Ant. Where died fhe?

2 Me. In Sicyon.

Her length of sickness, with what elfe more ferious
Importeth thee to know, this bears.

Ant. Forbear me.

[Exit fecond messenger.
There's a great spirit gone! thus did I defire it.
What our contempts do often hurl from us,
We wish it ours again; the prefent pleasure,
By revolution low'ring, 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 inchanting 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, Sir?

Ant. I mult 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 cause they thould be efteem'd : nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the leaft noise of this, dies inftantly; I have feen her die twenty times. upon far poorer moment: I do think there is mettle in death, which commits fome loving act upon her, the hath fuch a celerity in dying.

Ant. She is cunning paft man's thought.

Eno. Alack, Sir, 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 fhow'r of rain as well as Jove.

Ant. 'Would I had never feen her!

Eno. Oh, Sir, you had then left unfeen a wonder- ful 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..

Æno. Fulvia?

Ant. Dead.

Eno. Why, Sir, give the gods a thankful facrifice.. When it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a man from him, it fhews to man the tailor of the earth; com-, forting him 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 were to be lamented: this grief is crowned with confolation; your old fmock brings forth a new petticoat, and indeed the tears live in an onion that fhould water this forrow.

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

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

Ant. No more light anfwers let our officers
Have notice what we purpose. I fhall 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 t'us; but the letters too.
Of many our contriving friends in Rome -
Petition us at home. Sextus Pompeius
Hath giv'n the dare to Cæfar, and commands,
The empire of the fea. Our flipp'ry people
(Whofe love is never link'd to the deferver,
Till his deferts are past) begin to throw
Pompey the Great and all his dignities
Upon his fon; who high in naure and pow'r,
Higher than both in blood and life, ftands up.
For the main foldier; whofe quality going on,

The fides o' th' world may danger. Much is breeding;:
Which, like the courfer's hair t, hath yet but life,
And not a ferpent's poifon. Say, our pleasure,
To fuch whofe place is under us, requires

expedience, for, expedition.

This alludes to an old idle notion, that the hair of a horfe

dropp'd into corrupted water, will turn to an animal,

Our quick remove from hence.

Eno. I'll do't.,

S. CE NE IV.

[Exeunt.

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Alexas, and Iras,

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 send you—If you find him fad,

Say I am dancing; if in mirth, report
That I am fudden fick. Quick, and return.

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

The like from him.

Cleo. What fhould 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 lofe him. Char. Tempt him not fo too far. I wish, forbear;, In time we hate that which we often fear.

Enter Antony.

But here comes Antony.

Cleo. I'm fick and fullen.

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

Will not fuftain it.

Ant. Now, my dearest Queen.

[Seeming to faint.

Cleo. Pray you, ftand farther from me.

Ant. What's the matter?

Cleo. I know by that fame eye, there's fome good What fays the marry'd woman? you may go; [news. 'Would she had never given you leave to come!

Let her not say, 'tis I that keep you here, 1 have no pow'r upon you: her's you are. Ant. The gods best know,

Cleo. O, never was there Queen

So mightily betray'd, yet at the first
I faw the treafons planted.

Ant. Cleopatra,

Cleo. Why fhould I think you can be mine, and true, Though you with fwearing thake the throned gods, Who have been falfe to Fulvia? riotous madness To be intangled with thefe mouth-made vows, Which break themselves in fwearing!

Ant. Moft fweet Queen,

Gleo. Nay, pray you, feek no colour for your going,
But bid farewel, and go: when you fued staying,
Then was the time for words; no going then ;-
Eternity was in our lips and eyes,

Blifs in our brows' bent, none our parts fo poor,
But was a race of heav'n *. They are so still,
Or thou, the greatest foldier of the world,

Art turn'd the greatest lyar.

Ant. How now, Lady?

Cleo. I would I had thy inches, thou shouldst know-There were a heart in Egypt.

Ant. Hear me, Queen.

The ftrong neceffity of time commands

Our services a while; but my füll 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 pow'rs

Breeds fcrupulous faction; the hated, grown to ftrength,,
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'n

Upon the prefent ftate, whofe numbers threaten;
And quietness, grown fick of reft, would purge
By any defperate change. My more particular,
And that which moft with you should falve my going,,
Is Fulvia's death.

Cleo. Though age from folly could not give me freeIt does from childilhnefs. 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, best...
See when and where he died.

Cleo. O moft falfe love!

i. c. had a finack or flavour of heaven.

[dom,

Where be the facred phials thou should'st fill
With forrowful water? Now I fee, I fee,
In Fulvia's death, how mine fhall be receiv'd.
Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know
The purposes I bear; which are, or cease,

As you
shall give th'advices. By the fire
That quickens Nilus' flime, I go from hence
Thy foldier, fervant, making peace or war,
As thou affect'ft.

Cleo. Cut my lace, Charmian, come;
But let it be, I'm 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); fomething it is I would:
Oh, my oblivion is a very Antony,

And I am all forgotten*.

Ant. But that your royalty

Holds idleness your fubject, I fhould take you
For idleness itself.

Gleo. 'Tis fweating labour

To bear fuch idleness fo near the heart,

As Cleopatra this. But, Sir, forgive me;

*7he meaning is, My forgetfulness makes me forget myself.