It hath been taught us from the primal state,

That he, which is, was wish'd, until he were ;

And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd, till ne'er worth love,
Comes dear'd, by being lack'd*. This common body,
Like a vagabond flag upon the stream,

Goes to, and back, lackeying the varying tide,
To rot itself with motion.

Mess.

Cæsar, I bring thee word,

Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates,

Make the sea serve them; which they eart and wound

With keels of every kind: Many hot inroads
They make in Italy; the borders maritime

Lack blood to think on't, and flush youth revolt:
No vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon

Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes more,
Than could his war resisted.

Cas.

Antony,

Leave thy lascivious wassals. When thou once
Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st
Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel

Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st against,
Though daintily brought up, with patience more
Than savages could suffer: Thou didst drink
The stale¶ of horses, and the gilded puddle**
Which beasts would cough at: thy palate then did
deign

The roughest berry on the rudest hedge;

Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets,
The barks of trees thou browsed'st; on the Alps
It is reported, thou did'st eat strange flesh,
Which some did die to look on: And all this
(It wounds thine honour, that I speak it now),

*Endeared by being missed.

+ Plough.

Turn pale.

$ Ruddy.

Feastings: in the old copy it is vaissailes, i. e. ¶ Urine.

vassals.

** Stagnant, slimy water.

Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek
So much as lank'd not.

Lep.

It is pity of him.

Cæs. Let his shames quickly

Drive him to Rome: 'Tis time we twain

Did show ourselves i' the field; and, to that end, Assemble we immediate council: Pompey Thrives in our idleness.

Lep.

To-morrow, Cæsar,

I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly
Both what by sea and land I can be able,
To 'front this present time.

Cas.

Till which encounter,

It is my business too. Farewell.

Lep. Farewell, my lord: What you shall know

mean time

Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir,

To let me be partaker.

Cas,

Doubt not, sir;

I knew it for my bond*.

[Exeunt

SCENE V.

Alexandria. A room in the palace.

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian.

Cleo. Charmian,

Char. Madam.

Cleo. Ha, ha!

Give me to drink mandragorat.

Char.

Why, madam?

Cleo. That I might sleep out this great gap of time

My Antony is away.

Char. Too much.

You think of him

My bounden duty.

+ A sleepy potion.

Cleo.
Char.

O, treason!

Madam, I trust, not so.

Cleo. Thou, Eunuch! Mardian!

Mar.

What's your highness' pleasure?

Cleo. Not now to hear thee sing; I take no plea

sure

In aught au eunuch has: 'Tis well for thee,
That, being unseminar'd*, thy freer thoughts
May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections?
Mar. Yes, gracious madam.

Cleo. Indeed?

Mar. Not in deed, madam; for I can do nothing But what in deed is honest to be done :

Yet have I fierce affections, and think,
What Venus did with Mars.

Cleo.

O Charmian,

Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he, or sits he? Or does he walk? or is he on his horse?

O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!

Do bravely, horse! for wot'st thou whom thou mov'st?

The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm

And burgonett of men.-He's speaking now,
Or murmuring, Where's my serpent of old Nile ?
For so he calls me; Now I feed myself
With most delicious poison :-Think on me,
That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black,
And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Cæsar,
When thou wast here above the ground, I was
A morsel for a monarch: and great Pompey
Would stand, and make his eyes grow in my brow;
There would he anchor his aspéct, and die

With his looking on his life.

Alex.

Enter Alexas.

Sovereign of Egypt, hail!

Cleo. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony!

* Unmanned.

A helmet.

Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath
With his tinct gilded thee.-

How goes it with my brave Mark Antony?

Alex. Last thing he did, dear queen,

He kiss'd, the last of many doubled kisses,— This orient pearl;-His speech sticks in my heart. Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence.

Alex. Good friend, quoth he, Say, the firm Roman to great Egypt sends This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot To mend the petty present, I will piece

Her opulent throne with kingdoms; All the east, Say thou, shall call her mistress. So he nodded, And soberly did mount a termagant* steed,

Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke Was beastly dumb'd by him.

Cleo.

What, was he sad, or merry? Alex. Like to the time o'the year between the ex

tremes

Of hot and cold; he was nor sad, nor merry.

Cleo. O well-divided disposition!-Note him, Note him, good Charmian, 'tis the man; but note

him:

He was not sad; for he would shine on those
That make their looks by his: he was not merry;
Which seem'd to tell them, his remembrance lay
In Egypt with his joy: but between both;
O heavenly mingle!-Be'st thou sad, or merry,
The violence of either thee becomes;

So does it no man else.-Met'st thou my posts?
Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers:
Why do you send so thick?

Cleo.

Who's born that day

When I forget to send to Antony,

Shall die a beggar.-Ink and paper, Charmian.
Welcome, my good Alexas.-Did I, Charmian,
Ever love Cæsar so?

Char.

O that brave Cæsar!

• Furious.

Cleo. Be chok'd with such another emphasis ! Say, the brave Antony.

Char.

The valiant Cæsar!

Cleo. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth, If thou with Cæsar paragon again

My man of men.

Char.

By your most gracious pardon,

I sing but after you.

Cleo.

My salad days;

When I was green in judgement:-Cold in blood,
To say, as I said then!-But, come, away:
Get me ink and paper: he shall have every day
A several greeting, or I'll unpeople Egypt.

[Exeunt,

ACT II.

SCENE I. Messina. A room in Pompey's house.

Enter Pompey, Menecrates, and Menas.

Pom. If the great gods be just, they shall assist The deeds of justest men.

Mene.

Know, worthy Pompey,

That what they do delay, they not deny.

Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, de

cays

The thing we sue for.

Mene.

We, ignorant of ourselves,

Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers

Deny us for our good; so find we profit,

By losing of our prayers.

I shall do well:

Pom.
The people love me, and the sea is mine;
My power's a crescent, and my auguring hope
Says, it will come to the full. Mark Antony
In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make