| [Enter MARK ANTONY and SCARUS] | |
| MARK ANTONY | 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. |
| [Exit] | |
| SCARUS | 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. |
| [Alarum afar off, as at a sea-fight] | |
| [Re-enter MARK ANTONY] | |
| MARK ANTONY | 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. |
| [Exit SCARUS] | |
| 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! |
|
| [Enter CLEOPATRA] | |
| Ah, thou spell! Avaunt! | |
| CLEOPATRA | Why is my lord enraged against his love? |
| MARK ANTONY | 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. |
| [Exit CLEOPATRA] | |
| '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! |
|
| [Exit] |