The Same. Another Room. |
|
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 ALEXAS. |
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. |
But here comes Antony. |
|
Enter 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 further from me. |
Ant. What's the matter? |
Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's some good news. |
What says the married woman? You may go: |
Would she had never given you leave to come! |
Let her not say 'tis I that keep you here; |
I have no power upon you; hers you are. |
Ant. The gods best know,— |
Cleo. O! never was there queen |
So mightily betray'd; yet at the first |
I saw the treasons planted. |
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 su'd 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 shouldst know |
There were a heart in Egypt. |
Ant. Hear me, queen: |
The strong necessity of time commands |
Our services awhile, 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 shouldst 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. |
Cleo. Cut my lace, Charmian, come; |
But let it be: I am quickly ill, and well; |
So Antony loves. |
Ant. My precious queen, forbear, |
And give true evidence to his love which stands |
An honourable trial. |
Cleo. So Fulvia told me. |
I prithee, turn aside and weep for her; |
Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears |
Belong to Egypt: good now, play one scene |
Of excellent dissembling, and let it look |
Like perfect honour. |
Ant. You'll heat my blood; no more. |
Cleo. You can do better yet, but this is meetly. |
Ant. Now, by my sword,— |
Cleo. And target. Still he mends; |
But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Charmian, |
How this Herculean Roman does become |
The carriage of his chafe. |
Ant. I'll leave you, lady. |
Cleo. Courteous lord, one word. |
Sir, you and I must part, but that's not it: |
Sir, you and I have lov'd, but there's not it; |
That you know well: something it is I would,— |
O! my oblivion is a very Antony, |
And I am all forgotten. |
Ant. 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 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. |
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