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For what good turn?
Mess. For the best turn i' the bed.
I am pale, Charmian.
Mess. Madam, he's married to Octavia.
Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon thee!
Mess. Good madam, patience.
[Strikes him down.
What say you?-Hence,
[Strikes him again.
Horrible villain! or I'll spurn thine eyes
[She hales him up and down.
Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in brine, Smarting in ling'ring pickle.
I, that do bring the news, made not the match.
Cleo. Say, 'tis not so, a province I will give thee, And make thy fortunes proud: the blow thou hadst Shall make thy peace, for moving me to rage; And I will boot thee with what gift beside Thy modesty can beg.
Cleo. Rogue, thou hast liv'd too long.
He's married, madam.
[Draws a dagger.
Nay, then I'll run :
What mean you, madam? I have made no fault.
Char. Good madam, keep yourself within your.
The man is innocent.
Cleo. Some innocents 'scape not the thunder.
Melt Egypt into Nile! and kindly creatures
I will not hurt him :
These hands do lack nobility, that they strike
A meaner than myself; since I myself
Have given myself the cause.-Come hither, sir.
Though it be honest, it is never good
To bring bad news: Give to a gracious message
An host of tongues; but let ill tidings tell
Cleo. Is he married?
I have done my duty.
I cannot hate thee worser than I do,
If thou again say, Yes..
He is married, madam.
Cleo. The gods confound thee! dost thou hold
Mess. Should I lie, madam?
O, I would, thou didst;
Cleo. So half my Egypt were submerg'd*, and made A cistern for scal'd snakes! Go, get thee hence; Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me Thou would'st appear most ugly. He is married? Mess. I crave your highness' pardon.
He is married? Mess. Take no offence, that I would not offend
To punish me for what you make me do,
Seems much unequal: He is married to Octavia. Cleo. O, that his faults should make a knave of thee,
That art not!-What? thou'rt sure of't?- Get thee hence:
The merchandise which thou hast brought from
Are all too dear for me; Lie they upon thy hand, And be undone by 'em!
[Exit Messenger. Good your highness, patience. Cleo. In praising Antony, I have disprais'd Cæsar.
• Whelmed under water.
I am paid for't now.
Char. Many times, madam.
Lead me from hence.
I faint; O Iras, Charmian,-'Tis no matter:
Go to the fellow, good Alexas; bid him
[To Mardian. Bring me word, how tall she is.-Pity me, Charmian, But do not speak to me.-Lead me to my chamber. [Excunt.
Enter Pompey and Menas, at one side, with drum and trumpet: at another, Cæsar, Lepidus, Antony, Enobarbus, Mæcenas, with Soldiers marching.
Pom. Your hostages I have, so have you mine; And we shall talk before we fight.
Cas. That first we come to words; and therefore have we
Our written purposes before us sent;
Which if thou hast considered, let us know
To you all three,
The senators alone of this great world,
What was it,
Chief factors for the gods,-I do not know,
Take your time.
Ant. Thou can'st not fear t us, Pompey, with thy
We'll speak with thee at sea: at land, thou know'st How much we do o'er-count thee.
At land, indeed,
Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house:
Be pleas'd to tell us,
Lep. (For this is from the present t), how you take The offers we have sent you.
There's the point.
Ant. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh What it is worth embrac'd.
To try a larger fortune.
And what may follow,
You have made me offer
Of Sicily, Sardinia; and I must
Rid all the sea of pirates; then, to send
Measures of wheat to Rome: This 'greed upon,
§ Target, shield.
Cæs. Ant. Lep. That's our offer.
I came before you here, a man prepar'd
I have heard it, Pompey;
And am well studied for a liberal thanks,
Let me have your hand :
I did not think, sir, to have met you here.
Ant. The beds i'the east are soft; and thanks to
That call'd me, timelier than my purpose, hither;
What counts* harsh fortune casts upon my face;
But in my bosom shall she never come,
To make my heart her vassal.
Well met here.
Pom. I hope so, Lepidus.-Thus we are agreed: I crave, our composition may be written,
And seal'd between us.
That's the next to do.
Pom. We'll feast each other, ere we part; and let
Draw lots who shall begin.
That will I, Pompey.
Pom. No, Antony, take the lot: but, first,
Or last, your fine Egyptian cookery
Shall have the fame. I have heard, that Julius
Grew fat with feasting there.
* Scores, marks.