Let's not confound the time with conference harsh:
There's not a minute of our lives should stretch
Without some pleasure now. What sport to-night?
Cleo. Hear the ambassadors.
Ant.

Fie, wrangling queen! Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh, To weep; whose every passion fitly strives To make itself, in thee, fair and admir'd. No messenger; but thine, and all alone, To-night we'll wander through the streets, and note The qualities of people. Come, my queen; Last night you did desire it.-Speak not to us.

[Exeunt ANT. and CLEOP. with their Train. Dem. Is Cæsar with Antonius priz'd so slight? Phi. Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony, He comes too short of that great property Which still should go with Antony. Dem.

I am full sorry, That he approves the common liar, who Thus speaks of him at Rome; but I will hope Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The Same. Another Room. Enter CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, and a Soothsayer. Char. Lord Alexas, most sweet Alexas, most any thing Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer that you praised so to the queen? O! that I knew this husband, which, you say, must charge his horns with garlands!

Alex. Soothsayer!

Sooth. Your will?

Show him your hand.

Enter ENOBARBUS.

Eno. Bring in the banquet quickly; wine enough, Cleopatra's health to drink.

Char. Good sir, give me good fortune.

Sooth. I make not, but foresee.

Char. Pray, then, foresee me one.

Sooth. You shall be yet far fairer than you are.
Char. He means, in flesh.

Iras. No, you shall paint when you are old.
Char. Wrinkles forbid!

Alex. Vex not his prescience; be attentive.
Char. Hush!

Sooth. You shall be more beloving, than belov'd.
Char. I had rather heat my liver with drinking.
Alex. Nay, hear him.

Char. Good now, some excellent fortune. Let me be married to three kings in a forenoon, and widow them all: let me have a child at fifty, to whom Herod of Jewry may do homage: find me to marry me with Octavius Cæsar, and companion me with my mistress. Sooth. You shall outlive the lady whom you serve. Char. O excellent! I love long life better than figs. Sooth. You have seen, and proved a fairer former fortune,

Than that which is to approach.

Char. Then, belike, my children shall have no names. Pr'ythee, how many boys and wenches must I have?

Sooth. If every of your wishes had a womb,

And fruitful every wish, a million.

Char. Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch.

Alex. We'll know all our fortunes. Eno. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, shall be, drunk to bed.

Iras. There's a palm presages chastity, if nothing

else.

Char. Even as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth famine.

Iras. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay. Char. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prognostication, I cannot scratch mine ear.-Pr'ythee, tell her but a worky-day fortune.

Sooth. Your fortunes are alike.

Iras. But how? but how? give me particulars.
Sooth. I have said.

Iras. Am I not an inch of fortune better than she? Char. Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than I, where would you choose it?

Iras. Not in my husband's nose.

Char. Our worser thoughts heavens mend! Alexas, -come, his fortune, his fortune.-O! let him marry a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis, I beseech thee: and let her die too, and give him a worse; and let worse follow worse, till the worst of all follow him laughing to his grave, fifty-fold a cuckold. Good Isis, hear me this prayer, though thou deny me a matter of more weight, good Isis, I beseech thee!

Iras. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the people; for, as it is a heart-breaking to see a handsome man loose-wived, so it is a deadly sorrow to behold a foul knave uncuckolded: therefore, dear Isis, keep decorum, and fortune him accordingly! Char. Amen.

Alex. Lo, now! if it lay in their hands to make me a cuckold, they would make themselves whores, but they'd do't.

Eno. Hush! here comes Antony.
Char.

Cleo. Was he not here?

Char. No, madam.

Not he, the queen.

Cleo. He was dispos'd to mirth; but on the sudden, A Roman thought hath struck him.-Enobarbus !Eno. Madam.

Cleo. Seek him, and bring him hither. Where's
Alexas?

Alex. Here, at your service.-My lord approaches.
Enter ANTONY, with a Messenger and Attendants.
Cleo. We will not look upon him: go with us.
[Exeunt CLEOPATRA, ENOBARBUS, ALEXAS, IRAS,
CHARMIAN, Soothsayer, and Attendants.
Mess. Fulvia, thy wife, first came into the field.
Ant. Against my brother Lucius?

Mess. Ay:

But soon that war had end, and the time's state
Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainst Cæsar;
Whose better issue in the war, from Italy
Upon the first encounter drave them.
Ant.
Well, what worst?
Mess. The nature of bad news infects the teller.
Ant. When it concerns the fool, or coward.-On:
Things, that are past, are done, with me.-"Tis thus;
Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death,
I hear him as he flatter'd.
Mess.

Labienus

your wishes.

Char. Nay, come; tell Iras hers.

His conquering banner shook from Syria To Lydia, and to Ionia; whilst—

Ant. Antony, thou would'st say,—

Mess. O, my lord!

more women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut, and the case to be lamented: this grief is crowned with

Where died she?

2 Mess. In Sicyon:
Her length of sickness, with what else more serious
Importeth thee to know, this bears. [Giving a Letter.
Ant.
Forbear me.-
[Exit Messenger.
There's a great spirit gone.
Thus did I desire it:
What our contempts do often hurl from us,
We wish it ours again; the present pleasure,
By repetition souring, does become

The opposite of itself: she's good, being gone;
The hand would pluck her back, that shov'd her on.
I must from this enchanting queen break off;
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,
My idleness doth hatch.-How now! Enobarbus!
Enter ENOBARBUS.

Eno. What's your pleasure, sir?

We see

Ant. I must with haste from hence. Eno. Why, then, we kill all our women. how mortal an unkindness is to them: if they suffer our departure, death's the word.

Ant. I must be gone.

Eno. Under a compelling occasion, let women die : it were pity to cast them away for nothing; though, between them and a great cause, they should be esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, dies instantly: I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment. I do think, there is mettle in death, which commits some loving act upon her, she hath such a celerity in dying.

Ant. She is cunning past man's thought.

Eno. Alack, sir! no; her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love. We cannot call her winds and waters, sighs and tears; they are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can report: this cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she makes a shower of rain as well as Jove.

Ant. Would I had never seen her!

Eno. O, sir! you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work, which not to have been blessed withal would have discredited your travel.

Ant. Fulvia is dead.

Eno. Sir?

Ant. Fulvia is dead. Eno. Fulvia!

Ant. Dead.

Eno. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. When it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a man from him, it shows to man the tailors of the earth: comforting therein, that when old robes are worn out, there are members to make new. If there were no

coat; and, indeed, the tears live in an onion, that should water this sorrow.

Ant. The business she hath broached in the state Cannot endure my absence.

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

Ant. No more light answers. Let our officers Have notice what we purpose. I shall break The cause of our expedience to the queen, And get her leave to part: for not alone The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, Do strongly speak to us, but the letters, too, Of many our contriving friends in Rome Petition us at home. Sextus Pompeius Hath given the dare to Cæsar, and commands The empire of the sea: our slippery people (Whose love is never link'd to the deserver, Till his deserts are past) begin to throw Pompey the great, and all his dignities, Upon his son who, high in name and power, Higher than both in blood and life, stands up For the main soldier; whose quality, going on, The sides o' the world may danger. Much is breeding, Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life, And not a serpent's poison. Say, our pleasure, To such whose place is under us, requires Our quick remove from hence. Eno.

I shall do it. SCENE III.

[Exeunt.

Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAs, and ALEXAS. Cleo. Where is he?

Char. I did not see him since. Cleo. See where he is, who's with him, what he does: I did not send you.-If you find him sad, Say, I am dancing; if in mirth, report That I am sudden sick : quick, and return. [Exit ALEX. Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly, You do not hold the method to enforce The like from him.

Cleo.

What should I do, I do not? Char. In each thing give him way, cross him in nothing.

Cleo. Thou teachest, like a fool, the way to lose him.
Char. Tempt him not so too far; I wish, forbear:
In time we hate that which we often fear.
Enter ANTONY.

But here comes Antony.
Cleo.
I am sick, and sullen.
Ant. I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose,-
Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian, I shall fall:
It cannot be thus long; the sides of nature
Will not sustain it.
Ant.
Now, my dearest queen,—
Cleo. Pray you, stand farther from me.
Ant.

What's the matter? Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's some good

Ant.

Cleopatra,

Cleo. Why should I think, you can be mine, and true, Though you in swearing shake the throned gods, Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness, To be entangled with those mouth-made vows, Which break themselves in swearing!

Ant.
Most sweet queen,—
Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going,
But bid farewell, and go: when you sued staying,
Then was the time for words; no going then:
Eternity was in our lips, and eyes;

Bliss in our brows bent; none our parts so poor,
But was a race of heaven: they are so still,
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world,
Art turn'd the greatest liar.

Ant.

How now, lady!

Cleo. I would, I had thy inches; thou should'st know, There were a heart in Egypt.

Ant.
Hear me, queen.
The strong necessity of time commands

Our services a while, but my full heart
Remains in use with you. Our Italy
Shines o'er with civil swords: Sextus Pompeius
Makes his approaches to the port of Rome:
Equality of two domestic powers

Breeds scrupulous faction. The hated, grown to strength,
Are newly grown to love: the condemn'd Pompey,
Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace
Into the hearts of such as have not thriv'd
Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten;
And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge
By any desperate change. My more particular,
And that which most with you should safe my going,
Is Fulvia's death.

Cleo. Though age from folly could not give me
freedom,

It does from childishness.-Can Fulvia die?
Ant. She's dead, my queen.

Look here, and, at thy sovereign leisure, read
The garboils she awak'd; at the last, best,
See, when, and where she died.

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

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

Cleo.

'Tis sweating labour
To bear such idleness so near the heart,
As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me;
Since my becomings kill me, when they do not
Eye well to you: your honour calls you hence;
Therefore, be deaf to my unpitied folly,
And all the gods go with you! upon your sword
Sit laurel'd victory, and smooth success
Be strew'd before your feet!
Ant.

Let us go. Come;
Our separation so abides, and flies,
That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me,
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee.
Away!
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.-Rome. An Apartment in CAESAR'S
House.

Enter OCTAVIUS CESAR, LEPIDUS, and Attendants. Cæs. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know, It is not Cæsar's natural vice to hate

Our great competitor. From Alexandria
This is the news: he fishes, drinks, and wastes
The lamps of night in revel; is not more manlike
Than Cleopatra, nor the queen of Ptolemy,
More womanly than he hardly gave audience, or
Vouchsaf'd to think he had partners: you shall find
there

A man, who is the abstract of all faults
That all men follow.

Lep.

I must not think, there are
Evils enow to darken all his goodness:

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

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

To give a kingdom for a mirth; to sit

And keep the turn of tippling with a slave;

To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet
With knaves that smell of sweat: say, this becomes him,
(As his composure must be rare indeed,

Whom these things cannot blemish) yet must Antony
No way excuse his foils, when we do bear
So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd
His vacancy with his voluptuousness,
Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bones,
Fall on him for't; but, to confound such time,
That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud

As his own state, and ours,-'tis to be chid
As we rate boys; who, being mature in knowledge,
Pawn their experience to their present pleasure,
And so rebel to judgment.

Enter a Messenger.

Lep. Here's more news. Mess. Thy biddings have been done; and every hour, Most noble Cæsar, shalt thou have report How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea; And it appears, he is belov'd of those That only have fear'd Cæsar: to the fleets

The discontents repair, and men's reports Give him much wrong'd.

Cæs.

It hath been taught us from the primal state,
That he, which is, was wish'd, until he were ;

And the ebb'd man ne'er lov'd, till ne'er worth love,
Comes lov'd by being lack'd. This common body,
Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream,
Goes to, and back, lackeying the varying tide,
To rot itself with motion.

Mess.

Cæsar, I bring thee word, Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates, Make the sea serve them; which they ear and wound With keels of every kind: many hot inroads They make in Italy; the borders maritime Lack blood to think on't, and flush youth revolt. No vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes more, Than could his war resisted.

Cæs.

Antony,

Leave thy lascivious wassels. When thou once
Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st
Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel
Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st against,
Though daintily brought up, with patience more
Than savages could suffer: thou didst drink
The stale of horses, and the gilded puddle,
Which beasts would cough at: thy palate then did deign
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge;
Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets,
The barks of trees thou browsed'st: on the Alps
It is reported, thou didst eat strange flesh,
Which some did die to look on; and all this
(It wounds thine honour, that I speak it now)
Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek
So much as lank'd not.

Mar. Yes, gracious madam.

Cleo. Indeed?

Mar. Not in deed, madam; for I can do nothing, But what in deed is honest to be done;

Yet have I fierce affections, and think
What Venus did with Mars.

Cleo.

O, Charmian!
Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he, or sits he?
Or does he walk? or is he on his horse?
O, happy horse to bear the weight of Antony!
Do bravely, horse, for wot'st thou whom thou mov'st?
The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm

And burgonet of men.-He's speaking now,
Or murmuring, "Where's my serpent of old Nile?"
For so he calls me. Now I feed myself
With most delicious poison :-think on me,
That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black,
And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Cæsar,
When thou wast here above the ground, I was
A morsel for a monarch; and great Pompey
Would stand, and make his eyes grow in my
There would he anchor his aspect, and die
With looking on his life.

Alex.

Enter ALEXAS.

brow:

Sovereign of Egypt, hail! Cleo. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony; Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath With his tinct gilded thee.

How goes it with my brave Mark Antony?
Alex. Last thing he did, dear queen,

He kiss'd, the last of many doubled kisses,—
This orient pearl:-his speech sticks in my heart.
Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence.

Alex.

Good friend, quoth he,
Say, "the firm Roman to great Egypt sends
This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot,
To mend the petty present, I will piece

Her opulent throne with kingdoms: all the east,'
Say thou, "shall call her mistress.'

So he nodded,

Of hot and cold: he was nor sad, nor merry.
Cleo. O well-divided disposition !-Note him,
Note him, good Charmian, 'tis the man; but note him:
He was not sad, for he would shine on those
That make their looks by his: he was not merry,
Which seem'd to tell them, his remembrance lay
In Egypt with his joy; but between both:
O heavenly mingle!-Be'st thou sad, or merry,
The violence of either thee becomes,

So does it no man else.-Met'st thou my posts?
Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers.
Why do you send so thick?

Cleo.

Who's born that day When I forget to send to Antony, Shall die a beggar.-Ink and paper, Charmian.Welcome, my good Alexas.-Did I, Charinian, Ever love Cæsar so?