Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainst Cæfar; Whose better iffue in the war, from Italy,

Upon the first encounter, drave them.

Ant.

What worft?

Well,

Mef. The nature of bad news infects the teller.

Ant. When it concerns the fool, or coward.—On: Things, that are paft, are done, with me.-'Tis thus ; Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death, I hear him as he flatter'd.

(This is stiff news) hath, with his Parthian force,
Extended Asia from Euphrates;

His conquering banner shook, from Syria
To Lydia, and to Ionia;

Whilft

Ant.

Mef.

Antony, thou would'st say,—

O, my lord!

Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the general tongue; Name Cleopatra as fhe's call'd in Rome :

Rail thou in Fulvia's phrafe; and taunt my faults
With fuch full licence, as both truth and malice

Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds,
When our quick winds lie ftill; and our ills told us,
Is as our earing. Fare thee well a while.

Mef. At your noble pleasure.

Ant. From Sicyon how the news? Speak there.

[Exit.

1 Att. The man from Sicyon.-Is there fuch an one? 2 Att. He stays upon your will.

Ant.

Let him appear.

These strong Egyptian fetters I must break,

B 4

Enter

Enter another Messenger.

Or lofe myself in dotage.-What are you? 2 Mef. Fulvia thy wife is dead.

Ant.

2 Mef. In Sicyon :

Where died fhe?

Her length of fickness, with what else more ferious
Importeth thee to know, this bears.

Ant.

[Gives a Letter,

Forbear me.

[Exit Meffenger.

There's a great fpirit gone! Thus did I defire it:
What our contempts do often hurl from us,
We wish it ours again; the prefent pleasure,
By revolution lowering, does become

The oppofite of itself: fhe's good, being gone;
The hand could pluck her back, that fhov'd her on.
I must from this enchanting queen break off;
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,
My idleness doth hatch.-How now! Enobarbus !

Enter ENOBARBUS.

Eno. What's your pleasure, fir?

Ant. I muft with hafte from hence.

Eno. Why, then, we kill all our women: We fee how mortal an unkindness is to them; if they fuffer our departure, death's the word.

Ant. I must be gone.

Eno. Under a compelling occafion, let women die : It were pity to caft them away for nothing; though, between them and a great caufe, they thould be esteem'd nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, dies inftantly; I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment: I do think, there is mettle in death, which

commits

commits fome loving act upon her, the hath fuch a celerity in dying.

Ant. She is cunning past man's thought.

Eno. Alack, fir, no; her paffions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love: We cannot call her winds and waters, fighs and tears; they are greater ftorms and tempefts than almanacks can report: this cannot be cunning in her; if it be, fhe makes a fhower of rain as well as Jove.

Ant. 'Would I had never feen her!

Eno. O, fir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work; which not to have been blefs'd withal, would have difcredited your travel.

Ant. Fulvia is dead.

Eno. Sir?

Ant. Fulvia is dead.

Eno. Fulvia?

Ant. Dead.

Eno. Why, fir, give the gods a thankful facrifice. When it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a man from him, it shows to man the tailors of the earth; comforting therein, that when old robes are worn out, there are members to make new. If there were no more women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut, and the cafe to be lamented: this grief is crown'd with confolation; your old smock brings forth a new petticoat :--and, indeed, the tears live in an onion, that should water this forrow.

Ant. The bufinefs fhe hath broached in the state, Cannot endure my abfence.

Eno. And the business you have broach'd here cannot be without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly depends on your abode.

Ant. No more light anfwers. Let our officers

Have notice what we purpose. I shall break
The cause of our expedience to the queen,
And get her love to part. For not alone
The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches,
Do strongly speak to us; but the letters too
Of many our contriving friends in Rome
Petition us at home: Sextus Pompeius
Hath given the dare to Cæfar, and commands
The empire of the fea: our flippery people
(Whofe love is never link'd to the deferver,
Till his deserts are paft) begin to throw
Pompey the great, and all his dignities,
Upon his fon; who, high in name and power,
Higher than both in blood and life, ftands up
For the main foldier: whofe quality, going on,
The fides o'the world may danger: Much is breeding,
Which, like the courfer's hair, hath yet but life,
And not a ferpent's poifon. Say, our pleasure,
To fuch whofe place is under us, requires
Our quick remove from hence.

Eno. I fhall do't.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS.

Cleo. Where is he?

Char.

I did not fee him fince.

Cleo. See where he is, who's with him, what he does :I did not fend you ;-If you find him fad, Say, I am dancing; if in mirth, report That I am sudden fick: Quick, and return.

[Exit ALEX.

Char.

Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly, You do not hold the method to enforce

The like from him.

Cleo.

What should I do, I do not?

Char. In each thing give him way, cross him in nothing. Cleo. Thou teachest like a fool: the way to lose him. Char. Tempt him not fo too far: I with, forbear; In time we hate that which we often fear.

Enter ANTONY.

But here comes Antony.

Cleo.

I am fick, and fullen.

Ant. I am forry to give breathing to my purpose,Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian, I shall fall; It cannot be thus long, the fides of nature

Will not fuftain it.

Ant.

Now, my dearest queen,

Cleo. Pray you, ftand further from me.

Ant.

What's the matter?

Cleo. I know, by that fame eye, there's fome good

news.

What says the married woman?--You may go ;

'Would, she had never given you leave to come!
Let her not fay,. 'tis I that keep you here,

I have no power upon you; hers you are.
Ant. The gods best know,—

Gleo.

O, never was there queen

So mightily betray'd! Yet, at the first,

I saw the treasons planted.

Cleo. Why fhould I think, you can be mine, and true, Though you in swearing shake the throned gods, Who have been falfe to Fulvia? Riotous madness,

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