Part 11

SOOTHSAYER. You shall be more beloving than beloved.

CHARMIAN. I had rather heat my liver with drinking.

ALEXAS. Nay, hear him.

CHARMIAN. Good now, some excellent fortune! Let me be married to three kings in a forenoon and widow them all. Let me have a child at fifty, to whom Herod of Jewry may do homage. Find me to marry me with Octavius Caesar, and companion me with my mistress.

SOOTHSAYER. You shall outlive the lady whom you serve.

CHARMIAN. O, excellent! I love long life better than figs.

SOOTHSAYER. You have seen and proved a fairer former fortune Than that which is to approach.

CHARMIAN. Then belike my children shall have no names. Prithee, how many boys and wenches must I have?

SOOTHSAYER. If every of your wishes had a womb, And fertile every wish, a million.

CHARMIAN. Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch.

ALEXAS. You think none but your sheets are privy to your wishes.

CHARMIAN. Nay, come, tell Iras hers.

ALEXAS. We’ll know all our fortunes.

ENOBARBUS. Mine, and most of our fortunes tonight, shall be drunk to bed.

IRAS. There’s a palm presages chastity, if nothing else.

CHARMIAN. E’en as the o’erflowing Nilus presageth famine.

IRAS. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay.

CHARMIAN. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prognostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. Prithee, tell her but workaday fortune.

SOOTHSAYER. Your fortunes are alike.

IRAS. But how, but how? give me particulars.

SOOTHSAYER. I have said.

IRAS. Am I not an inch of fortune better than she?

CHARMIAN. Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than I, where would you choose it?

IRAS. Not in my husband’s nose.

CHARMIAN. Our worser thoughts heavens mend! Alexas—come, his fortune! his fortune! O, let him marry a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis, I beseech thee, and let her die too, and give him a worse, and let worse follow worse, till the worst of all follow him laughing to his grave, fiftyfold a cuckold! Good Isis, hear me this prayer, though thou deny me a matter of more weight; good Isis, I beseech thee!

IRAS. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the people! For, as it is a heartbreaking to see a handsome man loose-wived, so it is a deadly sorrow to behold a foul knave uncuckolded. Therefore, dear Isis, keep decorum and fortune him accordingly!

CHARMIAN. Amen.

ALEXAS. Lo now, if it lay in their hands to make me a cuckold, they would make themselves whores but they’d do’t!

Enter Cleopatra.

ENOBARBUS. Hush, Here comes Antony.

CHARMIAN. Not he, the queen.

CLEOPATRA. Saw you my lord?

ENOBARBUS. No, lady.

CLEOPATRA. Was he not here?

CHARMIAN. No, madam.

CLEOPATRA. He was disposed to mirth; but on the sudden A Roman thought hath struck him. Enobarbus!

ENOBARBUS. Madam?

CLEOPATRA. Seek him and bring him hither. Where’s Alexas?

ALEXAS. Here, at your service. My lord approaches.

Enter Antony with a Messenger.

CLEOPATRA. We will not look upon him. Go with us.

[_Exeunt Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, Iras, Alexas and Soothsayer._]

MESSENGER. Fulvia thy wife first came into the field.

ANTONY. Against my brother Lucius.

MESSENGER. Ay. But soon that war had end, and the time’s state Made friends of them, jointing their force ’gainst Caesar, Whose better issue in the war from Italy Upon the first encounter drave them.

ANTONY. Well, what worst?

MESSENGER. The nature of bad news infects the teller.

ANTONY. When it concerns the fool or coward. On. Things that are past are done with me. ’Tis thus: Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death, I hear him as he flattered.

MESSENGER. Labienus— This is stiff news—hath with his Parthian force Extended Asia from Euphrates His conquering banner shook from Syria To Lydia and to Ionia, Whilst—

ANTONY. “Antony”, thou wouldst say—

MESSENGER. O, my lord!

ANTONY. Speak to me home; mince not the general tongue. Name Cleopatra as she is called in Rome; Rail thou in Fulvia’s phrase, and taunt my faults With such full licence as both truth and malice Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds When our quick minds lie still, and our ills told us Is as our earing. Fare thee well awhile.

MESSENGER. At your noble pleasure.

[_Exit Messenger._]

Enter another Messenger.

ANTONY. From Sicyon, ho, the news? Speak there!

SECOND MESSENGER. The man from Sicyon—

ANTONY. Is there such a one?

SECOND MESSENGER. He stays upon your will.

ANTONY. Let him appear.

[_Exit second Messenger._]

These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, Or lose myself in dotage.

Enter another Messenger with a letter.

What are you?

THIRD MESSENGER. Fulvia thy wife is dead.

ANTONY. Where died she?

THIRD MESSENGER. In Sicyon: Her length of sickness, with what else more serious Importeth thee to know, this bears.

[_Gives a letter._]

ANTONY. Forbear me.

[_Exit third Messenger._]

There’s a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it. What our contempts doth often hurl from us, We wish it ours again. The present pleasure, By revolution lowering, does become The opposite of itself. She’s good, being gone. The hand could pluck her back that shoved her on. I must from this enchanting queen break off. Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know, My idleness doth hatch. How now, Enobarbus!

Enter Enobarbus.

ENOBARBUS. What’s your pleasure, sir?

ANTONY. I must with haste from hence.

ENOBARBUS. Why then we kill all our women. We see how mortal an unkindness is to them. If they suffer our departure, death’s the word.

ANTONY. I must be gone.

ENOBARBUS. Under a compelling occasion, let women die. It were pity to cast them away for nothing, though, between them and a great cause they should be esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, dies instantly. I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment. I do think there is mettle in death which commits some loving act upon her, she hath such a celerity in dying.

ANTONY. She is cunning past man’s thought.

ENOBARBUS. 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 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.

ANTONY. Would I had never seen her!

ENOBARBUS. O, sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work, which not to have been blest withal would have discredited your travel.

ANTONY. Fulvia is dead.

ENOBARBUS. Sir?

ANTONY. Fulvia is dead.

ENOBARBUS. Fulvia?

ANTONY. Dead.

ENOBARBUS. 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 smock brings forth a new petticoat: and indeed the tears live in an onion that should water this sorrow.

ANTONY. The business she hath broached in the state Cannot endure my absence.

ENOBARBUS. And the business you have broached here cannot be without you, especially that of Cleopatra’s, which wholly depends on your abode.

ANTONY. 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 Petition us at home. Sextus Pompeius Hath given the dare to Caesar, and commands The empire of the sea. Our slippery people, Whose love is never linked 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’ th’ 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 To such whose place is under us, requires Our quick remove from hence.

ENOBARBUS. I shall do’t.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE III. Alexandria. A Room in Cleopatra’s palace.

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Alexas and Iras.

CLEOPATRA. Where is he?

CHARMIAN. I did not see him since.

CLEOPATRA. 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._]

CHARMIAN. Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly, You do not hold the method to enforce The like from him.

CLEOPATRA. What should I do I do not?

CHARMIAN. In each thing give him way; cross him in nothing.

CLEOPATRA. Thou teachest like a fool: the way to lose him.

CHARMIAN. Tempt him not so too far; I wish, forbear. In time we hate that which we often fear. But here comes Antony.

Enter Antony.

CLEOPATRA. I am sick and sullen.

ANTONY. I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose—

CLEOPATRA. Help me away, dear Charmian! I shall fall. It cannot be thus long; the sides of nature Will not sustain it.

ANTONY. Now, my dearest queen—

CLEOPATRA. Pray you, stand farther from me.

ANTONY. What’s the matter?

CLEOPATRA. 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.

ANTONY. The gods best know—

CLEOPATRA. O, never was there queen So mightily betrayed! Yet at the first I saw the treasons planted.

ANTONY. Cleopatra—

CLEOPATRA. 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!

ANTONY. Most sweet queen—

CLEOPATRA. Nay, pray you seek no colour for your going, 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 turned the greatest liar.

ANTONY. How now, lady!

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

ANTONY. 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 Breed scrupulous faction; the hated, grown to strength, Are newly grown to love; the condemned Pompey, Rich in his father’s honour, creeps apace 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.

CLEOPATRA. Though age from folly could not give me freedom, It does from childishness. Can Fulvia die?

ANTONY. She’s dead, my queen. Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure read The garboils she awaked; at the last, best, See when and where she died.

CLEOPATRA. 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.

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

CLEOPATRA. Cut my lace, Charmian, come! But let it be; I am quickly ill and well, So Antony loves.

ANTONY. My precious queen, forbear, And give true evidence to his love, which stands An honourable trial.

CLEOPATRA. 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.

ANTONY. You’ll heat my blood. No more.

CLEOPATRA. You can do better yet, but this is meetly.

ANTONY. Now, by my sword—

CLEOPATRA. And target. Still he mends. But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Charmian, How this Herculean Roman does become The carriage of his chafe.

ANTONY. I’ll leave you, lady.

CLEOPATRA. Courteous lord, one word. Sir, you and I must part, but that’s not it; Sir, you and I have loved, but there’s not it; That you know well. Something it is I would— O, my oblivion is a very Antony, And I am all forgotten.

ANTONY. But that your royalty Holds idleness your subject, I should take you For idleness itself.

CLEOPATRA. ’Tis sweating labour To bear such idleness so near the heart As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me, Since my becomings kill me when they do not Eye well to you. Your honour calls you hence; Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly, And all the gods go with you! Upon your sword Sit laurel victory, and smooth success Be strewed before your feet!

ANTONY. Let us go. Come. Our separation so abides and flies That thou, residing here, goes yet with me, And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. Away!

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE IV. Rome. An Apartment in Caesar’s House.

Enter Octavius [Caesar], Lepidus and their train.

CAESAR. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know, It is not Caesar’s natural vice to hate Our great competitor. From Alexandria This is the news: he fishes, drinks, and wastes The lamps of night in revel: is not more manlike Than Cleopatra, nor the queen of Ptolemy More womanly than he; hardly gave audience, or Vouchsafed to think he had partners. You shall find there A man who is the abstract of all faults That all men follow.

LEPIDUS. I must not think there are Evils enough to darken all his goodness. His faults in him seem as the spots of heaven, More fiery by night’s blackness; hereditary Rather than purchased; what he cannot change Than what he chooses.

CAESAR. You are too indulgent. Let’s grant it is not Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy, To give a kingdom for a mirth, to sit And keep the turn of tippling with a slave, To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet With knaves that smell of sweat. Say this becomes him— As his composure must be rare indeed Whom these things cannot blemish—yet must Antony No way excuse his foils when we do bear So great weight in his lightness. If he filled His vacancy with his voluptuousness, Full surfeits and the dryness of his bones Call on him for’t. But to confound such time That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud As his own state and ours, ’tis to be chid As we rate boys who, being mature in knowledge, Pawn their experience to their present pleasure And so rebel to judgment.

Enter a Messenger.

LEPIDUS. Here’s more news.

MESSENGER. Thy biddings have been done, and every hour, Most noble Caesar, shalt thou have report How ’tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea, And it appears he is beloved of those That only have feared Caesar. To the ports The discontents repair, and men’s reports Give him much wronged.

CAESAR. I should have known no less. It hath been taught us from the primal state That he which is was wished until he were, And the ebbed man, ne’er loved till ne’er worth love, Comes deared by being lacked. This common body, Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, To rot itself with motion.

Enter a second Messenger.

SECOND MESSENGER. Caesar, I bring thee word Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates, Make the sea serve them, which they ear 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.

CAESAR. Antony, Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once Was 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. On the Alps It is reported thou didst eat strange flesh Which some did die to look on. And all this— It wounds thine honour that I speak it now— Was borne so like a soldier that thy cheek So much as lanked not.

LEPIDUS. ’Tis pity of him.

CAESAR. Let his shames quickly Drive him to Rome. ’Tis time we twain Did show ourselves i’ th’ field, and to that end Assemble we immediate council. Pompey Thrives in our idleness.

LEPIDUS. Tomorrow, Caesar, I shall be furnished to inform you rightly Both what by sea and land I can be able To front this present time.

CAESAR. Till which encounter It is my business too. Farewell.

LEPIDUS. Farewell, my lord. What you shall know meantime Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir, To let me be partaker.

CAESAR. Doubt not, sir. I knew it for my bond.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE V. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras and Mardian.

CLEOPATRA. Charmian!

CHARMIAN. Madam?

CLEOPATRA. Ha, ha! Give me to drink mandragora.

CHARMIAN. Why, madam?

CLEOPATRA. That I might sleep out this great gap of time My Antony is away.

CHARMIAN. You think of him too much.

CLEOPATRA. O, ’tis treason!

CHARMIAN. Madam, I trust not so.

CLEOPATRA. Thou, eunuch Mardian!

MARDIAN. What’s your highness’ pleasure?

CLEOPATRA. Not now to hear thee sing. I take no pleasure In aught an eunuch has. ’Tis well for thee That, being unseminared, thy freer thoughts May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections?

MARDIAN. Yes, gracious madam.

CLEOPATRA. Indeed?

MARDIAN. Not in deed, madam, for I can do nothing But what indeed is honest to be done. Yet have I fierce affections, and think What Venus did with Mars.

CLEOPATRA. 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 burgonet 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 Phœbus’ amorous pinches black, And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Caesar, 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 aspect, and die With looking on his life.

Enter Alexas.

ALEXAS. Sovereign of Egypt, hail!

CLEOPATRA. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony! Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath With his tinct gilded thee. How goes it with my brave Mark Antony?

ALEXAS. Last thing he did, dear queen, He kissed—the last of many doubled kisses— This orient pearl. His speech sticks in my heart.

CLEOPATRA. Mine ear must pluck it thence.

ALEXAS. “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 an arm-gaunt steed, Who neighed so high that what I would have spoke Was beastly dumbed by him.

CLEOPATRA. What, was he sad or merry?

ALEXAS. Like to the time o’ th’ year between the extremes Of hot and cold, he was nor sad nor merry.

CLEOPATRA. 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 seemed 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?

ALEXAS. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers. Why do you send so thick?

CLEOPATRA. 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 Caesar so?

CHARMIAN. O that brave Caesar!

CLEOPATRA. Be choked with such another emphasis! Say “the brave Antony.”

CHARMIAN. The valiant Caesar!

CLEOPATRA. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth If thou with Caesar paragon again My man of men.

CHARMIAN. By your most gracious pardon, I sing but after you.

CLEOPATRA. My salad days, When I was green in judgment, 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 in warlike manner.

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

MENECRATES. Know, worthy Pompey, That what they do delay they not deny.

POMPEY. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays The thing we sue for.

MENECRATES. 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.

POMPEY. I shall do well. The people love me, and the sea is mine; My powers are crescent, and my auguring hope Says it will come to th’ full. Mark Antony In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make No wars without doors. Caesar gets money where He loses hearts. Lepidus flatters both, Of both is flattered; but he neither loves Nor either cares for him.

MENAS. Caesar and Lepidus Are in the field. A mighty strength they carry.

POMPEY. Where have you this? ’Tis false.

MENAS. From Silvius, sir.

POMPEY. He dreams. I know they are in Rome together, Looking for Antony. But all the charms of love, Salt Cleopatra, soften thy waned lip! Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both; Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts; Keep his brain fuming. Epicurean cooks Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite, That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour Even till a Lethe’d dullness—

Enter Varrius.

How now, Varrius!

VARRIUS. This is most certain that I shall deliver: Mark Antony is every hour in Rome Expected. Since he went from Egypt ’tis A space for farther travel.

POMPEY. I could have given less matter A better ear.—Menas, I did not think This amorous surfeiter would have donned his helm For such a petty war. His soldiership Is twice the other twain. But let us rear The higher our opinion, that our stirring Can from the lap of Egypt’s widow pluck The ne’er lust-wearied Antony.

MENAS. I cannot hope Caesar and Antony shall well greet together. His wife that’s dead did trespasses to Caesar; His brother warred upon him, although I think, Not moved by Antony.

POMPEY. I know not, Menas, How lesser enmities may give way to greater. Were’t not that we stand up against them all, ’Twere pregnant they should square between themselves, For they have entertained cause enough To draw their swords. But how the fear of us May cement their divisions, and bind up The petty difference, we yet not know. Be’t as our gods will have’t! It only stands Our lives upon to use our strongest hands. Come, Menas.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE II. Rome. A Room in the House of Lepidus.

Enter Enobarbus and Lepidus.

LEPIDUS. Good Enobarbus, ’tis a worthy deed, And shall become you well, to entreat your captain To soft and gentle speech.

ENOBARBUS. I shall entreat him To answer like himself. If Caesar move him, Let Antony look over Caesar’s head And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter, Were I the wearer of Antonius’ beard, I would not shave’t today.

LEPIDUS. ’Tis not a time For private stomaching.

ENOBARBUS. Every time Serves for the matter that is then born in’t.

LEPIDUS. But small to greater matters must give way.