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CLEOPATRA. What's your name? |
THYREUS. My name is Thyreus. |
CLEOPATRA. Most kind messenger, |
Say to great Caesar this: in deputation |
I kiss his conquring hand. Tell him I am prompt |
To lay my crown at 's feet, and there to kneel. |
Tell him from his all-obeying breath I hear |
The doom of Egypt. |
THYREUS. 'Tis your noblest course. |
Wisdom and fortune combating together, |
If that the former dare but what it can, |
No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay |
My duty on your hand. |
CLEOPATRA. Your Caesar's father oft, |
When he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in, |
Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, |
As it rain'd kisses. |
Re-enter ANTONY and ENOBARBUS |
ANTONY. Favours, by Jove that thunders! |
What art thou, fellow? |
THYREUS. One that but performs |
The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest |
To have command obey'd. |
ENOBARBUS. [Aside] You will be whipt. |
ANTONY. Approach there.- Ah, you kite!- Now, gods and devils! |
Authority melts from me. Of late, when I cried 'Ho!' |
Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth |
And cry 'Your will?' Have you no ears? I am |
Antony yet. |
Enter servants |
Take hence this Jack and whip him. |
ENOBARBUS. 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp |
Than with an old one dying. |
ANTONY. Moon and stars! |
Whip him. Were't twenty of the greatest tributaries |
That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them |
So saucy with the hand of she here- what's her name |
Since she was Cleopatra? Whip him, fellows, |
Till like a boy you see him cringe his face, |
And whine aloud for mercy. Take him hence. |
THYMUS. Mark Antony- |
ANTONY. Tug him away. Being whipt, |
Bring him again: the Jack of Caesar's shall |
Bear us an errand to him. Exeunt servants with THYREUS |
You were half blasted ere I knew you. Ha! |
Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome, |
Forborne the getting of a lawful race, |
And by a gem of women, to be abus'd |
By one that looks on feeders? |
CLEOPATRA. Good my lord- |
ANTONY. You have been a boggler ever. |
But when we in our viciousness grow hard- |
O misery on't!- the wise gods seel our eyes, |
In our own filth drop our clear judgments, make us |
Adore our errors, laugh at's while we strut |
To our confusion. |
CLEOPATRA. O, is't come to this? |
ANTONY. I found you as a morsel cold upon |
Dead Caesar's trencher. Nay, you were a fragment |
Of Cneius Pompey's, besides what hotter hours, |
Unregist'red 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. |
CLEOPATRA. Wherefore is this? |
ANTONY. 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 herd! 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. |
Re-enter a SERVANT with THYREUS |
Is he whipt? |
SERVANT. Soundly, my lord. |
ANTONY. Cried he? and begg'd 'a pardon? |
SERVANT. He did ask favour. |
ANTONY. If that thy father live, let him repent |
Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorry |
To follow Caesar in his triumph, since |
Thou hast been whipt for following him. Henceforth |
The white hand of a lady fever thee! |
Shake thou to look on't. Get thee back to Caesar; |
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 th' abysm of hell. If he mislike |
My speech and what is done, tell him he has |
Hipparchus, my enfranched 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, be gone. Exit THYREUS |
CLEOPATRA. Have you done yet? |
ANTONY. Alack, our terrene moon |
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