Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.  | 
|    | 
Enter CLEOPATRA, ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, and IRAS.  | 
|   Cleo.  What shall we do, Enobarbus? | 
|   Eno.        Think, and die. | 
|   Cleo.  Is Antony or we, in fault for this? | 
|   Eno.  Antony only, that would make his will | 
| Lord of his reason. What though you fled | 
| From that great face of war, whose several ranges | 
| Frighted each other, why should he follow? | 
| The itch of his affection should not then | 
| Have nick'd his captainship; at such a point, | 
| When half to half the world oppos'd, he being | 
| The mered question. 'Twas a shame no less | 
| Than was his loss, to course your flying flags, | 
| And leave his navy gazing. | 
|   Cleo.        Prithee, peace. | 
|    | 
Enter ANTONY, with EUPHRONIUS.  | 
|   Ant.  Is that his answer? | 
|   Euph.  Ay, my lord. | 
|   Ant.  The queen shall then have courtesy, so she | 
| Will yield us up? | 
|   Euph.        He says so. | 
|   Ant.        Let her know 't. | 
| To the boy Cæsar send this grizzled head, | 
| And he will fill thy wishes to the brim | 
| With principalities. | 
|   Cleo.        That head, my lord? | 
|   Ant.  To him again. Tell him he wears the rose | 
| Of youth upon him, from which the world should note | 
| Something particular; his coin, ships, legions, | 
| May be a coward's, whose ministers would prevail | 
| Under the service of a child as soon | 
| As i' the command of Cæsar: I dare him therefore | 
| To lay his gay comparisons apart, | 
| And answer me declin'd, sword against sword, | 
| Ourselves alone. I'll write it: follow me.  [Exeunt ANTONY and EUPHRONIUS. | 
|   Eno.  [Aside.] Yes, like enough, high-battled Cæsar will | 
| Unstate his happiness, and be stag'd to the show | 
| Against a sworder! I see men's judgments are | 
| A parcel of their fortunes, and things outward | 
| Do draw the inward quality after them, | 
| To suffer all alike. That he should dream, | 
| Knowing all measures, the full Cæsar will | 
| Answer his emptiness! Cæsar, thou hast subdu'd | 
| His judgment too. | 
|    | 
Enter an Attendant.  | 
|   Att.        A messenger from Cæsar. | 
|   Cleo.  What! no more ceremony? See! my women; | 
| Against the blown rose may they stop their nose, | 
| That kneel'd unto the buds. Admit him, sir.  [Exit Attendant. | 
|   Eno.  [Aside.] Mine honesty and I begin to square. | 
| The loyalty well held to fools does make | 
| Our faith mere folly; yet he that can endure | 
| To follow with allegiance a fall'n lord, | 
| Does conquer him that did his master conquer, | 
| And earns a place i' the story. | 
|    | 
Enter THYREUS.  | 
|   Cleo.        Cæsar's will? | 
|   Thyr.  Hear it apart. | 
|   Cleo.        None but friends; say boldly. | 
|   Thyr.  So, haply, are they friends to Antony. | 
|   Eno.  He needs as many, sir, as Cæsar has, | 
| Or needs not us. If Cæsar please, our master | 
| Will leap to be his friend; for us, you know | 
| Whose he is we are, and that is Cæsar's. | 
|   Thyr.        So. | 
| Thus then, thou most renown'd: Cæsar entreats, | 
| Not to consider in what case thou stand'st, | 
| Further than he is Cæsar. | 
|   Cleo.        Go on; right royal. | 
|   Thyr.  He knows that you embrace not Antony | 
| As you did love, but as you fear'd him. | 
|   Cleo.        O! | 
|   Thyr.  The scars upon your honour therefore he | 
| Does pity, as constrained blemishes, | 
| Not as deserv'd. | 
|   Cleo.        He is a god, and knows | 
| What is most right. Mine honour was not yielded, | 
| But conquer'd merely. | 
|   Eno.        [Aside.] To be sure of that, | 
| I will ask Antony. Sir, sir, thou'rt so leaky, | 
| That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for | 
| Thy dearest quit thee.  [Exit. | 
|   Thyr.        Shall I say to Cæsar. | 
| What you require of him? for he partly begs | 
| To be desir'd to give. It much would please him, | 
| That of his fortunes you should make a staff | 
| To lean upon; but it would warm his spirits | 
| To hear from me you had left Antony, | 
| And put yourself under his shroud, | 
| The universal landlord. | 
|   Cleo.        What's your name? | 
|   Thyr.  My name is Thyreus. | 
|   Cleo.        Most kind messenger, | 
| Say to great Cæsar this: in deputation | 
| I kiss his conqu'ring hand; tell him, I am prompt | 
| To lay my crown at 's feet, and there to kneel; | 
| Tell him, from his all-obeying breath I hear | 
| The doom of Egypt. | 
|   Thyr.        'Tis your noblest course. | 
| Wisdom and fortune combating together, | 
| If that the former dare but what it can, | 
| No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay | 
| My duty on your hand. | 
|   Cleo.        Your Cæsar's father oft, | 
| When he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in, | 
| Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, | 
| As it rain'd kisses. | 
|    | 
Re-enter ANTONY and ENOBARBUS.  | 
|   Ant.        Favours, by Jove that thunders! | 
| What art thou, fellow? | 
|   Thyr.        One that but performs | 
| The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest | 
| To have command obey'd. | 
|   Eno.        [Aside.] You will be whipp'd. | 
|   Ant.  Approach there! Ah, you kite! Now, gods and devils! | 
| Authority melts from me: of late, when I cried 'Ho!' | 
| Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth, | 
| And cry, 'Your will?' Have you no ears? I am | 
| Antony yet. | 
|    | 
Enter Attendants.  | 
| Take hence this Jack and whip him. | 
|   Eno.  [Aside.] 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp | 
| Than with an old one dying. | 
|   Ant.        Moon and stars! | 
| Whip him. Were't twenty of the greatest tributaries | 
| That do acknowledge Cæsar, should I find them | 
| So saucy with the hand of—she here, what's her name, | 
| Since she was Cleopatra? Whip him, fellows, | 
| Till, like a boy, you see him cringe his face | 
| And whine aloud for mercy; take him hence. | 
|   Thyr.  Mark Antony,— | 
|   Ant.        Tug him away; being whipp'd, | 
| Bring him again; this Jack of Cæsar's shall | 
| Bear us an errand to him.  [Exeunt Attendants with THYREUS. | 
| You were half blasted ere I knew you: ha! | 
| Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome, | 
| Forborne the getting of a lawful race, | 
| And by a gem of women, to be abus'd | 
| By one that looks on feeders? | 
|   Cleo.        Good my lord,— | 
|   Ant.  You have been a boggler ever: | 
| But when we in our viciousness grow hard,— | 
| O misery on't!—the wise gods seel our eyes; | 
| In our own filth drop our clear judgments; make us | 
| Adore our errors; laugh at's while we strut | 
| To our confusion. | 
|   Cleo.        O! is't come to this? | 
|   Ant.  I found you as a morsel, cold upon | 
| Dead Cæsar's trencher; nay, you were a fragment | 
| Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter hours, | 
| Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have | 
| Luxuriously pick'd out; for, I am sure, | 
| Though you can guess what temperance should be, | 
| You know not what it is. | 
|   Cleo.        Wherefore is this? | 
|   Ant.  To let a fellow that will take rewards | 
| And say 'God quit you!' be familiar with | 
| My playfellow, your hand; this kingly seal | 
| And plighter of high hearts. O! that I were | 
| Upon the hill of Basan, to outroar | 
| The horned herd; for I have savage cause; | 
| And to proclaim it civilly were like | 
| A halter'd neck, which does the hangman thank | 
| For being yare about him. | 
|    | 
Re-enter Attendants, with THYREUS.  | 
| Is he whipp'd? | 
|   First Att.  Soundly, my lord. | 
|   Ant.        Cried he? and begg'd a' pardon? | 
|   First Att.  He did ask favour. | 
|   Ant.  If that thy father live, let him repent | 
| Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorry | 
| To follow Cæsar in his triumph, since | 
| Thou hast been whipp'd for following him: henceforth, | 
| The white hand of a lady fever thee, | 
| Shake thou to look on't. Get thee back to Cæsar, | 
| Tell him thy entertainment; look, thou say | 
| He makes me angry with him; for he seems | 
| Proud and disdainful, harping on what I am, | 
| Not what he knew I was: he makes me angry; | 
| And at this time most easy 'tis to do't, | 
| When my good stars, that were my former guides, | 
| Have empty left their orbs, and shot their fires | 
| Into the abysm of hell. If he mislike | 
| My speech and what is done, tell him he has | 
| Hipparchus, my enfranched bondman, whom | 
| He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture, | 
| As he shall like, to quit me: urge it thou: | 
| Hence with thy stripes; be gone!  [Exit THYREUS. | 
|   Cleo.  Have you done yet? | 
|   Ant.        Alack! our terrene moon | 
| Is now eclips'd; and it portends alone | 
| The fall of Antony. | 
|   Cleo.        I must stay his time. | 
|   Ant.  To flatter Cæsar, would you mingle eyes | 
| With one that ties his points? | 
|   Cleo.        Not know me yet? | 
|   Ant.  Cold-hearted toward me? | 
|   Cleo.        Ah! dear, if I be so, | 
| From my cold heart let heaven engender hail, | 
| And poison it in the source; and the first stone | 
| Drop in my neck: as it determines; so | 
| Dissolve my life. The next Cæsarion smite, | 
| Till by degrees the memory of my womb, | 
| Together with my brave Egyptians all, | 
| By the discandying of this pelleted storm, | 
| Lie graveless, till the flies and gnats of Nile | 
| Have buried them for prey! | 
|   Ant.        I am satisfied. | 
| Cæsar sits down in Alexandria, where | 
| I will oppose his fate. Our force by land | 
| Hath nobly held; our sever'd navy too | 
| Have knit again, and fleet, threat'ning most sea-like. | 
| Where hast thou been, my heart? Dost thou hear, lady? | 
| If from the field I shall return once more | 
| To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood; | 
| I and my sword will earn our chronicle: | 
| There's hope in't yet. | 
|   Cleo.        That's my brave lord! | 
|   Ant.  I will betreble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd, | 
| And fight maliciously; for when mine hours | 
| Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives | 
| Of me for jests; but now I'll set my teeth, | 
| And send to darkness all that stop me. Come, | 
| Let's have one other gaudy night: call to me | 
| All my sad captains; fill our bowls once more; | 
| Let's mock the midnight bell. | 
|   Cleo.        It is my birth-day: | 
| I had thought to have held it poor; but, since my lord | 
| Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. | 
|   Ant.  We will yet do well. | 
|   Cleo.  Call all his noble captains to my lord. | 
|   Ant.  Do so, we'll speak to them; and to-night I'll force | 
| The wine peep through their scars. Come on, my queen; | 
| There's sap in't yet. The next time I do fight | 
| I'll make death love me, for I will contend | 
| Even with his pestilent scythe.  [Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS. | 
|   Eno.  Now he'll outstare the lightning. To be furious | 
| Is to be frighted out of fear, and in that mood | 
| The dove will peck the estridge; and I see still, | 
| A diminution in our captain's brain | 
| Restores his heart. When valour preys on reason | 
| It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek | 
| Some way to leave him.  [Exit. | 
Design © 1995-2007 ZeFLIP.com All rights reserved.