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Enter another Messenger.
What are you?
Where died she?
serious Importeth thee to know, this bears.
[Gives a letter. Ant.
[Exit Sec. Messenger. There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I de
129 The opposite of itself: she's good, being gone; The hand could pluck her back that shoved
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!
Re-enter ENOBARBUS. Eno. What's your pleasure, sir? Ant. I must with haste from hence.
Eno. Why, then, we kill all our women: we see how mortal an unkindness is to them; if they suffer our departure, death's the word. Ant. I must be gone.
140 Eno. Under a compelling occasion, let women die: it were pity to cast them away for nothing; though, between them and a great cause, they should be esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, dies instantly; I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment: I do think there is mettle in death, which commits some loving act upon her, she hath such a celerity in dying.
Ant. She is cunning past man's thought. 150 Eno. Alack, sir, no; her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love: we
cannot call her winds and waters sighs and tears; They are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can report: this cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she makes a shower of rain as well as Jove.
Ant. Would I had never seen her!
Eno. O, sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work; which not to have been blest withal would have discredited your travel.
Ant. Fulvia is dead. Eno. Sir ? Ant. Fulvia is dead. Eno. Fulvia! Ant. Dead. Eno. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. 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 case to be lamented: this grief is crowned with consolation; your old smock brings forth a new petticoat: and indeed the tears live in an onion that should water this sorrow. Ant. The business she hath broached in the
state Cannot endure my absence.
179 Eno. And the business you have broached here cannot be without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly depends on your abode.
Ant. No more light answers. Let our officers Have notice what we purpose. I shall break The cause of our expedience* to the queen, And get her leave 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 *Expedition. Petition us at home: Sextus Pompeius
190 Hath given the dare to Cæsar, and commands The empire of the sea: our slippery people, Whose love is never link'd to the deserver Till his deserts are past, begin to throw
Pompey the Great and all his dignities
I did not see him since.
[Exit Alexas. Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him
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 so too far; I wish,
forbear: In time we hate that which we often fear. But here comes Antony.
Enter ANTONY. Cleo.
I am sick and sullen. Ant. I am sorry to give breathing to my
Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian; I shall
It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature
Now, my dearest queen,-
What's the matter? Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's some
Ant. The gods best know,-
0, never was there queen
Cleopatra, Cleo. Why should I think you can be mine and
true, Though you in swearing shake the throned gods, Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous mad
ness, To be entangled with those mouth-made vows, 30 Which break themselves in swearing! Ant.
Most sweet queen, Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your
going, But bid farewell, and go: when
staying, Then was the time for words; no going then; Eternity was in our lips and eyes, Bliss in our brows' bent; none our parts so poor, But was a race of heaven: they are so still, Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world, Art turn'd the greatest liar. Ant.
How now, lady! Cleo. I would I had thy inches; thou shouldst know
40 There were a heart in Egypt. Ant.
Hear me, queen: