Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. |
| |
Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, and Attendant. |
| Cleo. Give me some music; music, moody food |
| Of us that trade in love. |
| Attend. The music, ho! |
| |
Enter MARDIAN. |
| Cleo. Let it alone; let's to billiards: come, Charmian. |
| Char. My arm is sore; best play with Mardian. |
| Cleo. As well a woman with a eunuch play'd |
| As with a woman. Come, you'll play with me, sir? |
| Mar. As well as I can, madam. |
| Cleo. And when good will is show'd, though't come too short, |
| The actor may plead pardon. I'll none now. |
| Give me mine angle; we'll to the river: there— |
| My music playing far off—I will betray |
| Tawny-finn'd fishes; my bended hook shall pierce |
| Their slimy jaws; and, as I draw them up, |
| I'll think them every one an Antony, |
| And say, 'Ah, ha!' you're caught. |
| Char. 'Twas merry when |
| You wager'd on your angling; when your diver |
| Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, which he |
| With fervency drew up. |
| Cleo. That time—O times!— |
| I laugh'd him out of patience; and that night |
| I laugh'd him into patience: and next morn, |
| Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed; |
| Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst |
| I wore his sword Philippan. |
| |
Enter a Messenger. |
| O! from Italy; |
| Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, |
| That long time have been barren. |
| Mess. Madam, madam,— |
| Cleo. Antony 's dead! if thou say so, villain, |
| Thou kill'st thy mistress; but well and free, |
| If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here |
| My bluest veins to kiss; a hand that kings |
| Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing. |
| Mess. First, madam, he is well. |
| Cleo. Why, there's more gold. |
| But, sirrah, mark, we use |
| To say the dead are well: bring it to that, |
| The gold I give thee will I melt, and pour |
| Down thy ill-uttering throat. |
| Mess. Good madam, hear me. |
| Cleo. Well, go to, I will; |
| But there's no goodness in thy face; if Antony |
| Be free and healthful, so tart a favour |
| To trumpet such good tidings! if not well, |
| Thou shouldst come like a Fury crown'd with snakes, |
| Not like a formal man. |
| Mess. Will 't please you hear me? |
| Cleo. I have a mind to strike thee ere thou speak'st: |
| Yet, if thou say Antony lives, is well, |
| Or friends with Cæsar, or not captive to him, |
| I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail |
| Rich pearls upon thee. |
| Mess. Madam, he's well. |
| Cleo. Well said. |
| Mess. And friends with Cæsar. |
| Cleo. Thou'rt an honest man. |
| Mess. Cæsar and he are greater friends than ever. |
| Cleo. Make thee a fortune from me. |
| Mess. But yet, madam,— |
| Cleo. I do not like 'but yet,' it does allay |
| The good precedence; fie upon 'but yet!' |
| 'But yet' is as a gaoler to bring forth |
| Some monstrous malefactor. Prithee, friend, |
| Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear, |
| The good and bad together. He's friends with Cæsar; |
| In state of health, thou sayst; and thou sayst, free. |
| Mess. Free, madam! no; I made no such report: |
| He's bound unto Octavia. |
| Cleo. For what good turn? |
| Mess. For the best turn i' the bed. |
| Cleo. I am pale, Charmian! |
| Mess. Madam, he's married to Octavia. |
| Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon thee! [Strikes him down. |
| Mess. Good madam, patience. |
| Cleo. What say you? Hence, [Strikes him again. |
| Horrible villain! or I'll spurn thine eyes |
| Like balls before me; I'll unhair thy head: [She hales him up and down. |
| Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in brine, |
| Smarting in lingering pickle. |
| Mess. Gracious madam, |
| I, that do bring the news made not the match. |
| Cleo. Say 'tis not so, a province I will give thee, |
| And make thy fortunes proud; the blow thou hadst |
| Shall make thy peace for moving me to rage, |
| And I will boot thee with what gift beside |
| Thy modesty can beg. |
| Mess. He's married, madam. |
| Cleo. Rogue! thou hast liv'd too long. [Draws a knife. |
| Mess. Nay, then I'll run. |
| What mean you, madam? I have made no fault. [Exit. |
| Char. Good madam, keep yourself within yourself; |
| The man is innocent. |
| Cleo. Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt. |
| Melt Egypt into Nile! and kindly creatures |
| Turn all to serpents! Call the slave again: |
| Though I am mad, I will not bite him. Call. |
| Char. He is afeard to come. |
| Cleo. I will not hurt him. [Exit CHARMIAN. |
| These hands do lack nobility, that they strike |
| A meaner than myself; since I myself |
| Have given myself the cause. |
| |
Re-enter CHARMIAN, and Messenger. Come hither, sir. |
| Though it be honest, it is never good |
| To bring bad news; give to a gracious message |
| A host of tongues, but let ill tidings tell |
| Themselves when they be felt. |
| Mess. I have done my duty. |
| Cleo. Is he married? |
| I cannot hate thee worser than I do |
| If thou again say 'Yes.' |
| Mess. He's married, madam. |
| Cleo. The gods confound thee! dost thou hold there still? |
| Mess. Should I lie, madam? |
| Cleo. O! I would thou didst, |
| So half my Egypt were submerg'd and made |
| A cistern for scal'd snakes. Go, get thee hence; |
| Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me |
| Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married? |
| Mess. I crave your highness' pardon. |
| Cleo. He is married? |
| Mess. Take no offence that I would not offend you; |
| To punish me for what you make me do |
| Seems much unequal; he's married to Octavia. |
| Cleo. O! that his fault should make a knave of thee, |
| That art not what thou'rt sure of. Get thee hence; |
| The merchandise which thou hast brought from Rome |
| Are all too dear for me; lie they upon thy hand |
| And be undone by 'em! [Exit Messenger. |
| Char. Good your highness, patience. |
| Cleo. In praising Antony I have disprais'd Cæsar. |
| Char. Many times, madam. |
| Cleo. I am paid for 't now. |
| Lead me from hence; |
| I faint. O Iras! Charmian! 'Tis no matter. |
| Go to the fellow, good Alexas; bid him |
| Report the feature of Octavia, her years, |
| Her inclination, let him not leave out |
| The colour of her hair: bring me word quickly. [Exit ALEXAS. |
| Let him forever go:—let him not—Charmian!— |
| Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, |
| The other way's a Mars. [To MARDIAN.] Bid you Alexas |
| Bring me word how tall she is. Pity me, Charmian, |
| But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber. [Exeunt. |
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