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Of audience, nor desire, shall fail; so she
sc an E v. Alexandria.
A Room in the Palace. _
Enter Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, and Incas.
Cleo. What shall we do, Enobarbus?
Enob. 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 you? The itch of his affection should not then Have nick'd his captainship; at such a point, When half to half the world oppos'd, he being The meered question: 'Twas a shame no less Than was his loss, to course your flying flags, And leave his navy gazing.
Cleo. Pr'ythee, peace.
Enter Antony and Soothsayer.
Ant. Is that his answer?
Sooth. Ay, my lord.
Ant. The queen
Sooth. My lord, he says so.
Ant. Let her know't.—
Cleo. That head, my lord?
Ant. 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 ministries 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 declin'd, sword against sword, Ourselves alone: I'll write it; follow me.
[Exeunt Antony and Soothsayer.
Enob. Yes, like enough; high-battl d Caesar will "Tnstate his happiness, and be staged to the show ;nst a sworder. I see, men's j udgments are
A parcel of their fortunes; and things outward
Enter an Attendant.
Atten. A messenger from Caesar.
Cleo. 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.
Cleo. Caesar's will?
Thyr. Hear it apart.
Cleo. None but friends; say on boldly.
Thyr. So, haply, are they friends to Antony.
Enob. He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has;
Cleo. Go on: Right royal.
Thyr. He knows, that you embrace not Antony As you did love, but as you fear'd him.
Thyr. The scars upon your honour, therefore, he
Cleo. He is a god, and knows
Enob. To be sure of that,
Thyr. Shall I say to Caesar
Cleo. What's your name ?
Thyr. My name is Thyreus.
Cleo. Most kind messenger,
Thyr. Tis your noblest course.
Cleo. Your Caesar's father oft, [Giving her Hand.
Enter Enobarbus, with Antony.
Ant. Favours, by Jove that thunders!—
Thyr. One, that but performs
Enob. You will be whipp'd.
Ant. Approach, there! Ah,you kite!—Now gods and devils! Authority melts from me of late: when I cry'd, ho!
Like boys unto a muss, kings would stand forth,
Whip himp-- Wer't twenty of the greatest tributaries
[Exeunt Attendants, with Thyreus.
By one that looks on feeders?
Cleo. Oh! is't come to this? Ant. 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. Cleo. Wherefore is this?