Let him appear that's come from Antony.
Know you him?

Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster:
An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither
He sends so poor a pinion off his wing,
Which had superfluous kings for messengers
Not many moons gone by.

Approach, and speak.

Such as I am, I come from Antony:
I was of late as petty to his ends
As is the morn-dew on the myrtle-leaf
To his grand sea.

Be't so: declare thine office.

Lord of his fortunes he salutes thee, and
Requires to live in Egypt: which not granted,
He lessens his requests; and to thee sues
To let him breathe between the heavens and earth,
A private man in Athens: this for him.
Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness;
Submits her to thy might; and of thee craves
The circle of the Ptolemies for her heirs,
Now hazarded to thy grace.

For Antony,
I have no ears to his request. The queen
Of audience nor desire shall fail, so she
From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend,
Or take his life there: this if she perform,
She shall not sue unheard. So to them both.

Fortune pursue thee!

Bring him through the bands.

[To THYREUS] To try thy eloquence, now 'tis time: dispatch;
From Antony win Cleopatra: promise,
And in our name, what she requires; add more,
From thine invention, offers: women are not
In their best fortunes strong; but want will perjure
The ne'er touch'd vestal: try thy cunning, Thyreus;
Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we
Will answer as a law.

Caesar, I go.

Observe how Antony becomes his flaw,
And what thou think'st his very action speaks
In every power that moves.

Caesar, I shall.

What shall we do, Enobarbus?

Think, and die.

Is Antony or we in fault for this?

Antony only, that would make his will
Lord of his reason. What though you fled
From that great face of war, whose several ranges
Frighted each other? why should he follow?
The itch of his affection should not then
Have nick'd his captainship; at such a point,
When half to half the world opposed, he being
The meered question: 'twas a shame no less
Than was his loss, to course your flying flags,
And leave his navy gazing.

Prithee, peace.

Is that his answer?

Ay, my lord.

The queen shall then have courtesy, so she
Will yield us up.

He says so.

Let her know't.
To the boy Caesar send this grizzled head,
And he will fill thy wishes to the brim
With principalities.

That head, my lord?

To him again: tell him he wears the rose
Of youth upon him; from which the world should note
Something particular: his coin, ships, legions,
May be a coward's; whose ministers would prevail
Under the service of a child as soon
As i' the command of Caesar: I dare him therefore
To lay his gay comparisons apart,
And answer me declined, sword against sword,
Ourselves alone. I'll write it: follow me.

[Aside] Yes, like enough, high-battled Caesar will
Unstate his happiness, and be staged to the show,
Against a sworder! I see men's judgments are
A parcel of their fortunes; and things outward
Do draw the inward quality after them,
To suffer all alike. That he should dream,
Knowing all measures, the full Caesar will
Answer his emptiness! Caesar, thou hast subdued
His judgment too.

A messenger from CAESAR.

What, no more ceremony? See, my women!
Against the blown rose may they stop their nose
That kneel'd unto the buds. Admit him, sir.

[Aside] Mine honesty and I begin to square.
The loyalty well held to fools does make
Our faith mere folly: yet he that can endure
To follow with allegiance a fall'n lord
Does conquer him that did his master conquer
And earns a place i' the story.

Caesar's will?

Hear it apart.

None but friends: say boldly.

So, haply, are they friends to Antony.

He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has;
Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our master
Will leap to be his friend: for us, you know,
Whose he is we are, and that is, Caesar's.

So.
Thus then, thou most renown'd: Caesar entreats,
Not to consider in what case thou stand'st,
Further than he is Caesar.

Go on: right royal.

He knows that you embrace not Antony
As you did love, but as you fear'd him.

O!

The scars upon your honour, therefore, he
Does pity, as constrained blemishes,
Not as deserved.

He is a god, and knows
What is most right: mine honour was not yielded,
But conquer'd merely.

[Aside] To be sure of that,
I will ask Antony. Sir, sir, thou art so leaky,
That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for
Thy dearest quit thee.

Shall I say to Caesar
What you require of him? for he partly begs
To be desired to give. It much would please him,
That of his fortunes you should make a staff
To lean upon: but it would warm his spirits,
To hear from me you had left Antony,
And put yourself under his shrowd,
The universal landlord.

What's your name?

My name is Thyreus.

Most kind messenger,
Say to great Caesar this: in deputation
I kiss his conquering hand: tell him, I am prompt
To lay my crown at 's feet, and there to kneel:
Tell him from his all-obeying breath I hear
The doom of Egypt.

'Tis your noblest course.
Wisdom and fortune combating together,
If that the former dare but what it can,
No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay
My duty on your hand.

Your Caesar's father oft,
When he hath mused of taking kingdoms in,
Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place,
As it rain'd kisses.

Favours, by Jove that thunders!
What art thou, fellow?

One that but performs
The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest
To have command obey'd.

[Aside] You will be whipp'd.

Approach, there! Ah, you kite! Now, gods
and devils!
Authority melts from me: of late, when I cried 'Ho!'
Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth,
And cry 'Your will?' Have you no ears? I am
Antony yet.

Take hence this Jack, and whip him.

[Aside] 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp
Than with an old one dying.

Moon and stars!
Whip him. Were't twenty of the greatest tributaries
That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them
So saucy with the hand of she here, – what's her name,
Since she was Cleopatra? Whip him, fellows,
Till, like a boy, you see him cringe his face,
And whine aloud for mercy: take him hence.

Mark Antony!

Tug him away: being whipp'd,
Bring him again: this Jack of Caesar's shall
Bear us an errand to him.

You were half blasted ere I knew you: ha!
Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome,
Forborne the getting of a lawful race,
And by a gem of women, to be abused
By one that looks on feeders?

Good my lord, –

You have been a boggler ever:
But when we in our viciousness grow hard –
O misery on't! – the wise gods seel our eyes;
In our own filth drop our clear judgments; make us
Adore our errors; laugh at's, while we strut
To our confusion.

O, is't come to this?

I found you as a morsel cold upon
Dead Caesar's trencher; nay, you were a fragment
Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter hours,
Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have
Luxuriously pick'd out: for, I am sure,
Though you can guess what temperance should be,
You know not what it is.

Wherefore is this?

To let a fellow that will take rewards
And say 'God quit you!' be familiar with
My playfellow, your hand; this kingly seal
And plighter of high hearts! O, that I were
Upon the hill of Basan, to outroar
The horned herd! for I have savage cause;
And to proclaim it civilly, were like
A halter'd neck which does the hangman thank
For being yare about him.

Is he whipp'd?

Soundly, my lord.

Cried he? and begg'd a' pardon?

He did ask favour.

If that thy father live, let him repent
Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorry
To follow Caesar in his triumph, since
Thou hast been whipp'd for following him: henceforth
The white hand of a lady fever thee,
Shake thou to look on 't. Get thee back to Caesar,
Tell him thy entertainment: look, thou say
He makes me angry with him; for he seems
Proud and disdainful, harping on what I am,
Not what he knew I was: he makes me angry;
And at this time most easy 'tis to do't,
When my good stars, that were my former guides,
Have empty left their orbs, and shot their fires
Into the abysm of hell. If he mislike
My speech and what is done, tell him he has
Hipparchus, my enfranched bondman, whom
He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture,
As he shall like, to quit me: urge it thou:
Hence with thy stripes, begone!

Have you done yet?

Alack, our terrene moon
Is now eclipsed; and it portends alone
The fall of Antony!

I must stay his time.

To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes
With one that ties his points?

Not know me yet?

Cold-hearted toward me?

Ah, dear, if I be so,
From my cold heart let heaven engender hail,
And poison it in the source; and the first stone
Drop in my neck: as it determines, so
Dissolve my life! The next Caesarion smite!
Till by degrees the memory of my womb,
Together with my brave Egyptians all,
By the discandying of this pelleted storm,
Lie graveless, till the flies and gnats of Nile
Have buried them for prey!

I am satisfied.
Caesar sits down in Alexandria; where
I will oppose his fate. Our force by land
Hath nobly held; our sever'd navy too
Have knit again, and fleet, threatening most sea-like.
Where hast thou been, my heart? Dost thou hear, lady?
If from the field I shall return once more
To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood;
I and my sword will earn our chronicle:
There's hope in't yet.

That's my brave lord!

I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breathed,
And fight maliciously: for when mine hours
Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives
Of me for jests; but now I'll set my teeth,
And send to darkness all that stop me. Come,
Let's have one other gaudy night: call to me
All my sad captains; fill our bowls once more;
Let's mock the midnight bell.

It is my birth-day:
I had thought to have held it poor: but, since my lord
Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.

We will yet do well.

Call all his noble captains to my lord.

Do so, we'll speak to them; and tonight I'll force
The wine peep through their scars. Come on, my queen;
There's sap in't yet. The next time I do fight,
I'll make death love me; for I will contend
Even with his pestilent scythe.

Now he'll outstare the lightning. To be furious,
Is to be frighted out of fear; and in that mood
The dove will peck the estridge; and I see still,
A diminution in our captain's brain
Restores his heart: when valour preys on reason,
It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek
Some way to leave him.

He calls me boy; and chides, as he had power
To beat me out of Egypt; my messenger
He hath whipp'd with rods; dares me to personal combat,
Caesar to Antony: let the old ruffian know
I have many other ways to die; meantime
Laugh at his challenge.

Caesar must think,
When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now
Make boot of his distraction: never anger
Made good guard for itself.

Let our best heads
Know, that tomorrow the last of many battles
We mean to fight: within our files there are,
Of those that served Mark Antony but late,
Enough to fetch him in. See it done:
And feast the army; we have store to do't,
And they have earn'd the waste. Poor Antony!

He will not fight with me, Domitius.

No.

Why should he not?

He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune,
He is twenty men to one.

Tomorrow, soldier,
By sea and land I'll fight: or I will live,
Or bathe my dying honour in the blood
Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well?

I'll strike, and cry 'Take all.'

Well said; come on.
Call forth my household servants: let's tonight
Be bounteous at our meal.

Give me thy hand,
Thou hast been rightly honest; – so hast thou; –
Thou, – and thou, – and thou: – you have served me well,
And kings have been your fellows.

[Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] What means this?

[Aside to CLEOPATRA] 'Tis one of those odd
tricks which sorrow shoots
Out of the mind.

And thou art honest too.
I wish I could be made so many men,
And all of you clapp'd up together in
An Antony, that I might do you service
So good as you have done.

The gods forbid!

Well, my good fellows, wait on me tonight:
Scant not my cups; and make as much of me
As when mine empire was your fellow too,
And suffer'd my command.

[Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] What does he mean?

[Aside to CLEOPATRA] To make his followers weep.

Tend me tonight;
May be it is the period of your duty:
Haply you shall not see me more; or if,
A mangled shadow: perchance tomorrow
You'll serve another master. I look on you
As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends,
I turn you not away; but, like a master
Married to your good service, stay till death:
Tend me tonight two hours, I ask no more,
And the gods yield you for't!

What mean you, sir,
To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep;
And I, an ass, am onion-eyed: for shame,
Transform us not to women.

Ho, ho, ho!
Now the witch take me, if I meant it thus!
Grace grow where those drops fall!
My hearty friends,
You take me in too dolorous a sense;
For I spake to you for your comfort; did desire you
To burn this night with torches: know, my hearts,
I hope well of tomorrow; and will lead you
Where rather I'll expect victorious life
Than death and honour. Let's to supper, come,
And drown consideration.

Brother, good night: tomorrow is the day.

It will determine one way: fare you well.
Heard you of nothing strange about the streets?

Nothing. What news?

Belike 'tis but a rumour. Good night to you.

Well, sir, good night.

Soldiers, have careful watch.

And you. Good night, good night.

Here we: and if tomorrow
Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope
Our landmen will stand up.

'Tis a brave army,
And full of purpose.

Peace! what noise?

List, list!

Hark!

Music i' the air.

Under the earth.

It signs well, does it not?

No.

Peace, I say!
What should this mean?

'Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony loved,
Now leaves him.

Walk; let's see if other watchmen
Do hear what we do?

How now, masters!

[Speaking together] How now!
How now! do you hear this?

Ay; is't not strange?

Do you hear, masters? do you hear?

Follow the noise so far as we have quarter;
Let's see how it will give off.

Content. 'Tis strange.

Eros! mine armour, Eros!

Sleep a little.

No, my chuck. Eros, come; mine armour, Eros!

Come good fellow, put mine iron on:
If fortune be not ours today, it is
Because we brave her: come.

Nay, I'll help too.
What's this for?

Ah, let be, let be! thou art
The armourer of my heart: false, false; this, this.

Sooth, la, I'll help: thus it must be.

Well, well;
We shall thrive now. Seest thou, my good fellow?
Go put on thy defences.

Briefly, sir.

Is not this buckled well?

Rarely, rarely:
He that unbuckles this, till we do please
To daff't for our repose, shall hear a storm.
Thou fumblest, Eros; and my queen's a squire
More tight at this than thou: dispatch. O love,
That thou couldst see my wars today, and knew'st
The royal occupation! thou shouldst see
A workman in't.

Good morrow to thee; welcome:
Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge:
To business that we love we rise betime,
And go to't with delight.

A thousand, sir,
Early though't be, have on their riveted trim,
And at the port expect you.

The morn is fair. Good morrow, general.

Good morrow, general.

'Tis well blown, lads:
This morning, like the spirit of a youth
That means to be of note, begins betimes.
So, so; come, give me that: this way; well said.
Fare thee well, dame, whate'er becomes of me:
This is a soldier's kiss: rebukeable

And worthy shameful check it were, to stand
On more mechanic compliment; I'll leave thee
Now, like a man of steel. You that will fight,
Follow me close; I'll bring you to't. Adieu.

Please you, retire to your chamber.

Lead me.
He goes forth gallantly. That he and Caesar might
Determine this great war in single fight!
Then Antony, – but now – Well, on.

The gods make this a happy day to Antony!

Would thou and those thy scars had once prevail'd
To make me fight at land!

Hadst thou done so,
The kings that have revolted, and the soldier
That has this morning left thee, would have still
Follow'd thy heels.

Who's gone this morning?

Who!
One ever near thee: call for Enobarbus,
He shall not hear thee; or from Caesar's camp
Say 'I am none of thine.'

What say'st thou?

Sir,
He is with Caesar.

Sir, his chests and treasure
He has not with him.

Is he gone?

Most certain.

Go, Eros, send his treasure after; do it;
Detain no jot, I charge thee: write to him –
I will subscribe – gentle adieus and greetings;
Say that I wish he never find more cause
To change a master. O, my fortunes have
Corrupted honest men! Dispatch. – Enobarbus!

Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight:
Our will is Antony be took alive;
Make it so known.

Caesar, I shall.

The time of universal peace is near:
Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world
Shall bear the olive freely.

Antony
Is come into the field.

Go charge Agrippa
Plant those that have revolted in the van,
That Antony may seem to spend his fury
Upon himself.

Alexas did revolt; and went to Jewry on
Affairs of Antony; there did persuade
Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar,
And leave his master Antony: for this pains
Caesar hath hang'd him. Canidius and the rest
That fell away have entertainment, but
No honourable trust. I have done ill;
Of which I do accuse myself so sorely,
That I will joy no more.

Enobarbus, Antony
Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with
His bounty overplus: the messenger
Came on my guard; and at thy tent is now
Unloading of his mules.

I give it you.

Mock not, Enobarbus.
I tell you true: best you safed the bringer
Out of the host; I must attend mine office,
Or would have done't myself. Your emperor
Continues still a Jove.

I am alone the villain of the earth,
And feel I am so most. O Antony,
Thou mine of bounty, how wouldst thou have paid
My better service, when my turpitude
Thou dost so crown with gold! This blows my heart:
If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean
Shall outstrike thought: but thought will do't, I feel.
I fight against thee! No: I will go seek
Some ditch wherein to die; the foul'st best fits
My latter part of life.

Retire, we have engaged ourselves too far:
Caesar himself has work, and our oppression
Exceeds what we expected.

O my brave emperor, this is fought indeed!
Had we done so at first, we had droven them home
With clouts about their heads.

Thou bleed'st apace.

I had a wound here that was like a T,
But now 'tis made an H.

They do retire.

We'll beat 'em into bench-holes: I have yet
Room for six scotches more.

They are beaten, sir, and our advantage serves
For a fair victory.

Let us score their backs,
And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind:
'Tis sport to maul a runner.

I will reward thee
Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold
For thy good valour. Come thee on.

I'll halt after.

We have beat him to his camp: run one before,
And let the queen know of our gests. Tomorrow,
Before the sun shall see 's, we'll spill the blood
That has today escaped. I thank you all;
For doughty-handed are you, and have fought
Not as you served the cause, but as 't had been
Each man's like mine; you have shown all Hectors.
Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends,
Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful tears
Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss
The honour'd gashes whole.

Give me thy hand

To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts,
Make her thanks bless thee.

O thou day o' the world,
Chain mine arm'd neck; leap thou, attire and all,
Through proof of harness to my heart, and there
Ride on the pants triumphing!

Lord of lords!
O infinite virtue, comest thou smiling from
The world's great snare uncaught?

My nightingale,
We have beat them to their beds.
What, girl! though grey
Do something mingle with our younger brown, yet ha' we
A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can
Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man;
Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand:
Kiss it, my warrior: he hath fought today
As if a god, in hate of mankind, had
Destroy'd in such a shape.

I'll give thee, friend,
An armour all of gold; it was a king's.

He has deserved it, were it carbuncled
Like holy Phoebus' car. Give me thy hand:
Through Alexandria make a jolly march;
Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe them:
Had our great palace the capacity
To camp this host, we all would sup together,
And drink carouses to the next day's fate,
Which promises royal peril. Trumpeters,
With brazen din blast you the city's ear;
Make mingle with rattling tabourines;
That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together,
Applauding our approach.

If we be not relieved within this hour,
We must return to the court of guard: the night
Is shiny; and they say we shall embattle
By the second hour i' the morn.

This last day was
A shrewd one to's.

O, bear me witness, night, –

What man is this?

Stand close, and list him.

Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon,
When men revolted shall upon record
Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did
Before thy face repent!

Enobarbus!

Peace!
Hark further.

O sovereign mistress of true melancholy,
The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me,
That life, a very rebel to my will,
May hang no longer on me: throw my heart
Against the flint and hardness of my fault:
Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder,
And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony,
Nobler than my revolt is infamous,
Forgive me in thine own particular;
But let the world rank me in register
A master-leaver and a fugitive:
O Antony! O Antony!

Let's speak to him.

Let's hear him, for the things he speaks
May concern Caesar.

Let's do so. But he sleeps.

Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his
Was never yet for sleep.

Go we to him.

Awake, sir, awake; speak to us.

Hear you, sir?

The hand of death hath raught him.

Hark! the drums
Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him
To the court of guard; he is of note: our hour
Is fully out.

Come on, then;
He may recover yet.

Their preparation is today by sea;
We please them not by land.

For both, my lord.

I would they'ld fight i' the fire or i' the air;
We'ld fight there too. But this it is; our foot
Upon the hills adjoining to the city
Shall stay with us: order for sea is given;
They have put forth the haven:
Where their appointment we may best discover,
And look on their endeavour.

But being charged, we will be still by land,
Which, as I take't, we shall; for his best force
Is forth to man his galleys. To the vales,
And hold our best advantage.

Yet they are not join'd:
Where yond pine does stand, I shall discover all.
I'll bring thee word straight, how 'tis like to go.

Swallows have built
In Cleopatra's sails their nests: the augurers
Say they know not, they cannot tell; look grimly,
And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony
Is valiant, and dejected; and, by starts,
His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear,
Of what he has, and has not.

All is lost;
This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me:
My fleet hath yielded to the foe; and yonder
They cast their caps up and carouse together
Like friends long lost. Triple-turn'd whore! 'tis thou
Hast sold me to this novice; and my heart
Makes only wars on thee. Bid them all fly;
For when I am revenged upon my charm,
I have done all. Bid them all fly; begone.

O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more:
Fortune and Antony part here; even here
Do we shake hands. All come to this? The hearts
That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets
On blossoming Caesar; and this pine is bark'd,
That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am:
O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm, –
Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them home;
Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end, –
Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose,
Beguiled me to the very heart of loss.
What, Eros, Eros!

Ah, thou spell! Avaunt!

Why is my lord enraged against his love?

Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving,
And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee,
And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians:
Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot
Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shown
For poor'st diminutives, for doits; and let
Patient Octavia plough thy visage up
With her prepared nails.

'Tis well thou'rt gone,
If it be well to live; but better 'twere
Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death
Might have prevented many. Eros, ho!
The shirt of Nessus is upon me: teach me,
Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage:
Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o' the moon;
And with those hands, that grasp'd the heaviest club,
Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die:
To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall
Under this plot; she dies for't. Eros, ho!

Help me, my women! O, he is more mad
Than Telamon for his shield; the boar of Thessaly
Was never so emboss'd.

To the monument!
There lock yourself, and send him word you are dead.
The soul and body rive not more in parting
Than greatness going off.

To the monument!
Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself;
Say, that the last I spoke was 'Antony,'
And word it, prithee, piteously: hence, Mardian,
And bring me how he takes my death.
To the monument!

Eros, thou yet behold'st me?

Ay, noble lord.

Sometimes we see a cloud that's dragonish;
A vapour sometime like a bear or lion,
A tower'd citadel, a pendent rock,
A forked mountain, or blue promontory
With trees upon't, that nod unto the world,
And mock our eyes with air: thou hast seen
these signs;
They are black vesper's pageants.

Ay, my lord,

That which is now a horse, even with a thought
The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct,
As water is in water.

It does, my lord.

My good knave Eros, now thy captain is
Even such a body: here I am Antony:
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.
I made these wars for Egypt: and the queen, –
Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine;
Which whilst it was mine had annex'd unto't
A million more, now lost, – she, Eros, has
Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false-play'd my glory
Unto an enemy's triumph.
Nay, weep not, gentle Eros; there is left us
Ourselves to end ourselves.

O! thy vile lady!
She has robb'd me of my sword.

No, Antony;
My mistress loved thee, and her fortunes mingled
With thine entirely.

Hence, saucy eunuch; peace!
She hath betray'd me and shall die the death.

Death of one person can be paid but once,
And that she has discharged: what thou wouldst do
Is done unto thy hand: the last she spake
Was 'Antony! most noble Antony!'
Then in the midst a tearing groan did break
The name of Antony; it was divided
Between her heart and lips: she render'd life,
Thy name so buried in her.

Dead, then?

Dead.

Unarm, Eros; the long day's task is done,
And we must sleep.

That thou depart'st hence safe,
Does pay thy labour richly; go.

Off, pluck off:
The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep
The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides!
Heart, once be stronger than thy continent,
Crack thy frail case! Apace, Eros, apace.
No more a soldier: bruised pieces, go;
You have been nobly borne. From me awhile.

I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and
Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now
All length is torture: since the torch is out,
Lie down, and stray no farther: now all labour
Mars what it does; yea, very force entangles
Itself with strength: seal then, and all is done.
Eros! – I come, my queen: – Eros! – Stay for me:
Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in hand,
And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze:
Dido and her Æneas shall want troops,
And all the haunt be ours. Come, Eros, Eros!

What would my lord?

Since Cleopatra died,
I have lived in such dishonour, that the gods
Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword
Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's back
With ships made cities, condemn myself to lack
The courage of a woman; less noble mind
Than she which by her death our Caesar tells
'I am conqueror of myself.' Thou art sworn, Eros,
That, when the exigent should come, which now
Is come indeed, when I should see behind me
The inevitable prosecution of
Disgrace and horror, that, on my command,
Thou then wouldst kill me: do't; the time is come:
Thou strikest not me, 'tis Caesar thou defeat'st.
Put colour in thy cheek.

The gods withhold me!
Shall I do that which all the Parthian darts,
Though enemy, lost aim, and could not?

Eros,
Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome and see
Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending down
His corrigible neck, his face subdued
To penetrative shame, whilst the wheel'd seat
Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded
His baseness that ensued?

I would not see't.

Come, then; for with a wound I must be cured.
Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn
Most useful for thy country.

O, sir, pardon me!

When I did make thee free, sworest thou not then
To do this when I bade thee? Do it at once;
Or thy precedent services are all
But accidents unpurposed. Draw, and come.

Turn from me, then, that noble countenance,
Wherein the worship of the whole world lies.

Lo thee!

My sword is drawn.

Then let it do at once
The thing why thou hast drawn it.

My dear master,
My captain, and my emperor, let me say,
Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell.

'Tis said, man; and farewell.

Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now?

Now, Eros.

Why, there then: thus I do escape the sorrow
Of Antony's death.

Thrice-nobler than myself!
Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what
I should, and thou couldst not. My queen and Eros
Have by their brave instruction got upon me
A nobleness in record: but I will be
A bridegroom in my death, and run into't
As to a lover's bed. Come, then; and, Eros,
Thy master dies thy scholar: to do thus

I learn'd of thee. How! not dead? not dead?
The guard, ho! O, dispatch me!

What's the noise?

I have done my work ill, friends:
O, make an end of what I have begun.

The star is fall'n.

And time is at his period.

Alas, and woe!

Let him that loves me strike me dead.

Not I.

Nor I.

Nor any one.

Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly.
This sword but shown to Caesar, with this tidings,
Shall enter me with him.

Where's Antony?

There, Diomed there.

Lives he?
Wilt thou not answer, man?

Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy sword, and give me
Sufficing strokes for death.

Most absolute lord,
My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee.

When did she send thee?

Now, my lord.

Where is she?

Lock'd in her monument. She had a prophesying fear
Of what hath come to pass: for when she saw –
Which never shall be found – you did suspect
She had disposed with Caesar, and that your rage
Would not be purged, she sent you word she was dead;
But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent
Me to proclaim the truth; and I am come,
I dread, too late.

Too late, good Diomed: call my guard, I prithee.

What, ho, the emperor's guard! The guard, what, ho!
Come, your lord calls!

Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides;
'Tis the last service that I shall command you.

Woe, woe are we, sir, you may not live to wear
All your true followers out.

Most heavy day!

Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp fate
To grace it with your sorrows: bid that welcome
Which comes to punish us, and we punish it
Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up:
I have led you oft: carry me now, good friends,
And have my thanks for all.

O Charmian, I will never go from hence.

Be comforted, dear madam.

No, I will not:
All strange and terrible events are welcome,
But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow,
Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great
As that which makes it.

How now! is he dead?

His death's upon him, but not dead.
Look out o' the other side your monument;
His guard have brought him thither.

O sun,
Burn the great sphere thou movest in! darkling stand
The varying shore o' the world. O Antony,
Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian, help, Iras, help;
Help, friends below; let's draw him hither.

Peace!
Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony,
But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself.

So it should be, that none but Antony
Should conquer Antony; but woe 'tis so!

I am dying, Egypt, dying; only
I here importune death awhile, until
Of many thousand kisses the poor last
I lay up thy lips.

I dare not, dear, –
Dear my lord, pardon, – I dare not,
Lest I be taken: not the imperious show
Of the full-fortuned Caesar ever shall
Be brooch'd with me; if knife, drugs, serpents have
Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe:
Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes
And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour
Demuring upon me. But come, come, Antony, –
Help me, my women, – we must draw thee up:
Assist, good friends.

O, quick, or I am gone.

Here's sport indeed! How heavy weighs my lord!
Our strength is all gone into heaviness,
That makes the weight: had I great Juno's power,
The strong-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up,
And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little, –
Wishes were ever fools, – O, come, come, come;

And welcome, welcome! die where thou hast lived:
Quicken with kissing: had my lips that power,
Thus would I wear them out.

A heavy sight!

I am dying, Egypt, dying:
Give me some wine, and let me speak a little.

No, let me speak; and let me rail so high,
That the false housewife Fortune break her wheel,
Provoked by my offence.

One word, sweet queen:
Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. O!

They do not go together.

Gentle, hear me:
None about Caesar trust but Proculeius.

My resolution and my hands I'll trust;
None about Caesar.

The miserable change now at my end
Lament nor sorrow at; but please your thoughts
In feeding them with those my former fortunes
Wherein I lived, the greatest prince o' the world,
The noblest; and do now not basely die,
Not cowardly put off my helmet to
My countryman, – a Roman by a Roman
Valiantly vanquish'd. Now my spirit is going;
I can no more.

Noblest of men, woo't die?
Hast thou no care of me? shall I abide
In this dull world, which in thy absence is
No better than a sty? O, see, my women,

The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord!
O, wither'd is the garland of the war,
The soldier's pole is fall'n: young boys and girls
Are level now with men; the odds is gone,
And there is nothing left remarkable
Beneath the visiting moon.

O, quietness, lady!

She is dead too, our sovereign.

Lady!

Madam!

O madam, madam, madam!

Royal Egypt, Empress!

Peace, peace, Iras!

No more, but e'en a woman, and commanded
By such poor passion as the maid that milks
And does the meanest chares. It were for me
To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods;
To tell them that this world did equal theirs
Till they had stol'n our jewel. All's but naught;
Patience is scottish, and impatience does
Become a dog that's mad: then is it sin
To rush into the secret house of death,
Ere death dare come to us? How do you, women?
What, what! good cheer! Why, how now, Charmian!
My noble girls! Ah, women, women, look,
Our lamp is spent, it's out! Good sirs, take heart:
We'll bury him; and then, what's brave, what's noble,
Let's do it after the high Roman fashion,
And make death proud to take us. Come, away:
This case of that huge spirit now is cold:
Ah, women, women! come; we have no friend
But resolution, and the briefest end.

Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield;
Being so frustrate, tell him he mocks
The pauses that he makes.

Caesar, I shall.

Wherefore is that? and what art thou that darest
Appear thus to us?

I am call'd Dercetas;
Mark Antony I served, who best was worthy
Best to be served: whilst he stood up and spoke,
He was my master; and I wore my life
To spend upon his haters. If thou please
To take me to thee, as I was to him
I'll be to Caesar; if thou pleasest not,
I yield thee up my life.

What is't thou say'st?

I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead.

The breaking of so great a thing should make
A greater crack: the round world
Should have shook lions into civil streets,
And citizens to their dens: the death of Antony
Is not a single doom; in the name lay
A moiety of the world.

He is dead, Caesar:
Not by a public minister of justice,
Nor by a hired knife; but that self hand,
Which writ his honour in the acts it did,
Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it,
Splitted the heart. This is his sword;
I robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd
With his most noble blood.

Look you sad, friends?
The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings
To wash the eyes of kings.

And strange it is,
That nature must compel us to lament
Our most persisted deeds.

His taints and honours
Waged equal with him.

A rarer spirit never
Did steer humanity: but you, gods, will give us
Some faults to make us men. Caesar is touch'd.

When such a spacious mirror's set before him,
He needs must see himself.

O Antony!
I have follow'd thee to this; but we do lance
Diseases in our bodies: I must perforce
Have shown to thee such a declining day,
Or look on thine; we could not stall together
In the whole world: but yet let me lament,
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts,
That thou, my brother, my competitor
In top of all design, my mate in empire,
Friend and companion in the front of war,
The arm of mine own body, and the heart
Where mine his thoughts did kindle, – that our stars,
Unreconciliable, should divide
Our equalness to this. Hear me, good friends –
But I will tell you at some meeter season:

The business of this man looks out of him;
We'll hear him what he says. Whence are you?

A poor Egyptian yet. The queen my mistress,
Confined in all she has, her monument,
Of thy intents desires instruction,
That she preparedly may frame herself
To the way she's forced to.

Bid her have good heart:
She soon shall know of us, by some of ours,
How honourable and how kindly we
Determine for her; for Caesar cannot live
To be ungentle.

So the gods preserve thee!

Come hither, Proculeius. Go and say,
We purpose her no shame: give her what comforts
The quality of her passion shall require,
Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke
She do defeat us; for her life in Rome
Would be eternal in our triumph: go,
And with your speediest bring us what she says,
And how you find of her.

Caesar, I shall.

Gallus, go you along.

Where's Dolabella,
To second Proculeius?

Dolabella!

Let him alone, for I remember now
How he's employ'd: he shall in time be ready.
Go with me to my tent; where you shall see
How hardly I was drawn into this war;
How calm and gentle I proceeded still
In all my writings: go with me, and see
What I can show in this.

My desolation does begin to make
A better life. 'Tis paltry to be Caesar;
Not being Fortune, he's but Fortune's knave,
A minister of her will: and it is great
To do that thing that ends all other deeds;
Which shackles accidents and bolts up change;
Which sleeps, and never palates more the dug,
The beggar's nurse and Caesar's.

Caesar sends greeting to the Queen of Egypt;
And bids thee study on what fair demands
Thou mean'st to have him grant thee.

What's thy name?

My name is Proculeius.

Antony
Did tell me of you, bade me trust you; but
I do not greatly care to be deceived,
That have no use for trusting. If your master
Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him,
That majesty, to keep decorum, must
No less beg than a kingdom: if he please
To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son,
He gives me so much of mine own, as I
Will kneel to him with thanks.

Be of good cheer;
You're fall'n into a princely hand, fear nothing:
Make your full reference freely to my lord,
Who is so full of grace, that it flows over
On all that need: let me report to him
Your sweet dependency; and you shall find
A conqueror that will pray in aid for kindness,
Where he for grace is kneel'd to.

Pray you, tell him
I am his fortune's vassal, and I send him
The greatness he has got. I hourly learn
A doctrine of obedience; and would gladly
Look him i' the face.

This I'll report, dear lady.
Have comfort, for I know your plight is pitied
Of him that caused it.

You see how easily she may be surprised:

Guard her till Caesar come.

Royal queen!

O Cleopatra! thou art taken, queen:

Quick, quick, good hands.

Hold, worthy lady, hold:

Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this
Relieved, but not betray'd.

What, of death too,
That rids our dogs of languish?

Cleopatra,
Do not abuse my master's bounty by
The undoing of yourself: let the world see
His nobleness well acted, which your death
Will never let come forth.

Where art thou, death?
Come hither, come! come, come, and take a queen
Worthy many babes and beggars!

O, temperance, lady!

Sir, I will eat no meat, I'll not drink, sir;
If idle talk will once be necessary,
I'll not sleep neither: this mortal house I'll ruin,
Do Caesar what he can. Know, sir, that I
Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court;
Nor once be chastised with the sober eye
Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up
And show me to the shouting varletry
Of censuring Rome? Rather a ditch in Egypt
Be gentle grave unto me! rather on Nilus' mud
Lay me stark naked, and let the water-flies
Blow me into abhorring! rather make
My country's high pyramides my gibbet,
And hang me up in chains!

You do extend
These thoughts of horror further than you shall
Find cause in Caesar.

Proculeius,
What thou hast done thy master Caesar knows,
And he hath sent for thee: for the queen,
I'll take her to my guard.

So, Dolabella,
It shall content me best: be gentle to her.

To Caesar I will speak what you shall please,
If you'll employ me to him.

Say, I would die.

Most noble empress, you have heard of me?

I cannot tell.

Assuredly you know me.

No matter, sir, what I have heard or known.
You laugh when boys or women tell their dreams;
Is't not your trick?

I understand not, madam.

I dream'd there was an Emperor Antony:
O, such another sleep, that I might see
But such another man!

If it might please ye, –

His face was as the heavens; and therein stuck
A sun and moon, which kept their course, and lighted
The little O, the earth.

Most sovereign creature, –

His legs bestrid the ocean: his rear'd arm
Crested the world: his voice was propertied
As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends;
But when he meant to quail and shake the orb,
He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty,
There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas
That grew the more by reaping: his delights
Were dolphin-like; they show'd his back above
The element they lived in: in his livery
Walk'd crowns and crownets; realms and islands were
As plates dropp'd from his pocket.

Cleopatra!

Think you there was, or might be, such a man
As this I dream'd of?

Gentle madam, no.

You lie, up to the hearing of the gods.
But, if there be, or ever were, one such,
It's past the size of dreaming: nature wants stuff
To vie strange forms with fancy; yet, to imagine
And Antony, were nature's piece 'gainst fancy,
Condemning shadows quite.

Hear me, good madam.
Your loss is as yourself, great; and you bear it
As answering to the weight: would I might never
O'ertake pursued success, but I do feel,
By the rebound of yours, a grief that smites
My very heart at root.

I thank you, sir,
Know you what Caesar means to do with me?

I am loath to tell you what I would you knew.

Nay, pray you, sir, –

Though he be honourable, –

He'll lead me, then, in triumph?

Madam, he will; I know't.

Which is the Queen of Egypt?

It is the emperor, madam.

Arise, you shall not kneel:
I pray you, rise; rise, Egypt.

Sir, the gods
Will have it thus; my master and my lord
I must obey.

Take to you no hard thoughts:
The record of what injuries you did us,
Though written in our flesh, we shall remember
As things but done by chance.

Sole sir o' the world,
I cannot project mine own cause so well
To make it clear; but do confess I have
Been laden with like frailties which before
Have often shamed our sex.

Cleopatra, know,
We will extenuate rather than enforce:
If you apply yourself to our intents,
Which towards you are most gentle, you shall find
A benefit in this change; but if you seek
To lay on me a cruelty, by taking
Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself
Of my good purposes, and put your children
To that destruction which I'll guard them from,
If thereon you rely. I'll take my leave.

And may, through all the world: 'tis yours; and we,
Your scutcheons and your signs of conquest, shall
Hang in what place you please. Here, my good lord.

You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra.

This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels,
I am possess'd of: 'tis exactly valued;
Not petty things admitted. Where's Seleucus?

Here, madam.

This is my treasurer: let him speak, my lord,
Upon his peril, that I have reserved
To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus.

Madam,
I had rather seal my lips, than, to my peril,
Speak that which is not.

What have I kept back?

Enough to purchase what you have made known.

Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve
Your wisdom in the deed.

See, Caesar! O, behold,
How pomp is follow'd! mine will now be yours;
And, should we shift estates, yours would be mine.
The ingratitude of this Seleucus does
Even make me wild: O slave, of no more trust
Than love that's hired! What, goest thou back? thou shalt
Go back, I warrant thee; but I'll catch thine eyes,
Though they had wings: slave, soulless villain, dog!
O rarely base!

Good queen, let us entreat you.

O Caesar, what a wounding shame is this,
That thou, vouchsafing here to visit me,
Doing the honour of thy lordliness
To one so meek, that mine own servant should
Parcel the sum of my disgraces by
Addition of his envy! Say, good Caesar,
That I some lady trifles have reserved,
Immoment toys, things of such dignity
As we greet modern friends withal; and say,
Some nobler token I have kept apart
For Livia and Octavia, to induce
Their mediation; must I be unfolded
With one that I have bred? The gods! it smites me
Beneath the fall I have.

Prithee, go hence;
Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits
Through the ashes of my chance: wert thou a man,
Thou wouldst have mercy on me.

Forbear, Seleucus.

Be it known, that we, the greatest, are misthought
For things that others do; and, when we fall,
We answer others' merits in our name,
Are therefore to be pitied.

Cleopatra,
Not what you have reserved, nor what acknowledged,
Put we i' the roll of conquest: still be't yours,
Bestow it at your pleasure; and believe,
Caesar's no merchant, to make prize with you
Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be cheer'd;
Make not your thoughts your prisons: no, dear queen;
For we intend so to dispose you as
Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed, and sleep:
Our care and pity is so much upon you,
That we remain your friend; and so, adieu.

My master, and my lord!

Not so. Adieu.

He words me, girls, he words me, that I should not
Be noble to myself: but, hark thee, Charmian.

Finish, good lady; the bright day is done,
And we are for the dark.

Hie thee again:
I have spoke already, and it is provided;
Go put it to the haste.

Madam, I will.

Where is the queen?

Behold, sir.

Dolabella!

Madam, as thereto sworn by your command,
Which my love makes religion to obey,
I tell you this: Caesar through Syria
Intends his journey; and within three days
You with your children will he send before:
Make your best use of this: I have perform'd
Your pleasure and my promise.

Dolabella,
I shall remain your debtor.

I your servant,
Adieu, good queen; I must attend on Caesar.

Farewell, and thanks.

Now, Iras, what think'st thou?
Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shalt be shown
In Rome, as well as I: mechanic slaves
With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall
Uplift us to the view; in their thick breaths,
Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded,
And forced to drink their vapour.

The gods forbid!

Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras: saucy lictors
Will catch at us, like strumpets; and scald rhymers
Ballad us out o' tune: the quick comedians
Extemporally will stage us, and present
Our Alexandrian revels; Antony
Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see
Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness
I' the posture of a whore.

O the good gods!

Nay, that's certain.

I'll never see 't; for, I am sure, my nails
Are stronger than mine eyes.

Why, that's the way
To fool their preparation, and to conquer
Their most absurd intents.

Now, Charmian!
Show me, my women, like a queen: go fetch
My best attires: I am again for Cydnus,
To meet Mark Antony: sirrah Iras, go.
Now, noble Charmian, we'll dispatch indeed;
And, when thou hast done this chore, I'll give thee leave
To play till doomsday. Bring our crown and all.
Wherefore's this noise?

Here is a rural fellow
That will not be denied your highness presence:
He brings you figs.

Let him come in.

What poor an instrument
May do a noble deed! he brings me liberty.
My resolution's placed, and I have nothing
Of woman in me: now from head to foot
I am marble-constant; now the fleeting moon
No planet is of mine.

This is the man.

Avoid, and leave him.

Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there,
That kills and pains not?

Truly, I have him: but I would not be the party
that should desire you to touch him, for his biting
is immortal; those that do die of it do seldom or
never recover.

Rememberest thou any that have died on't?

Very many, men and women too. I heard of one of
them no longer than yesterday: a very honest woman,
but something given to lie; as a woman should not
do, but in the way of honesty: how she died of the
biting of it, what pain she felt: truly, she makes
a very good report o' the worm; but he that will
believe all that they say, shall never be saved by
half that they do: but this is most fallible, the
worm's an odd worm.

Get thee hence; farewell.

I wish you all joy of the worm.

Farewell.

You must think this, look you, that the worm will
do his kind.

Ay, ay; farewell.

Look you, the worm is not to be trusted but in the
keeping of wise people; for, indeed, there is no
goodness in the worm.

Take thou no care; it shall be heeded.

Very good. Give it nothing, I pray you, for it is
not worth the feeding.

Will it eat me?

You must not think I am so simple but I know the
devil himself will not eat a woman: I know that a
woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress her
not. But, truly, these same whoreson devils do the
gods great harm in their women; for in every ten
that they make, the devils mar five.

Well, get thee gone; farewell.

Yes, forsooth: I wish you joy o' the worm.

Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have
Immortal longings in me: now no more
The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip:
Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear
Antony call; I see him rouse himself
To praise my noble act; I hear him mock
The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men
To excuse their after wrath: husband, I come:
Now to that name my courage prove my title!
I am fire and air; my other elements
I give to baser life. So; have you done?
Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips.
Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell.

Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall?
If thou and nature can so gently part,
The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch,
Which hurts, and is desired. Dost thou lie still?
If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world
It is not worth leave-taking.

Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain; that I may say,
The gods themselves do weep!

This proves me base:
If she first meet the curled Antony,
He'll make demand of her, and spend that kiss
Which is my heaven to have. Come, thou mortal wretch,

With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate
Of life at once untie: poor venomous fool
Be angry, and dispatch. O, couldst thou speak,
That I might hear thee call great Caesar ass
Unpolicied!

O eastern star!

Peace, peace!
Dost thou not see my baby at my breast,
That sucks the nurse asleep?

O, break! O, break!

As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle, –
O Antony! – Nay, I will take thee too.

What should I stay –

In this vile world? So, fare thee well.
Now boast thee, death, in thy possession lies
A lass unparallel'd. Downy windows, close;
And golden Phoebus never be beheld
Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry;
I'll mend it, and then play.

Where is the queen?

Speak softly, wake her not.

Caesar hath sent –

Too slow a messenger.

O, come apace, dispatch! I partly feel thee.

Approach, ho! All's not well: Caesar's beguiled.

There's Dolabella sent from Caesar; call him.

What work is here! Charmian, is this well done?

It is well done, and fitting for a princess
Descended of so many royal kings.
Ah, soldier!