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in death, which commits some loving act upon her, she hath such a |
celerity in dying. |
ANTONY. She is cunning past man's thought. |
ENOBARBUS. Alack, sir, no! Her passions are made of nothing but the |
finest part of pure love. We cannot call her winds and waters |
sighs and tears; they are greater storms and tempests than |
almanacs can report. This cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she |
makes a show'r of rain as well as Jove. |
ANTONY. Would I had never seen her! |
ENOBARBUS. O Sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of |
work, which not to have been blest withal would have discredited |
your travel. |
ANTONY. Fulvia is dead. |
ENOBARBUS. Sir? |
ANTONY. Fulvia is dead. |
ENOBARBUS. Fulvia? |
ANTONY. Dead. |
ENOBARBUS. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. When it |
pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a man from him, it |
shows to man the tailors of the earth; comforting therein that |
when old robes are worn out there are members to make new. If |
there were no more women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut, |
and the case to be lamented. This grief is crown'd with |
consolation: your old smock brings forth a new petticoat; and |
indeed the tears live in an onion that should water this sorrow. |
ANTONY. The business she hath broached in the state |
Cannot endure my absence. |
ENOBARBUS. And the business you have broach'd here cannot be |
without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly depends |
on your abode. |
ANTONY. No more light answers. Let our officers |
Have notice what we purpose. I shall break |
The cause of our expedience to the Queen, |
And get her leave to part. For not alone |
The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, |
Do strongly speak to us; but the letters to |
Of many our contriving friends in Rome |
Petition us at home. Sextus Pompeius |
Hath given the dare to Caesar, and commands |
The empire of the sea; our slippery people, |
Whose love is never link'd to the deserver |
Till his deserts are past, begin to throw |
Pompey the Great and all his dignities |
Upon his son; who, high in name and power, |
Higher than both in blood and life, stands up |
For the main soldier; whose quality, going on, |
The sides o' th' world may danger. Much is breeding |
Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life |
And not a serpent's poison. Say our pleasure, |
To such whose place is under us, requires |
Our quick remove from hence. |
ENOBARBUS. I shall do't. Exeunt |
SCENE III. |
Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace |
Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS |
CLEOPATRA. Where is he? |
CHARMIAN. I did not see him since. |
CLEOPATRA. See where he is, who's with him, what he does. |
I did not send you. If you find him sad, |
Say I am dancing; if in mirth, report |
That I am sudden sick. Quick, and return. Exit ALEXAS |
CHARMIAN. Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly, |
You do not hold the method to enforce |
The like from him. |
CLEOPATRA. What should I do I do not? |
CHARMIAN. In each thing give him way; cross him in nothing. |
CLEOPATRA. Thou teachest like a fool- the way to lose him. |
CHARMIAN. Tempt him not so too far; I wish, forbear; |
In time we hate that which we often fear. |
Enter ANTONY |
But here comes Antony. |
CLEOPATRA. I am sick and sullen. |
ANTONY. I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose- |
CLEOPATRA. Help me away, dear Charmian; I shall fall. |
It cannot be thus long; the sides of nature |
Will not sustain it. |
ANTONY. Now, my dearest queen- |
CLEOPATRA. Pray you, stand farther from me. |
ANTONY. What's the matter? |
CLEOPATRA. I know by that same eye there's some good news. |
What says the married woman? You may go. |
Would she had never given you leave to come! |
Let her not say 'tis I that keep you here- |
I have no power upon you; hers you are. |
ANTONY. The gods best know- |
CLEOPATRA. O, never was there queen |
So mightily betray'd! Yet at the first |
I saw the treasons planted. |
ANTONY. Cleopatra- |
CLEOPATRA. Why should I think you can be mine and true, |
Though you in swearing shake the throned gods, |
Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness, |
To be entangled with those mouth-made vows, |
Which break themselves in swearing! |
ANTONY. Most sweet queen- |
CLEOPATRA. Nay, pray you seek no colour for your going, |
But bid farewell, and go. When you sued staying, |
Then was the time for words. No going then! |
Eternity was in our lips and eyes, |
Bliss in our brows' bent, none our parts so poor |
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