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It is not Caesar's natural "vice to hate

Our great competitor. From Alexandria

This is the news: he fishes, drinks, and wastes

The lamps of night in revel; is not more manlike

Than Cleopatra, nor the queen of Ptolemy

More womanly than he: hardly gave audience, or

Vouchsafe! to think he had partners: you shall find

there A man who is the abstract of all faults That all men follow.

Lepidns. I must not think there are

Evils enow to darken all his goodness:
His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven,
More fiery by night's blackness; hereditary,
Rather than purchas'd; what he cannot change,
Than what he chooses.

Cces. You are too indulgent. Let us grant it is not
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy;
To give a kingdom for a mirth; to sit
And keep the turn of tippling with a slave;
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet
With knaves that smell of sweat: say this becomes

him, (As his composure must be rare indeed Whom these things cannot blemish,) yet must Antony No way excuse his soils, when we do bear So great weight in his lightness. If he filTd His vacancy with his voluptuousness. Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bones, Call on him for 't; but, to confound such time, That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud As his own state, and ours, — 'tis to be chid As we rate boys; who, being mature in knowledge, Pawn their experience to their present pleasure, And so rebel to judgment.

Enter a Messenger.

Lep. Here's more news.

Mess. Thy biddings have been done; and every hour, Most noble Caesar, shalt thou have report How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea; And it appears he is belov'd of those That only have fear'd Caesar: to the ports The discontents repair, and men's reports Give him much wrong'd.

Cces. I should have known no less.

It hath been taught us from the primal state,
That he which is, was wish'd until he were;
And the ebb'd man ne'er lov'd, till ne'er worth

love,
Comes dear'd by being lack'd. This common body,
Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream,
Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide,
To rot itself with motion.

Mess. Caesar, I bring thee word,

Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates,
Make the sea serve them; which they ear and

wound
With keels of every kind: many hot inroads
They make in Italy; the borders maritime
Lack blood to think on 't, and flush youth revolt:
No vessel can peep forth but 'tis as soon
Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes more,
Than could his war resisted.

Cces. Antony,

Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once
Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st
Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel
Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st against,
Though daintily brought up, with patience more
Than savages could suffer: thou did'st drink
The stale of horses, and the gilded puddle,
Which beasts would cough at: thy palate then did

deign
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge;
Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets,
The barks of trees thou browsed'st: on the Alps,
It is reported, thou did'st eat strange flesh,
Which some did die to look on; and all thisx
(It wounds thine honour, that I speak it now)
Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek
So much as lank'd not.

Lep. 'Tis pity of him.

Cces. Let his shames quickly
Drive him to Rome. 'Tis time we twain
Did show ourselves i' th' field; and, to that end,
Assemble we immediate council: Pompey
Thrives in our idleness.

Lep. To-morrow, Csesar,

I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly
Both what by sea and land I can be able
To front this present time.

Cces. Till which encounter,

It is my business too. Farewell.

hep. Farewell, my lord. What you shall know meantime Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir, To let me be partaker.

Cces. Doubt not, sir; I knew it for my bond.

[Exeunt.

Scene V.
Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardlan.

Cleo. Charmian, —

Char. Madam.

Cleo. Ha, ha ! —
Give me to drink mandragora.

Char. Why, madam?

Cleo. That I might sleep out this great gap of time My Antony is away.

Char. You think of him too much.

Cleo. O, 'tis treason!

Char. Madam, I trust, not so.

Cleo. Thou, eunuch, Mardian-—

Mar Man. AVhat's your Highness' pleasure?

Cleo. Not now to hear thee sing: I take no pleasure In aught an eunuch has. 'Tis well for thee, That, being unseminar'd, thy freer thoughts May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections?

Mar. Y'es, gracious madam.

Cleo. Indeed?

Mar. Not in deed., madam; for I can do nothing, But what in deed is honest to be done; Yet have I fierce affections, and think What Venus did with Mars.

Cleo. O, Charmian!

Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he, or

sits he? Or does he walk? or is he on his horse? 0 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 wrast 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.

Alex. Sovereign of Egypt, hail!

Gleo. 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?

Alex. Last thing he did, dear Queen, He kiss'd, — the last of many doubled kisses, — This orient pearl: —- his speech sticks in my heart.

Gleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence.

Alex. 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-girt steed,
Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke
Was beastly dumb'd by him.

Gleo. What! was he sad, or merry?

Alex. Like to the time o' th' year between th' extremes Of hot and cold: he was nor sad, nor merry.

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