SCENE IV.

Rome. An Apartment in Cæsar's House.

Enter OCTAVIUS CÆSAR, Lepidus, and Attendants.

Cæs. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know, It is not Cæsar's natural vice to hate One 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 enough 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 An

tony

No way excuse his soils, when we do bear
So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'
His vacancy with his voluptuousness,
Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bones,
Call on him for't: but, to confound such time,
That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud
As his own state, and ours,-'tis to be chid
As we rate boys; who, being mature in knowledge,
Pawn their experience to their present pleasure,

And so rebel to judgement.

Lep.

Enter a Messenger.

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 ports

The discontents repair, and men's reports

Give him much wrong'd.

Cæs.

I should have known no less :

9 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 dear'd, by being lack'd. This common body,
Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream,

Goes to, and back, lackeying the varying tide,

To rot itself with motion.

Mess.

Cæsar, I bring thee word,

Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates,

Make the sea serve them; which they ear and wound

With keels of every kind: Many hot inroads

They make in Italy; the borders maritime

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.

Lep.

It is pity of him.

Cas. Let his shames quickly

Drive him to Rome: 'Tis time we twain

Did show ourselves i' the field; and, to that end,

Assemble we immediate council: Pompey

Thrives in our idleness.

Lep.

To-morrow, Cæsar,

I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly
Both what by sea and land I can be able,

To 'front this present time.

Cæs.

Till which encounter,

It is my business too. Farewell.

Lep. Farewell, my lord: What you shall know mean time

Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir,

To let me be partaker.

Char.

Why, madam?

Cleo. That I might sleep out this great gap of

Mar.

What's your highness' pleasure?

Cleo. Not now to hear thee sing; I take no pleasure

In aught an eunuch has: 'Tis well for thee,

That, being unseminar'd, thy freer thoughts
May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections?
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 I have 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 11.-He's speaking now,

Or murmuring, Where's my serpent of old Nile?