Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. |
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Enter ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, and Others. |
Ant. He will not fight with me, Domitius. |
Eno. No. |
Ant. Why should he not? |
Eno. He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune, |
He is twenty men to one. |
Ant. To-morrow, soldier, |
By sea and land I'll fight: or I will live, |
Or bathe my dying honour in the blood |
Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well? |
Eno. I'll strike, and cry, 'Take all.' |
Ant. Well said; come on. |
Call forth my household servants; let's tonight |
Be bounteous at our meal. |
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Enter three or four Servitors. |
Give me thy hand, |
Thou hast been rightly honest; so hast thou; |
Thou; and thou, and thou: you have serv'd me well, |
And kings have been your fellows. |
Cleo. What means this? |
Eno. [Aside to CLEOPATRA.] 'Tis one of those odd tricks which sorrow shoots |
Out of the mind. |
Ant. And thou art honest too. |
I wish I could be made so many men, |
And all of you clapp'd up together in |
An Antony, that I might do you service |
So good as you have done. |
Servants. The gods forbid! |
Ant. Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night, |
Scant not my cups, and make as much of me |
As when mine empire was your fellow too, |
And suffer'd my command. |
Cleo. [Aside to ENOBARBUS.] What does he mean? |
Eno. [Aside to CLEOPATRA.] To make his followers weep. |
Ant. Tend me to-night; |
May be it is the period of your duty: |
Haply, you shall not see me more; or if, |
A mangled shadow: perchance to-morrow |
You'll serve another master. I look on you |
As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends, |
I turn you not away; but, like a master |
Married to your good service, stay till death. |
Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more, |
And the gods yield you for't! |
Eno. What mean you, sir, |
To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep; |
And I, an ass, am onion-ey'd: for shame, |
Transform us not to women. |
Ant. Ho, ho, ho! |
Now, the witch take me, if I meant it thus! |
Grace grow where those drops fall! My hearty friends, |
You take me in too dolorous a sense, |
For I spake to you for your comfort; did desire you |
To burn this night with torches. Know, my hearts, |
I hope well of to-morrow; and will lead you |
Where rather I'll expect victorious life |
Than death and honour. Let's to supper, come, |
And drown consideration. [Exeunt. |
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