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But what indeed is honest to be done. |
Yet have I fierce affections, and think |
What Venus did with Mars. |
CLEOPATRA. O Charmian, |
Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he or sits he? |
Or does he walk? or is he on his horse? |
O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony! |
Do bravely, horse; for wot'st thou whom thou mov'st? |
The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm |
And burgonet of men. He's speaking now, |
Or murmuring 'Where's my serpent of old Nile?' |
For so he calls me. Now I feed myself |
With most delicious poison. Think on me, |
That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black, |
And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Caesar, |
When thou wast here above the ground, I was |
A morsel for a monarch; and great Pompey |
Would stand and make his eyes grow in my brow; |
There would he anchor his aspect and die |
With looking on his life. |
Enter ALEXAS |
ALEXAS. Sovereign of Egypt, hail! |
CLEOPATRA. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony! |
Yet, coming from him, that great med'cine hath |
With his tinct gilded thee. |
How goes it with my brave Mark Antony? |
ALEXAS. Last thing he did, dear Queen, |
He kiss'd- the last of many doubled kisses- |
This orient pearl. His speech sticks in my heart. |
CLEOPATRA. Mine ear must pluck it thence. |
ALEXAS. 'Good friend,' quoth he |
'Say the firm Roman to great Egypt sends |
This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot, |
To mend the petty present, I will piece |
Her opulent throne with kingdoms. All the East, |
Say thou, shall call her mistress.' So he nodded, |
And soberly did mount an arm-gaunt steed, |
Who neigh'd so high that what I would have spoke |
Was beastly dumb'd by him. |
CLEOPATRA. What, was he sad or merry? |
ALEXAS. Like to the time o' th' year between the extremes |
Of hot and cold; he was nor sad nor merry. |
CLEOPATRA. O well-divided disposition! Note him, |
Note him, good Charmian; 'tis the man; but note him! |
He was not sad, for he would shine on those |
That make their looks by his; he was not merry, |
Which seem'd to tell them his remembrance lay |
In Egypt with his joy; but between both. |
O heavenly mingle! Be'st thou sad or merry, |
The violence of either thee becomes, |
So does it no man else. Met'st thou my posts? |
ALEXAS. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers. |
Why do you send so thick? |
CLEOPATRA. Who's born that day |
When I forget to send to Antony |
Shall die a beggar. Ink and paper, Charmian. |
Welcome, my good Alexas. Did I, Charmian, |
Ever love Caesar so? |
CHARMIAN. O that brave Caesar! |
CLEOPATRA. Be chok'd with such another emphasis! |
Say 'the brave Antony.' |
CHARMIAN. The valiant Caesar! |
CLEOPATRA. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth |
If thou with Caesar paragon again |
My man of men. |
CHARMIAN. By your most gracious pardon, |
I sing but after you. |
CLEOPATRA. My salad days, |
When I was green in judgment, cold in blood, |
To say as I said then. But come, away! |
Get me ink and paper. |
He shall have every day a several greeting, |
Or I'll unpeople Egypt. Exeunt |
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ACT II. SCENE I. |
Messina. POMPEY'S house |
Enter POMPEY, MENECRATES, and MENAS, in warlike manner |
POMPEY. If the great gods be just, they shall assist |
The deeds of justest men. |
MENECRATES. Know, worthy Pompey, |
That what they do delay they not deny. |
POMPEY. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays |
The thing we sue for. |
MENECRATES. We, ignorant of ourselves, |
Beg often our own harms, which the wise pow'rs |
Deny us for our good; so find we profit |
By losing of our prayers. |
POMPEY. I shall do well. |
The people love me, and the sea is mine; |
My powers are crescent, and my auguring hope |
Says it will come to th' full. Mark Antony |
In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make |
No wars without doors. Caesar gets money where |
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