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.

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 150 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.

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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 170 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.

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

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Petition us at home; Sextus Pompeius

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
Upon his son; who, high in name and power,
Higher than both in blood and life, stands up
For the main soldier: whose quality, going on,
The sides o' the world may danger. Much is breeding,
Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life
And not a serpent's poison. Say, our pleasure,

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Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas.

Cleo. Where is he?

Char.

I did not see him since.

Cleo. See where he is, who's with him, what he does:

I did not send you: if you find him sad,
Say I am dancing; if in mirth, report
That I am sudden sick: quick, and return.

[Exit Alexas.

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 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 purpose,-
Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian; I shall fall :

Ant.

It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature
Will not sustain it.

Now, my dearest queen,

Cleo. Pray you, stand farther from me.
Ant.

What's the matter?

Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's some good news.
What says the married woman? You may go:
Would she had never given you leave to come!
Let her not say 'tis I that keep you here,

I have no power upon you; hers you are.

Ant. The gods best know

Cleo.

O, never was there queen

So mightily betray'd! yet at the first
I saw the treasons planted.

20

Ant.

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 madness, To be entangled with those mouth-made vows, Which break themselves in swearing!

Ant.

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Most sweet queen, —

Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going,

Ant.

But bid farewell, and go: when you sued 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.

How now, lady !
Cleo. I would I had thy inches; thou shouldst know
There were a heart in Egypt.

Ant.

Hear me, queen :

The strong necessity of time commands

Our services awhile; but my full heart
Remains in use with you. Our Italy
Shines o'er with civil swords: Sextus Pompeius
Makes his approaches to the port of Rome:

Equality of two domestic powers

40

Breed scrupulous faction: the hated, grown to strength,
Are newly grown to love: the condemn'd Pompey,

Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace

50

Into the hearts of such as have not thrived
Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten;
And quietness grown sick of rest would purge
By any desperate 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 childishness: can Fulvia die?

Ant. She's dead, my queen:

Cleo.

Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure read
The garboils she awaked: at the last, best;
See when and where she died.

O most false love!

Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill
With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see,
In Fulvia's death, how mine received shall be.

Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know
The purposes I bear, which are, or cease,
As you shall give the advice. By the fire
That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence
Thy soldier, servant, making peace or war

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70

As thou affect'st.

Cleo.

Cut my lace, Charmian, come;

But let it be: I am quickly ill and well,

So Antony loves.

Ant.

Cleo.

Ant.

My precious queen, forbear;

And give true evidence to his love, which stands
An honourable trial.

So Fulvia told me.

I prithee, turn aside and weep for her;
Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears
Belong to Egypt: good now, play one scene
Of excellent dissembling, and let it look

Like perfect honour.

You'll heat my blood: no more.

Cleo. You can do better yet; but this is meetly.

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