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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