SCENE VII.-On board POMPEY's Galley, lying near Misenum.

Music. Enter two or three Servants, with a

banquet.

1 Serv. Here they'll be, man: Some o' their plants are ill-rooted already, the least wind i' the world will blow them down.

2 Serv. Lepidus is high-coloured.

1 Serv. They have made him drink alms-drink. 2 Serv. As they pinch one another by the disposition, he cries out "no more;" reconciles them to his entreaty, and himself to the drink.

1 Serv. But it raises the greater war between him and his discretion.

2 Serv. Why this it is to have a name in great men's fellowship: I had as lief have a reed that will do me no service, as a partizan I could not heave.

1 Serv. To be called into a huge sphere, and not to be seen to move in't, are the holes where eyes should be, which pitifully disaster the cheeks.

A senet sounded. Enter CESAR, ANTONY, POмpey, Lepidus, AGRIPPA, MECENAS, ENOBARBUS, MENAS, with other captains.

Ant. Thus do they, sir:-[To CESAR.]-They take the flow o' the Nile

By certain scales i' the pyramid; they know,
By the height, the lowness, or the mean, if dearth
Or foison follow: The higher Nilus swells,
The more it promises: as it ebbs, the seedsman
Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain,
And shortly comes to harvest.

Lep. You have strange serpents there.
Ant. Ay, Lepidus.

Lep. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the operation of your sun: so is your crocodile.

Lep. What manner o' thing is your crocodile? Ant. It is shaped, sir, like itself; and it is as broad as it hath breadth: it is just so high as it is, and moves with its own organs: it lives by that which nourisheth it: and the elements once out of it, it transmigrates.

Lep. What colour is it of?
Ant. Of its own colour too.

Lep. 'Tis a strange serpent.

Ant. 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet.
Cas. Will this description satisfy him?

Ant. With the health that Pompey gives him;

else he is a very epicure.

Pom. [To MENAS aside.] Go hang, sir, hang! Tell me of that? away!

Dò as I bid you.--Where's this cup I call'd for?

I'll never follow thy pall'd fortunes more.— Who seeks, and will not take, when once 'tis offer'd,

Eno. A bears the third part of the world, man: Seest not?

Men. The third part then is drunk: 'Would it were all, that it might go on wheels!

Eno. Drink thou; increase the reels.
Men. Come.

Pom. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast.
Ant. It ripens towards it.-Strike the vessels, ho!
Here is to Cæsar.

away.

Cæsar, and Antony, have ever won

More in their officer than person: Sossius,
One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant,
For quick accumulation of renown,

Which he achiev'd by the minute, lost his favour.
Who does i' the wars more than his captain can
Becomes his captain's captain: and ambition,
The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss,
Than gain, which darkens him.

I could do more to do Antonius good,

But 'twould offend him; and in his offence
Should my performance perish.

Sil.

Thou hast, Ventidius, that, Without the which a soldier, and his sword, Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to Antony?

Ven. I'll humbly signify what in his name, That magical word of war, we have effected; How, with his banners, and his well-paid ranks, The ne'er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia We have jaded out o' the field. Sil. Where is he now? Ven. He purposeth to Athens: whither with what haste

The weight we must convey with us will permit, We shall appear before him.-On, there; pass

SCENE 11.-Rome. An Ante-Chamber in CESAR S House.

Enter AGRIPPA, and ENOBARBUS, meeting.

Agr. What, are the brothers parted?

Eno. They have despatch'd with Pompey, he is gone;

The other three are sealing. Octavia weeps
To part from Rome; Cæsar is sad; and Lepidus,
Since Pompey's feast, as Menas says, is troubled
With the green sickness.
Agr.
"Tis a noble Lepidus.
Eno. A very fine one: O, how he loves Cæsar!
Agr. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark
Antony!

Eno. Cæsar? Why, he's the Jupiter of men.
Agr. What's Antony? The god of Jupiter.
Eno. Spake you of Cæsar? How? the nonpareil!
Agr. O Antony! O thou Arabian bird!

Eno. Would you praise Cæsar, say,-Cæsar;go no further.

Agr. Indeed, he plied them both with excellent praises.

Eno. But he loves Cæsar best:-Yet he loves

Eno. They are his shards, and he their beetle.
So,-
[Trumpets.

This is to horse-Adieu, noble Agrippa.
Agr. Good fortune, worthy soldier; and farewell.
Enter CESAR, ANTONY, LEPIDUS, and OCTAVIA.
Ant. No further, sir.

Cæs. You take from me a great part of myself;
Use me well in it.-Sister, prove such a wife
As my thoughts make thee, and as my furthest band
Shall pass on thy approof.-Most noble Antony,
Let not the piece of virtue which is set
Betwixt us, as the cement of our love,
To keep it builded, be the ram to batter
The fortress of it: for better might we
Have loved without this mean, if on both parts
This be not cherish'd.
Ant.

In your distrust

Cæs.

Ant.

Make me not offended

I have said.

You shall not find,

Though you be therein curious, the least cause For what you seem to fear: So, the gods keep you, And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends! We will here part.

Cas. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well. The elements be kind to thee, and make Thy spirits all of comfort! fare thee well.

Octa. My noble brother!

Ant. The April's in her eyes: It is love's spring, And these the showers to bring it on.-Be cheerful. Octa. Sir, look well to my husband's house; andCæs. Octavia?

Octa. I'll tell you in your ear.

What,

Ant. Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can Her heart inform her tongue: the swan's down

Cleo. Didst hear her speak? Is she shrill-tongu'd, or low?

Mess. Madam, I heard her speak; she is lowvoic'd.

Cleo. That's not so good:-he cannot like her long. Char. Like her? O Isis! 'tis impossible.

Cleo. I think so, Charmian: Dull of tongue, and dwarfish!

What majesty is in her gait? Remember,
If e'er thou look'dst on majesty.
Mess.
She creeps:

Her motion and her station are as one :
She shows a body rather than a life;
A statue, than a breather.
Cleo.

Mess. Or I have no observance.
Char.

Cannot make better note.
Cleo.

Is this certain?

Three in Egypt

He's very knowing,

I do perceiv't: There's nothing in her yet:The fellow has good judgment.

Char.

Cleo. Guess at her years. I prithee. Mess.

She was a widow.

Cleo.

Excellent.

Madam,

Widow?-Charmian, hark.

Mess. And I do think she's thirty.

Cleo. Bear'st thou her face in mind? is't long, or round?

Mess. Round even to faultiness.

Cleo. For the most part too, they are foolish that

are so.

Her hair, what colour?

Mess. Brown, madam: And her forehead As low as she would wish it.

Cleo. There's gold for thee. Thou must not take my former sharpness ill:I will employ thee back again; I find thee Most fit for business: Go, make thee ready; Our letters are prepar'd. [Exit Messenger. A proper man.

Char. Cleo. Indeed, he is so: I repent me much That so I harried him. Why, methinks, by him. This creature's no such thing.

Char.

Nothing, inadam.

Cleo. The man hath seen some majesty, and should know.

Char. Hath he seen majesty? Isis else defend, And serving you so long!

Cleo. I have one thing more to ask him yet, good
Charmian:

But 'tis no matter; thou shalt bring him to me
Where I will write: All may be well enough.
Char. I warrant you, madam.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-Athens. A Room in ANTONY's House.

Enter ANTONY, and OCTAVIA.

Ant. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that,That were excusable, that, and thousands more Of semblable import,-but he hath wag'd New wars 'gainst Pompey; made his will, and read it

To public ear:

Spoke scantly of me: when perforce he could not
But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly
He vented them; most narrow measure lent me,
When the best hint was given him: he not took't,
Or did it from his teeth.

Octa.

O my good lord, Believe not all; or, if you must believe,

Eros. Cæsar and Lepidus have made wars upon Pompey.

Eno. This is old: What is the success?

Eros. Cæsar, having made use of him in the wars 'gainst Pompey, presently denied him rivality: would not let him partake in the glory of the action: and not resting here, accuses him of letters he had formerly wrote to Pompey; upon his own appeal, seizes him: So the poor third is up, till death enlarge his confine.

Eno. Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps