Char. Like her! O Isis! 'tis impossible.
Cleo. I think so, Charmian: dull of tongue, and dwarfish! 16
What majesty is in her gait? Remember,
If e'er thou look'dst on majesty.
Mess. She creeps;
Her motion and her station are as one;
She shows a body rather than a life, 20
A statue than a breather.
Cleo. Is this certain?
Mess. Or I have no observance.
Char. Three in Egypt
Cannot make better note.
Cleo. He's very knowing,
I do perceive 't. There's nothing in her yet. 24
The fellow has good judgment.
Char. Excellent.
Cleo. Guess at her years, I prithee.
Mess. Madam,
She was a widow,—
Cleo. Widow! Charmian, hark.
Mess. And I do think she's thirty. 28
Cleo. Bear'st thou her face in mind? is 't long or round?
Mess. Round even to faultiness.
Cleo. For the most part, too, they are foolish that are so.
Her hair, what colour? 32
Mess. Brown, madam; and her forehead
As low as she would wish it.
Cleo. There's gold for thee:
Thou must not take my former sharpness ill.
I will employ thee back again; I find thee 36
19 station: standing still
33, 34 and her forehead As low as she would wish it; cf. n.
