Messina. A Room in POMPEY'S House. |
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Enter POMPEY, MENECRATES, and MENAS. |
Pom. If the great gods be just, they shall assist |
The deeds of justest men. |
Mene. Know, worthy Pompey, |
That what they do delay, they not deny. |
Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays |
The thing we sue for. |
Mene. We, ignorant of ourselves, |
Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers |
Deny us for our good; so find we profit |
By losing of our prayers. |
Pom. I shall do well: |
The people love me, and the sea is mine; |
My powers are crescent, and my auguring hope |
Says it will come to the full. Mark Antony |
In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make |
No wars without doors; Cæsar gets money where |
He loses hearts; Lepidus flatters both, |
Of both is flatter'd; but he neither loves, |
Nor either cares for him. |
Men. Cæsar and Lepidus |
Are in the field; a mighty strength they carry. |
Pom. Where have you this? 'tis false. |
Men. From Silvius, sir. |
Pom. He dreams; I know they are in Rome together, |
Looking for Antony. But all the charms of love, |
Salt Cleopatra, soften thy wan'd lip! |
Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both! |
Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts, |
Keep his brain fuming; Epicurean cooks |
Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite, |
That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour |
Even till a Lethe'd dulness! |
|
Enter VARRIUS. |
How now, Varrius! |
Var. This is most certain that I shall deliver: |
Mark Antony is every hour in Rome |
Expected; since he went from Egypt 'tis |
A space for further travel. |
Pom. I could have given less matter |
A better ear. Menas, I did not think |
This amorous surfeiter would have donn'd his helm |
For such a petty war; his soldiership |
Is twice the other twain. But let us rear |
The higher our opinion, that our stirring |
Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck |
The ne'er-lust-wearied Antony. |
Men. I cannot hope |
Cæsar and Antony shall well greet together; |
His wife that's dead did trespasses to Cæsar, |
His brother warr'd upon him, although I think |
Not mov'd by Antony. |
Pom. I know not, Menas, |
How lesser enmities may give way to greater. |
Were 't not that we stand up against them all |
'Twere pregnant they should square between themselves, |
For they have entertained cause enough |
To draw their swords; but how the fear of us |
May cement their divisions and bind up |
The petty difference, we yet not know. |
Be it as our gods will have 't! It only stands |
Our lives upon, to use our strongest hands. |
Come, Menas. [Exeunt. |
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