Adore our errors; laugh at us, while we strut

To our confusion.

Cleo.

O, is it 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 herd43! 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.-Is he whipp'd?

Re-enter Attendants, with THYREUS.

1 Att. Soundly, my lord.

Ant.

Cry'd he? and begg'd he pardon?

1 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: hence

forth,

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 abism of hell. If he mislike

My speech, and what is done; tell him, he has
Hipparchus, my enfranchis'd 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, begone.

Cleo. Have you done yet?
Ant.

[Exit Thyreus.

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.

Ant. Cold-hearted toward me?
Cleo.

Not know me yet?

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 is hope in it yet.

Cleo.

That's my brave lord!

Ant. I will be treble-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'll 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 Antony, Cleopatra, and Attendants. Eno. Now he'll out-stare the lightning.

furious,

To be

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.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

Casar's Camp at Alexandria.

Enter CESAR, reading a letter; AGRIPPA, MECENAS, and Others.

Cas. He calls me boy; and chides, as he had

power

To beat me out of Egypt: my messenger

He hath whipp'd with rods; dares me to personal

combat,

Cæsar to Antony: Let the old ruffian know,

I have many other ways to die1*; mean time,
Laugh at his challenge.

Mec.

Cæsar must think,

When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now
Make boot of his distraction: Never anger
Made good guard for itself.

Cæs.
Let our best heads
Know, that to-morrow the last of many battles
We mean to fight:-Within our files there are
Of those that serv'd Mark Antony but late,
Enough to fetch him in. See it be done;
And feast the army: we have store to do't,
And they have earn'd the waste. Poor Antony!

[Exeunt.