Char. O, nothing, madam.

Cle. The man hath seen some majesty, and should know.

Char. Hath he seen majesty? Isis else defend, And serving you so long!

Cle. I have one thing more to ask him yet, good

Charmion;

But, 'tis no matter; thou shalt bring him to me
Where I will write: All may be well enough.
Char. I warrant you, madam. [Grand flourish.
[Shouting without.] Antony! Antony!

Enter ANTONY and ENOBARBUS.

Cle. O, this I prophesied !

[Rushes forward to meet ANTONY.

My love! my lord!

So quick to follow thus my messenger
Ant. Well, madam, we are met.

Cle. Is this a meeting?

Then, meet we but to part?

Ant. We must ;-for ever.
Cle. Who says we must?
Ant. Our own hard fates.

Cle. We make those fates ourselves.

[Coldly.

Ant. Yes, we have made 'em; we have loved each other

Into our mutual ruin.

eyes;

Cle. The gods have seen my joys with envious
I have no friends in Heaven, and all the world
Is arm'd against my love: Even you yourself
Join with the rest; you, you are arm'd against me.
Ant. I will be justify'd in all I do,

To late posterity; and therefore hear me.
If I mix a lie

With any truth, reproach me freely with it;
Else favour me with silence.

Cle. You command me,

And I am dumb.

Eno. I like this well. He shows authority.

Ant. That I derive

From you alone

my ruin

Cle. O, Heavens! I ruin you!

Ant. You promised me your silence, and you break it,

Ere I have scarce begun.

Cle. Well, I obey you.

Ant. When I beheld you first, it was in Egypt, Ere Cæsar saw your eyes: You gave me love, And were too young to know it; that I settled Your father on his throne, was for your sake ; I left th' acknowledgment for time to ripen: Cæsar stept in, and with a greedy hand Pluck'd the green fruit, ere the first blush of red, Yet cleaving to the bough. He was my lord, And was, beside, too great for me to rival. When, after, I beheld you in Cilicia,

An enemy to Rome, I pardon'd

Cle. I clear'd myself."

you.

Ant. Again you break your promise.

I loved you still, and took your weak excuses;
Took you into my bosom, stain'd by Cæsar,
And not half mine. I went to Egypt with you,
And hid me from the bus'ness of the world;
Shut out enquiring nations from my sight,
To give whole years to you.

Eno. 'Tis all too true.

Ant. Fulvia, my wife, grew jealous,

As she, indeed, had reason; raised a war

To call me back. While in your arms I lay,

The world fell mould'ring from my hands each hour,

And left me scarce a grasp.

Cle. Yet may I speak?

Ant. If I have urged a falsehood, yes; else not.

Your silence says, I have not.

Fulvia died;

(Pardon, ye gods! with my unkindness died,) To set the world at peace, I took Octavia,

This Cæsar's sister; in her pride of youth,
And flower of beauty, did I wed that lady:

Whom, blushing, I must praise, for I have left her.
You call'd; my love has now obey'd the summons,
But, if I stay, 'twill raise the Roman arms.
If you have aught to answer,

Now speak-you have free leave.

Eno. Now lay a sigh i' th' way, to stop his Prepare a tear, and bid it for his legions; 'Tis like they shall be sold.

Cle. How shall I plead my cause, when

judge, Already have condemn'd me? Shall I bring The love you bore me for my advocate ?

passage;

you, my

That, now, is turn'd against me; that destroys me;
For, love once past is, at the best, forgotten;
But oft'ner sours to hate; 'twill please my lord
To ruin me, and therefore I'll be guilty.
Here then I end. Though I deserve this usage,
Was it like you to give it?

Ant. O, you wrong me,

To think I sought this parting, or desired
T'accuse you more than what will clear myself,
And justify this breach. We're both unhappy.
If nothing else, yet your ill fortune parts us.
Speak, would you have me perish by my stay?
Cle. If as a friend you ask my judgment, go;
If as a lover, stay. If you must perish,
'Tis a hard word, but stay.

Now judge my love by this.

Could I have borne

[Giving ANTONY a writing

A life or death, a happiness or woe,

From yours divided, this had given me means.
Ant. By Hercules, the writing of Octavius!

I know it well.

See, Enobarbus! here he offers Egypt,
And joins all Syria to it as a present;

So, in requital, she forsake my fortunes,
And join her arms with his.

Cle. And yet you leave me!

You leave me, Antony, and yet I love you,
Indeed I do; I have refused a kingdom,
That's a trifle

For I would part with life, with any thing,
But only you. O, let me die with you!
Is that a hard request?

Ant. Next living with you,

'Tis all that Heaven can give.

Char. [Aside.] He melts! we conquer !

Cle. No, you shall go. Your int'rest calls you hence; Yes, your dear int'rest pulls too strong for these Weak arms to hold you here. [Takes his hand. Go; leave me, soldier,

(For you're no more a lover,) leave me dying;
Push me, all pale, and panting, from your bosom;
And, when your march begins, let one run after,
Breathless almost for joy, and cry, she's dead:
The soldiers shout: you then, perhaps, may sigh,
And muster all your Roman gravity;

Octavia chides, and straight your brow clears up,
As I had never been.

Ant. Dead! rather let me perish :

My life, my soul, my all!

Eno. And what's this toy,

[Embraces her.

In balance with your fortune, honour, fame!.
Ant. What, Enobarbus? It outweighs 'em all.
Down on thy knees, blasphemer as thou art,
And ask forgiveness of wrong'd innocence.
Eno. I'll rather die, than take it. Will you go?
Ant. Go! whither? Go from all that's excellent!
Faith, honour, virtue, all good things forbid,
That I should go from her who sets my love
Above the price of kingdoms. Give, you gods!
Give to your boy, your Cæsar,

This rattle of a globe, to play withal,

This gew-gaw world, and put him cheaply off;
I'll not be pleased with less than Cleopatra.

Cle. She's wholly yours. My heart's so full of joy

That I shall do some wild extravagance,
And cause the plodders of our foolish world,
Who know not tenderness, to think me mad.

[March. Exeunt ANTONY and CLEOPATRA.
Eno. O women! women! women! all the gods
Have not such power of doing good to man,
As you, of doing harm!

[Exit.

Enter CESAR, MÆCENAS and AGRIPPA.

Cæs. Contemning Rome, he did all this, and more. In Alexandria-here's [Shewing papers.] the manner

of it,

I' the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd,
Cleopatra and himself, in chains of gold,
Were publicly enthroned; at the feet sat
Cæsarion, whom they call my father's son,
And all the unlawful issue, that their crime
Since then hath made between them.

Unto her