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A parcel of their fortunes; and things outward
Enter an ATT ENDANT.
Atten. A messenger from Caesar." Cleo. What, no more ceremony —See, my women, Against the blown rose may they stop their nose, That kneel'd unto the buds.-Admit him, sir. [Erit ATTEN DANT.
Cleo. Caesar's will?
Thyr. Hear it apart.
Cleo. None but friends; say on boldly.
Thyr. So, haply, are they friends to Antony.
Enob. He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has; Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our master Will leap to be his friend: Or, as you know, Whose he is, we are; and that is, Caesar's.
Thus then, thou most renown'd; Caesar entreats,
Not to consider in what case thou stand'st
Cleo. Go on: Right royal.
Thyr. He knows, that you embrace not Antony As you did love, but as you fear'd him.
Cleo. O !
Thyr. The scars upon your honour, therefore, he
Cleo. He is a god, and knows
Enob. To be sure of that, I will ask Antony. *- [Erit ENobARBus. Thyr. Shall I say to Caesar What you require of him for he partly begs To be desir'd to give. It much would please him, That of his fortunes you should make a staff To lean upon: but it would warm his spirits, To hear from me you had left Antony, And put yourself under his shroud, the great, The universal landlord. Cleo. What's your name * Thyr. My name is Thyreus. Cleo. Most kind messenger, Say to great Caesar this, in deputation I kiss his conquering hand: tell him, I am prompt To lay my crown at his feet, and there to kneel : Tell him, from his all-obeying breath I hear The doom of Egypt. Thyr. "Tis your noblest course. Wisdom and fortune combatting 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. Cleo. Your Caesar's father oft, [Giving her Hand. When he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in, Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, As it rain'd kisses.
Enter ENOBARBUs, with ANTony.
Ant. Favours, by Jove that thunders!—
Thyr. One, that but performs
Enob. You will be whipp'd.
Ant. Approach, there! Ah, you kite!—Now gods
and devils |
Authority melts from me of late: when I cry’d, hot
Like boys unto a muss, kings would stand forth,
Enter ATTEN DANTs.
Antony yet. Take hence this Jack, and whip him.
Thyr. Mark Antony—
Ant. Tug him away : being whipp'd,
[Ereunt ATTENDANTs, with THYREUs.
You were half blasted ere I knew you:-Ha!
Cleo. Good my lord—
Ant. You have been a bogler ever: But when we in our viciousness grow hard, (O, misery on't 1) the wise gods seel our eyes In our own filth ; drop our clear judgments; make
Adore our errors; laugh at us, while we strut
Cleo. Oh ! is't come to this
Ant. 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, Unregister'd 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.
Cleo. Wherefore is this?
Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards,
Enter ATTEN DANTs, with THY REUs.
And plighter of high hearts!—O, is he whipp'd?
Cleo. Ah, dear, if I be so, From my cold heart let Heaven engender hail, And poison it in the source; and the first stone Drop in my neck: as it determines, so Dissolve my life! The next Caesarion smite! Till by degrees, the memory of my womb, Together with my brave Egyptians all, By the discandying of this pelletted storm, Lie graveless; till the flies and gnats of Nile Have bury'd them for prey ! Ant. I am satisfy'd. Caesar sits down in Alexandria; where I will oppose his fate. Our force by land Hath nobly held; our sever'd navy too Have knit again, and fleet, threat'ning most sea-like— Where hast thou been, my heart?—Dost thou hear, lady ? If from the field I shall return once more To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood; I and my sword will earn our chronicle; There is hope in it yet. Cleo. That's my brave lord Ant. I will be treble sinew'd, hearted, breath'd, And fight maliciously: for when mine hours Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives Of me for jests; but now, I’ll set my teeth, And send to darkness all that stop me. Come, Let's have one other gaudy night: call to me All my sad captains, fill our bowls; once more Let's mock the midnight bell. Cleo. It is my birth day: I had thought, to have held it poor; but, since my lord Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. Ant. We'll yet do well. Clev. Call all his noble captains to my lord. Ant. Do so, we'll speak to them; and to-night I'll force