDol. If it might please ye\nCleo. His face was as the Heau'ns, and therein stucke\nA Sunne and Moone, which kept their course, & lighted\nThe little o'th' earth\nDol. Most Soueraigne Creature\nCleo. His legges bestrid the Ocean, his rear'd arme\nCrested the world: His voyce was propertied\nAs all the tuned Spheres, and that to Friends:\nBut when he meant to quaile, and shake the Orbe,\nHe was as ratling Thunder. For his Bounty,\nThere was no winter in't. An Anthony it was,\nThat grew the more by reaping: His delights\nWere Dolphin-like, they shew'd his backe aboue\nThe Element they liu'd in: In his Liuery\nWalk'd Crownes and Crownets: Realms & Islands were\nAs plates dropt from his pocket\nDol. Cleopatra\nCleo. Thinke you there was, or might be such a man\nAs this I dreampt of?\nDol. Gentle Madam, no\nCleo. You Lye vp to the hearing of the Gods:\nBut if there be, not euer were one such\nIt's past the size of dreaming: Nature wants stuffe\nTo vie strange formes with fancie, yet t' imagine\nAn Anthony were Natures peece, 'gainst Fancie,\nCondemning shadowes quite\nDol. Heare me, good Madam:\nYour losse is as your selfe, great; and you beare it\nAs answering to the waight, would I might neuer\nOre-take pursu'de successe: But I do feele\nBy the rebound of yours, a greefe that suites\nMy very heart at roote\nCleo. I thanke you sir:\nKnow you what Caesar meanes to do with me?\nDol. I am loath to tell you what, I would you knew\nCleo. Nay pray you sir\nDol. Though he be Honourable\nCleo. Hee'l leade me then in Triumph\nDol. Madam he will, I know't.\nFlourish.\nEnter Proculeius, Caesar, Gallus, Mecenas, and others of his\nTraine.\nAll. Make way there Caesar\nCaes Which is the Queene of Egypt\nDol. It is the Emperor Madam.\nCleo. kneeles.\nCaesar. Arise, you shall not kneele:\nI pray you rise, rise Egypt\nCleo. Sir, the Gods will haue it thus,\nMy Master and my Lord I must obey,\nCaesar. Take to you no hard thoughts,\nThe Record of what iniuries you did vs,\nThough written in our flesh, we shall remember\nAs things but done by chance\nCleo. Sole Sir o'th' World,\nI cannot proiect mine owne cause so well\nTo make it cleare, but do confesse I haue\nBene laden with like frailties, which before\nHaue often sham'd our Sex\nCaesar. Cleopatra know,\nWe will extenuate rather then inforce:\nIf you apply your selfe to our intents,\nWhich towards you are most gentle, you shall finde\nA benefit in this change: but if you seeke\nTo lay on me a Cruelty, by taking\nAnthonies course, you shall bereaue your selfe\nOf my good purposes, and put your children\nTo that destruction which Ile guard them from,\nIf thereon you relye. Ile take my leaue\nCleo. And may through all the world: tis yours, & we\nyour Scutcheons, and your signes of Conquest shall\nHang in what place you please. Here my good Lord\nCaesar. You shall aduise me in all for Cleopatra\nCleo. This is the breefe: of Money, Plate, & Iewels\nI am possest of, 'tis exactly valewed,\nNot petty things admitted. Where's Seleucus?\nSeleu. Heere Madam\nCleo. This is my Treasurer, let him speake (my Lord)\nVpon his perill, that I haue reseru'd\nTo my selfe nothing. Speake the truth Seleucus\nSeleu. Madam, I had rather seele my lippes,\nThen to my perill speake that which is not\nCleo. What haue I kept backe\nSel. Enough to purchase what you haue made known\nCaesar. Nay blush not Cleopatra, I approue\nYour Wisedome in the deede\nCleo. See Caesar: Oh behold,\nHow pompe is followed: Mine will now be yours,\nAnd should we shift estates, yours would be mine.\nThe ingratitude of this Seleucus, does\nEuen make me wilde. Oh Slaue, of no more trust\nThen loue that's hyr'd? What goest thou backe, y shalt\nGo backe I warrant thee: but Ile catch thine eyes\nThough they had wings. Slaue, Soule-lesse, Villain, Dog.\nO rarely base!\nCaesar. Good Queene, let vs intreat you\nCleo. O Caesar, what a wounding shame is this,\nThat thou vouchsafing heere to visit me,\nDoing the Honour of thy Lordlinesse\nTo one so meeke, that mine owne Seruant should\nParcell the summe of my disgraces, by\nAddition of his Enuy. Say (good Caesar)\nThat I some Lady trifles haue reseru'd,\nImmoment toyes, things of such Dignitie\nAs we greet moderne Friends withall, and say\nSome Nobler token I haue kept apart\nFor Liuia and Octauia, to induce\nTheir mediation, must I be vnfolded\nWith one that I haue bred: The Gods! it smites me\nBeneath the fall I haue. Prythee go hence,\nOr I shall shew the Cynders of my spirits\nThrough th' Ashes of my chance: Wer't thou a man,\nThou would'st haue mercy on me\nCaesar. Forbeare Seleucus\nCleo. Be it known, that we the greatest are mis-thoght\nFor things that others do: and when we fall,\nWe answer others merits, in our name\nAre therefore to be pittied\nCaesar. Cleopatra,\nNot what you haue reseru'd, nor what acknowledg'd\nPut we i'th' Roll of Conquest: still bee't yours,\nBestow it at your pleasure, and beleeue\nCaesars no Merchant, to make prize with you\nOf things that Merchants sold. Therefore be cheer'd,\nMake not your thoughts your prisons: No deere Queen,\nFor we intend so to dispose you, as\nYour selfe shall giue vs counsell: Feede, and sleepe:\nOur care and pitty is so much vpon you,\nThat we remaine your Friend, and so adieu\nCleo. My Master, and my Lord\nCaesar. Not so: Adieu.\nFlourish. Exeunt Caesar, and his Traine.\nCleo. He words me Gyrles, he words me,\nThat I should not be Noble to my selfe.\nBut hearke thee Charmian\nIras. Finish good Lady, the bright day is done,\nAnd we are for the darke\nCleo. Hye thee againe,\nI haue spoke already, and it is prouided,\nGo put it to the haste\nChar. Madam, I will.\nEnter Dolabella.\nDol. Where's the Queene?\nChar. Behold sir\nCleo. Dolabella\nDol. Madam, as thereto sworne, by your command\n(Which my loue makes Religion to obey)\nI tell you this: Caesar through Syria\nIntends his iourney, and within three dayes,\nYou with your Children will he send before,\nMake your best vse of this. I haue perform'd\nYour pleasure, and my promise\nCleo. Dolabella, I shall remaine your debter\nDol. I your Seruant:\nAdieu good Queene, I must attend on Caesar.\nExit\nCleo. Farewell, and thankes.\nNow Iras, what think'st thou?\nThou, an Egyptian Puppet shall be shewne\nIn Rome aswell as I: Mechanicke Slaues\nWith greazie Aprons, Rules, and Hammers shall\nVplift vs to the view. In their thicke breathes,\nRanke of grosse dyet, shall we be enclowded,\nAnd forc'd to drinke their vapour\nIras. The Gods forbid\nCleo. Nay, 'tis most certaine Iras: sawcie Lictors\nWill catch at vs like Strumpets, and scald Rimers\nBallads vs out a Tune. The quicke Comedians\nExtemporally will stage vs, and present\nOur Alexandrian Reuels: Anthony\nShall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see\nSome squeaking Cleopatra Boy my greatnesse\nI'th' posture of a Whore\nIras. O the good Gods!\nCleo. Nay that's certaine\nIras. Ile neuer see't? for I am sure mine Nailes\nAre stronger then mine eyes\nCleo. Why that's the way to foole their preparation,\nAnd to conquer their most absurd intents.\nEnter Charmian.\nNow Charmian.\nShew me my Women like a Queene: Go fetch\nMy best Attyres. I am againe for Cidrus,\nTo meete Marke Anthony. Sirra Iras, go\n(Now Noble Charmian, wee'l dispatch indeede,)\nAnd when thou hast done this chare, Ile giue thee leaue\nTo play till Doomesday: bring our Crowne, and all.\nA noise within.\nWherefore's this noise?\nEnter a Guardsman.\nGards. Heere is a rurall Fellow,\nThat will not be deny'de your Highnesse presence,\nHe brings you Figges\nCleo. Let him come in.\nExit Guardsman.\nWhat poore an Instrument\nMay do a Noble deede: he brings me liberty:\nMy Resolution's plac'd, and I haue nothing\nOf woman in me: Now from head to foote\nI am Marble constant: now the fleeting Moone\nNo Planet is of mine.\nEnter Guardsman, and Clowne.\nGuards. This is the man\nCleo. Auoid, and leaue him.\nExit Guardsman.\nHast thou the pretty worme of Nylus there,\nThat killes and paines not?\nClow. Truly I haue him: but I would not be the partie\nthat should desire you to touch him, for his byting is\nimmortall: those that doe dye of it, doe seldome or neuer\nrecouer\nCleo. Remember'st thou any that haue dyed on't?\nClow. Very many, men and women too. I heard of\none of them no longer then yesterday, a very honest woman,\nbut something giuen to lye, as a woman should not\ndo, but in the way of honesty, how she dyed of the byting\nof it, what paine she felt: Truely, she makes a verie\ngood report o'th' worme: but he that wil beleeue all that\nthey say, shall neuer be saued by halfe that they do: but\nthis is most falliable, the Worme's an odde Worme\nCleo. Get thee hence, farewell\nClow. I wish you all ioy of the Worme\nCleo. Farewell\nClow. You must thinke this (looke you,) that the\nWorme will do his kinde\nCleo. I, I, farewell\nClow. Looke you, the Worme is not to bee trusted,\nbut in the keeping of wise people: for indeede, there is\nno goodnesse in the Worme\nCleo. Take thou no care, it shall be heeded\nClow. Very good: giue it nothing I pray you, for it\nis not worth the feeding\nCleo. Will it eate me?\nClow. You must not think I am so simple, but I know\nthe diuell himselfe will not eate a woman: I know, that\na woman is a dish for the Gods, if the diuell dresse her\nnot. But truly, these same whorson diuels doe the Gods\ngreat harme in their women: for in euery tenne that they\nmake, the diuels marre fiue\nCleo. Well, get thee gone, farewell\nClow. Yes forsooth: I wish you ioy o'th' worm.\nExit\nCleo. Giue me my Robe, put on my Crowne, I haue\nImmortall longings in me. Now no more\nThe iuyce of Egypts Grape shall moyst this lip.\nYare, yare, good Iras; quicke: Me thinkes I heare\nAnthony call: I see him rowse himselfe\nTo praise my Noble Act. I heare him mock\nThe lucke of Caesar, which the Gods giue men\nTo excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come:\nNow to that name, my Courage proue my Title.\nI am Fire, and Ayre; my other Elements\nI giue to baser life. So, haue you done?\nCome then, and take the last warmth of my Lippes.\nFarewell kinde Charmian, Iras, long farewell.\nHaue I the Aspicke in my lippes? Dost fall?\nIf thou, and Nature can so gently part,\nThe stroke of death is as a Louers pinch,\nWhich hurts, and is desir'd. Dost thou lye still?\nIf thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world,\nIt is not worth leaue-taking\nChar. Dissolue thicke clowd, & Raine, that I may say\nThe Gods themselues do weepe\nCleo. This proues me base:\nIf she first meete the Curled Anthony,\nHee'l make demand of her, and spend that kisse\nWhich is my heauen to haue. Come thou mortal wretch,\nWith thy sharpe teeth this knot intrinsicate,\nOf life at once vntye: Poore venomous Foole,\nBe angry, and dispatch. Oh could'st thou speake,\nThat I might heare thee call great Caesar Asse, vnpolicied\nChar. Oh Easterne Starre\nCleo. Peace, peace:\nDost thou not see my Baby at my breast,\nThat suckes the Nurse asleepe\nChar. O breake! O breake!\nCleo. As sweet as Balme, as soft as Ayre, as gentle.\nO Anthony! Nay I will take thee too.\nWhat should I stay-\nDyes.\nChar. In this wilde World? So fare thee well:\nNow boast thee Death, in thy possession lyes\nA Lasse vnparalell'd. Downie Windowes cloze,\nAnd golden Phoebus, neuer be beheld\nOf eyes againe so Royall: your Crownes away,\nIle mend it, and then play-\nEnter the Guard rustling in; and Dolabella.\n1.Guard. Where's the Queene?\nChar. Speake softly, wake her not\n1 Caesar hath sent\nChar. Too slow a Messenger.\nOh come apace, dispatch, I partly feele thee\n1 Approach hoa,\nAll's not well: Caesar's beguild\n2 There's Dolabella sent from Caesar: call him\n1 What worke is heere Charmian?\nIs this well done?\nChar. It is well done, and fitting for a Princesse\nDescended of so many Royall Kings.\nAh Souldier.\nCharmian dyes.\nEnter Dolabella.\nDol. How goes it heere?\n2.Guard. All dead\nDol. Caesar, thy thoughts\nTouch their effects in this: Thy selfe art comming\nTo see perform'd the dreaded Act which thou\nSo sought'st to hinder.\nEnter Caesar and all his Traine, marching.\nAll. A way there, a way for Caesar\nDol. Oh sir, you are too sure an Augurer:\nThat you did feare, is done\nCaesar. Brauest at the last,\nShe leuell'd at our purposes, and being Royall\nTooke her owne way: the manner of their deaths,\nI do not see them bleede\nDol. Who was last with them?\n1.Guard. A simple Countryman, that broght hir Figs:\nThis was his Basket\nCaesar. Poyson'd then\n1.Guard. Oh Caesar:\nThis Charmian liu'd but now, she stood and spake:\nI found her trimming vp the Diadem;\nOn her dead Mistris tremblingly she stood,\nAnd on the sodaine dropt\nCaesar. Oh Noble weakenesse:\nIf they had swallow'd poyson, 'twould appeare\nBy externall swelling: but she lookes like sleepe,\nAs she would catch another Anthony\nIn her strong toyle of Grace\nDol. Heere on her brest,\nThere is a vent of Bloud, and something blowne,\nThe like is on her Arme\n1.Guard. This is an Aspickes traile,\nAnd these Figge-leaues haue slime vpon them, such\nAs th' Aspicke leaues vpon the Caues of Nyle\nCaesar. Most probable\nThat so she dyed: for her Physitian tels mee\nShe hath pursu'de Conclusions infinite\nOf easie wayes to dye. Take vp her bed,\nAnd beare her Women from the Monument,\nShe shall be buried by her Anthony.\nNo Graue vpon the earth shall clip in it\nA payre so famous: high euents as these\nStrike those that make them: and their Story is\nNo lesse in pitty, then his Glory which\nBrought them to be lamented. Our Army shall\nIn solemne shew, attend this Funerall,\nAnd then to Rome. Come Dolabella, see\nHigh Order, in this great Solemnity.\nExeunt. omnes\nFINIS. THE TRAGEDIE OF Anthonie, and Cleopatra.","title":"The Tragedie of Anthonie, and Cleopatra","type":"page"}