Mess. The nature of bad news infects the teller. Ant. 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 lię death, I hear him as he flatter'd.

Mess. Labienus,

Hath with his Parthian force, through extended Asia,
From Euphrates his conquering banner shook,
From Syria, to Lydia, and Ionia;

Whilst

Ant. Antony, thou would'st say,—
Mess. O, my lord,

Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the general
tongue;

Name Cleopatra as she's call'd in Rome:

Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase; and taunt my faults With such full license, as both truth and malice Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds, When our quick winds lie still; and our ills told us, Is as our earing. Fare thee well awhile.

Mess. At your noble pleasure.

[Exit. Ant. From Sicyon how the news? Speak there. 1 Atten. The man from Sicyon,-is there such a

one?

2 Atten. He stays upon your will.

Ant. Let him appear.

These strong Egyptian fetters I must break,

Enter another MESSENGER.

Or lose myself in dotage.-What are you?
Mess. Fulvia, thy wife, is dead.

Ant. Where dy'd she?

Mess. In Sicyon:

Her length of sickness, with what else more serious Importeth thee to know, this bears. [Gives a Letter.

Ant. Forbear me.

[Exit MESSENGER.

There's a great spirit gone: Thus did I desire it:

What our contempts do 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 shov'd her on.
I must from this enchanting queen break off;
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,
My idleness doth hatch.-Ho, Enobarbus!

Enter ENOBARBUS.

Enob. What's your pleasure, sir?

Ant. I must with haste from hence.

Enob. 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.

Ant. I must begone.

Enob. 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.

Ant. She is cunning past man's thought. Fulvia is dead.

Enob. Sir?

Ant. Fulvia is dead.

Enob. Fulvia?

Ant. Dead.

Enob. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. If there were no more women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut, and the case to be lamented: this grief is crown'd with consolation; your old smock brings forth a new petticoat: and, indeed, the tears live in an onion that should water this sorrow.

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

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

Ant. 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 love 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 giv'n the dare to Cæsar, and commands The empire of the sea: our slippery people (Whose love is never link'd 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 in both than blood and life, stands up For the main soldier; whose quality, going on, The sides o'the 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, Enob. I shall do't.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Another Apartment in the Palace.

Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS.

Cleo. Where is he?

Char. I did not see him since.

Cleo. See where he is-who's with him-what he

does ;

I did not send you-[To IRAS.]-If you find him sad, Say I am dancing; if in mirth, report

That I am sudden sick : quick, and return.

[Exit ALEXAS. Char. Madam, methinks if you did love him dearly,

You do not hold the method to enforce

The like from him.

Cleo. What should I do, I do not?

Char. In each thing give him way-cross him in nothing.

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

Char. Tempt him not so too far: I wish, forbear; In time we hate that which we often fear.

Enter ANTONY.

But here comes Antony.

Cleo. I am sick, and sullen.

Ant. I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian, I shall fall; It cannot be thus long-the sides of nature

Will not sustain it.

Ant. Now, my dearest queen,

Cleo. Pray you, stand farther from me.

Ant. What's the matter?

Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's some good

news:

What says the marry'd woman? You may go;
'Would, she had never giv'n you leave to come!
Let her not say, 'tis I that keep you here;
I have no power upon you; her's you are.
Ant. The gods best know,-

Cleo. O, never was there queen

So mightily betray'd! Yet, at the first,
I saw the treasons planted.

Ant. Cleopatra,

Cleo. 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!

Ant. Most sweet queen,

Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going;

But bid farewell, and go: when you su'd 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 turn'd the greatest liar.

Ant. How now, lady?

Cleo. I would I had thy inches; thou shouldst know,

There were a heart in Egypt.

.

Ant. 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

Breeds 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 thriv'd
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.