Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power
Work without it: Truth is, that Fulvia,
To have me out of Egypt, made wars here;
For which myself, the ignorant motive, do
So far ask pardon, as befits mine honour
To stoop in such a case.


'Tis nobly spoken.

Mac. If it might please you, to enforce no fur


The griefs between ye: to forget them quite,
Were to remember that the present need
Speaks to atone† you.


Worthily spoke, Mæcenas. Eno. Or, if you borrow one another's love for the instant, you may, when you hear no more words of Pompey, return it again: you shall have time to wrangle in, when you have nothing else

to do.

Ant. Thou art a soldier only; speak no more.

Eno. That truth should be silent, I had almost forgot.

Ant. You wrong this presence, therefore speak no


Eno. Go to then; your considerate stone. Cas. I do not much dislike the matter, but The manner of his speech: for it cannot be, We shall remain in friendship, our conditions So differing in their acts. Yet, if I knew

What hoop should hold us staunch §, from edge to edge

O' the world I would pursue it.


Cas. Speak, Agrippa.

Give me leave, Cæsar,

Agr. Thou hast a sister by the mother's side, Admir'd Octavia: great Mark Antony

Is now a widower,

• Grievances.

t Reconcile.


Say not so, Agrippa;

If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof

Were well deserv'd of rashness.

Ant. I am not married, Cæsar: let me hear Agrippa further speak.

Agr. To hold you in perpetual amity,

To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts
With an unslipping knot, take Antony
Octavia to his wife: whose beauty claims
No worse a husband than the best of men:
Whose virtue, and whose general graces, speak
That which none else can utter. By this marriage,
All little jealousies, which now seem great,

And all great fears, which now import their dangers,
Would then be nothing: truths would be but tales,
Where now half tales be truths: her love to both,
Would, each to other, and all loves to both,
Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke;
For 'tis a studied, not a present thought,
By duty ruminated.


Will Cæsar speak?

Cas. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd With what is spoke already.


If I would say, 'Agrippa, be it so,

To make this good?


His power unto Octavia.


What power is in Agrippa,

The power of Cæsar, and

May I never

To this good purpose, that so fairly shows,
Dream of impediment!-Let me have thy hand:
Further this act of grace; and, from this hour,
The heart of brothers govern in our loves,

And sway our great designs!


There is my hand.

A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother

Did ever love so dearly: Let her live

To join our kingdoms, and our hearts; and never
Fly off our loves again!


Happily, amen!

Ant. I did not think to draw my sword 'gainst


For he hath laid strange courtesies, and great,
Of late upon me: I must thank him only,
Lest my remembrance suffer ill report;

At heel of that, defy him.


Of us must Pompey presently be sought,

Or else he seeks out us.


Time calls upon us:

And where lies he?

What's his strength

Cas. About the Mount Misenuin.

Ant. By land?


Great, and increasing: but by sea

He is an absolute master.


So is the fame.

'Would, we had spoke together: Haste we for it: Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, despatch we The business we have talk'd of.


With most gladness;

And do invite you to my sister's view,
Whither straight I will lead you.


Not lack your company.


Let us, Lepidus,

Noble Antony,

Not sickness should detain me.

[Flourish. Exeunt Cæsar, Antony, and Lepidus. Mac. Welcome from Egypt, sir.

Eno. Half the heart of Cæsar, worthy Mæcenas! -my honourable friend, Agrippa!

Agr. Good Enobarbus !

Mac. We have cause to be glad, that matters are so well digested. You staid well by it in Egypt. Eno. Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of countenance, and made the night light with drinking.

Mac. Eight wild boars roasted whole at a breakfast, and but twelve persons there; Is this true? Eno. This was but as a fly by an eagle: we had much more monstrous matter of feast, which worthily deserved noting.

Mac. She's a most triumphant lady, if report be square to her*.

Eno. When she first met Mark Antony, she pursed up his heart upon the river of Cydnus.

Agr. There she appeared indeed; or my reporter

devised well for her.

Eno. I will tell you:

The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that

The winds were love-sick with them: the oars were silver;

Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water, which they beat, to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
It beggar'd all description: she did lie

In her pavilion (cloth of gold, of tissue),
O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see

The fancy out-work nature: on each side her,
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,
With diverse-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,
And what they undid, did t.

Agr. O, rare for Antony! Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes, And made their bends adornings: at the helm A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackle Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, That yarely frame the office. From the barge A strange invisible pérfume hits the sense Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast Her people out upon her; and Antony, Enthron'd in the market place, did sit alone, Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy,

* Suits with her merits.

+ Added to the warmth they were intended to diReadily perform.


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Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too,

And made a gap in nature.


Rare Egyptian!

Eno. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her,
Invited her to supper: she replied,

It should be better, he became her guest;
Which she entreated: Our courteous Antony,
Whom ne'er the word of No woman heard speak,
Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast;
And, for his ordinary, pays his heart,

For what his eyes eat only.


Royal wench!

She made great Cæsar lay his sword to bed;
He plough'd her, and she cropp'd.


I saw her once

Hop forty paces through the public street:

And having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted, That she did make defect, perfection,

And, breathless, power breathe forth.

Mac. Now Antony must leave her utterly.

Eno. Never; he will not;

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale

Her infinite variety: Other women

Cloy th' appetites they feed; but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies. For vilest things

Become themselves in her; that the holy priests

Bless her, when she's riggish*.

Mac. If beauty, wisdom, modesty, can settle The heart of Antony, Octavia is

A blessed lottery to him.


Let us go.

Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest,
Whilst you abide here.


Humbly, sir, I thank you.


* Wanton.

+ Allotment.

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