Anthony and Cleopatra.
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Cleo.I would I had thy inches, thou should'st knowThere were a heart in Egypt.
Ant.Heare me Queene:The strong necessity of Time, commandsOur Seruicles a-while: but my full heartRemaines in vse with you. Our Italy,Shines o're with ciuill Swords; Sextus PompeiusMakes his approaches to the Port of Rome,Equality of two Domesticke powers,Breed scrupulous faction: The hated growne to strengthAre newly growne to Loue: The condemn'd Pompey,Rich in his Fathers Honor, creepes apaceInto the hearts of such, as haue not thriuedVpon the present state, whose Numbers threaten,And quietnesse growne sicke of rest, would purgeBy any desperate change: My more particular,And that which most with you should safe my going,Is Fuluias death.
Cleo.Though age from folly could not giue me freedomIt does from childishnesse. Can Fuluia dye?
Ant.She's dead my Queene.Looke heere, and at thy Soueraigne leysure readThe Garboyles she awak'd: at the last, best,See when, and where shee died.
Cleo.O most false Loue!Where be the Sacred Violles thou should'st fillWith sorrowfull water? Now I see, I see,In Fuluias death, how mine receiu'd shall be.
Ant.Quarrell no more, but bee prepar'd to knowThe purposes I beare: which are, or cease,As you shall giue th'aduice. By the fireThat quickens Nylus slime, I go from henceThy Souldier, Seruant, making Peace or Warre,As thou affects.
Cleo.Cut my Lace, Charmian come,But let it be, I am quickly ill, and well,So Anthony loues.
Ant.My precious Queene forbeare,And giue true euidence to his Loue, which standsAn honourable Triall.
Cleo.So Fuluia told me.I prythee turne aside, and weepe for her,Then bid adiew to me, and say the tearesBelong to Egypt. Good now, play one SceneOf excellent dissembling, and let it lookeLike perfect Honor.
Ant.You'l heat my blood no more?
Cleo.You can do better yet: but this is meetly.
Ant.Now by Sword.
Cleo.And Target. Still he mends.But this is not the best. Looke prythee Charmian,How this Herculean Roman do's becomeThe carriage of his chase.
Ant.Ile leaue you Lady.
Cleo.Courteous Lord, one word:Sir, you and I must part, but that's not it:Sir, you and I haue lou'd, but there's not it:That you know well, something it is I would:Oh, my Obliuion is a very Anthony,And I am all forgotten.
Ant.But that your RoyaltyHolds Idlenesse your subiect, I should take youFor Idlenesse it selfe.
Cleo.'Tis sweating Labour,To beare such Idlenesse so neere the heartAs Cleopatra this. But Sir, forgiue me,Since my becommings kill me, when they do notEye well to you. Your Honor calles you hence,Therefore be deafe to my vnpittied Folly,And all the Gods go with you. Vpon your SwordSit Lawrell victory, and smooth successeBe strew'd before your feete.
Ant.Let vs go.Come: Our separation so abides and flies,That thou reciding heere, goes yet with mee;And I hence fleeting, heere remaine with thee.Exeunt.Away.
Enter Octauius reading a Letter, Lepidus,and their Traine.
Cas.You may see Lepidus, and henceforth know,It is not Cæsars Naturall vice, to hateOne great Competitor. From AlexandriaThis is the newes: He fishes, drinkes, and wastesThe Lampes of night in reuell: Is not more manlikeThen Cleopatra: nor the Queene of PtolomyMore Womanly then he. Hardly gaue audienceOr vouchsafe to thinke he had Partners. YouShall finde there a man, who is th'abstracts of all faults,That all men follow.
Lep.I must not thinkeThere are, euils enow to darken all his goodnesse:His faults in him, seeme as the Spots of Heauen,More fierie by nights Blacknesse; Hereditarie,Rather then purchaste: what he cannot change,Then what he chooses.
Cæs.You are too indulgent. Let's graunt it is notAmisse to tumble on the bed of Ptolomy,To giue a Kingdome for a Mirth, to sitAnd keepe the turne of Tipling with a Slaue,To reele the streets at noone, and stand the BuffetWith knaues that smels of sweate: Say this becoms him(As his composure must be rare indeed,Whom these things cannot blemish) yet must AnthonyNo way excuse his foyles, when we do beareSo great waight in his lightnesse. If he fill'dHis vacancie with his Voluptuousnesse,Full surfets, and the drinesse of his bones,Call on him for't. But to confound such time,That drummes him from his sport, and speakes as lowdAs his owne State, and ours, 'tis to be chid:As we rate Boyes, who being mature in knowledge,Pawne their experience to their present pleasure,And so rebell to iudgement.
Enter a Messenger.
Lep.Heere's more newes.
Mes.Thy biddings haue beene done, & euerie houreMost Noble Cæsar, shalt thou haue reportHow 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at Sea,And it appeares, he is belou'd of thoseThat only haue feard Cæsar: to the PortsThe discontents repaire, and mens reportsGiue him much wrong'd.
Cæs.I should haue knowne no lesse,It hath bin taught vs from the primall stateThat he which is was wisht, vntill he were:And the ebb'd man,Ne're lou'd, till ne're worth loue,Comes fear'd, by being lack'd. This common bodie,Like to a Vagabond Flagge vpon the Streame,Goes too, and backe, lacking the varrying tyde
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