Our fervices a while; but my full heart
Remains in ufe with you. Our Italy
Shines o'er with civil fwords: Sextus Pompeius
Makes his approaches to the port of Rome :
Equality of two domestic powers
Breeds fcrupulous faction: The hated, grown to strength,
Are newly grown to love: the condemn'd Pompey,
Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace
Into the hearts of fuch as have not thriv'd
Upon the prefent state, whose numbers threaten;
And quietnefs, grown fick of reft, would purge
By any defperate change. My more particular,
And that which most with you should safe my going,
Is Fulvia's death.
Cleo. Though age from folly could not give me freedom,
It does from childifhnefs :-Can Fulvia die?
Ant. She's dead, my queen:
Look here, and, at thy fovereign leifure, read
The garboils fhe awak'd; at the laft, beft;
See, when, and where fhe died,
Cleo. O moft falfe love!.
Where be the facred vials thou fhouldst fill
With forrowful water? Now I fee, I fee,
In Fulvia's death, how mine receiv'd shall be.
Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know
The purpofes I bear; which are, or cease,
As you fhall give the advice: By the fire,
That quickens Nilus' flime, I go from hence,
Thy foldier, fervant; making peace, or war,
As thou affect'st.
Cleo. Cut my lace, Charmian, come ;-
But let it be,-I am quickly ill, and well:
So Antony loves.
Ant. My precious queen, forbear;
And give true evidence to his love, which stands
An honourable trial.
Cleo. So Fulvia told me.
I pr'ythee, turn afide, and weep for her;
Then bid adieu to me, and fay, the tears
Belong to Egypt: Good now, play one scene
Of excellent diffembling; and let it look
Like perfect honour.
Ant. You'll heat my blood: no more.
Cleo. You can do better yet; but this is meetly.
Ant. Now, by my fword,-
Cleo. And target,-Still he mends;
But this is not the beft: Look, pr'ythee, Charmian, How this Herculean Roman does become
The carriage of his chafe.
Ant. I'll leave you, lady.
Cleo. Courteous lord, one word.
Sir, you and I must part,-but that's not it:
Sir, you and I have lov'd,-but there's not it;
That you know well: Something it is I would-
O, my oblivion is a very Antony,
And I am all forgotten.
Ant. But that your royalty
Holds idlenefs your fubject, I fhould take you
For idleness itself.
Cleo. "Tis fweating labour,
To bear fuch idlenefs fo near the heart
As Cleopatra this. But, fir, forgive me;
Since my becomings kill me, when they do not
Eye well to you: Your honour calls
you hence;
Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly,
And all the gods go with you! Upon your sword
Sit laurell'd victory! and smooth fuccefs
Be ftrew'd before your feet!
Ant. Let us go. Come;
Our feparation fo abides, and flies,
That thou, refiding here, go'ft yet with me,
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee.
Away.
SCENE IV. CÆSAR's palace in Rome.
Enter OCTAVIUS CESAR, LEPIDUS, and Attendants. Caf. You may fee, Lepidus, and henceforth know, It is not Cæfar's natural vice to hate
One great competitor: From Alexandria
This is the news; He fishes, drinks, and waftes
The lamps of night in revel: is not more manlike
Than Cleopatra; nor the queen of Ptolemy
More womanly than he hardly give audience, or
Vouchfaf'd to think he had partners: You fhall find
A man, who is the abstract of all faults
[there
That all men follow.
Lep. I must not think there are
Evils enough to darken all his goodness:
His faults, in him, feem as the fpots of heaven,
More fiery by night's blacknefs; hereditary,
Rather than purchas'd; what he cannot change,
Than what he chooses.
Caf. You are too indulgent: Let us grant, it is not Amifs to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy;
To give a kingdom for a mirth; to fit
And keep the turn of tippling with a flave;
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet
With knaves that smell of fweat: fay, this becomes
(As his compofure must be rare indeed,
Whom these things cannot blemish), yet must Antony
No way excufe his foils, when we do bear
So great weight in his lightnefs: If he fill'd
His vacancy with his voluptuousness,
Full furfeits, and the drynefs of his bones,
Call on him for't: but, to confound fuch time-
That drums him from his fport, 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 prefent pleasure,
And fo rebel to judgment.
Enter a Messenger,
Lep. Here's more news.
Mef. Thy biddings have been done; and every hour, Moft noble Cæfar, fhalt thou have report
How 'tis abroad. Pompey is ftrong at fea;
And it appears, he is belov'd of thofe
That only have fear'd Cæfar: to the ports
The difcontents repair, and men's reports
Give him much wrong'd.
Caf. I fhould have known no lefs:
It hath been taught us from the primal state,
That he, which is, was wifh'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, lackying the varying tide,
To rot itself with motion.
Mef. Cæfar, I bring thee word,
Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates,
Make the fea ferve 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 veffel can peep forth, but 'tis as foon
Taken as feen; for Pompey's name ftrikes more,
Than could his war refifted.
Leave thy lafcivious waffels. When thou once
Waft beaten from Modena, where thou flew'it
Hirtius and Panfa, confuls, at thy heel
Did famine follow; whom thou fought'ft againft,
Though daintily brought up, with patience more
Than favages could fuffer: Thou didst drink
The ftale of horses, and the gilded puddle
Which beasts would cough at: thy palate then did
The roughest berry on the rudeft hedge; [deign
Yea, like the ftag, when fnow the pafture fheets,
The barks of trees thou browsed'ft: on the Alps,
It is reported, thou didst eat strange flesh,
Which fome did die to look on: And all this
(It wounds thine honour, that I fpeak it now)
Was borne fo like a foldier, that thy cheek
So much as lank'd not.
Lep. It is pity of him.
Caf. Let his fhames quickly
Drive him to Rome: Time is it, that we twain
Did fhew ourselves i' the field; and, to that end,
Affemble me immediate council: Pompey
Thrives in our idleness.
Lep. To-morrow, Cæfar,
I fhall be furnish'd to inform you rightly
Both what by fea and land I can be able,
To 'front this present time.
Caf. 'Till which encounter,
It is my bufinefs too.
|