Vouchsafed to think he had partners. You shall find there A man who is the abstract of all faults

That all men follow.

Lep.

I must not think there are

Evils enough to darken all his goodness.

His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven;
More fiery by night's blackness; hereditary,
Rather than purchased; what he cannot change,
Than what he chooses.

Cæs. You are too indulgent. Let us grant it is not
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy;

To give a kingdom for a mirth; to sit

And keep the turn of tippling with a slave;
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet

With knaves that smell of sweat. Say, this becomes him, (As his composure must be rare indeed,

Whom these things cannot blemish,) yet must Antony No way excuse his soils, when we do bear

So great weight in his lightness. If he filled

His vacancy with his voluptuousness,

Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bones,
Call on him for't; but to confound such time,
That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud
As his own state, and ours,-'tis to be chid
As we rate boys; who, being mature in knowledge,
Pawn their experience to their presenț pleasure,
And so rebel to judgment.

Lep.

Enter a Messenger.

Here's more news.

Mess. Thy biddings have been done; and every hour,. Most noble Cæsar, shalt thou have report How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea; And, it appears, he is beloved of those That only have feared Cæsar. To the ports The discontents repair, and men's reports Give him much wronged.

I should have known no less.

It hath been taught us from the primal state,
That he, which is, was wished until he were;
And the ebbed man, ne'er loved till ne'er worth love,
Comes deared, by being lacked. This common body,
Like a vagabond flag upon the stream,

Goes to, and back, lackeying the varying tide,
To rot itself with motion.

VOL. IV.-2

B*

Mess.

Cæsar, I bring thee word,

Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates,

Make the sea serve them; which they ear and wound
With keels of every kind. Many hot inroads.
They make in Italy; the borders maritime
Lack blood to think on't, and flush youth revolt.
No vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon

Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes more,
Than could his war resisted.

Antony,

Cæs.
Leave thy lascivious wassals. When thou once.
Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st
Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel
Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st against,
Though daintily brought up, with patience more
Than savages could suffer. Thou didst drink
The stale of horses, and the gilded puddle

Which beasts would cough at. Thy palate then did deign
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge;
Yea, like a stag, when snow the pasture sheets,
The barks of trees thou browsed'st; on the Alps,
It is reported, thou didst eat strange flesh,
Which some did die to look on. And all this,
(It wounds thine honor, that I speak it now,)
Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek
So much as lanked not.

Lep.

'Tis pity of him.

Cæs. Let his shames quickly

Drive him to Rome. 'Tis time we twain

Did show ourselves i' the field; and, to that end,
Assemble we immediate council. Pompey
Thrives in our idleness.

Lep.

To-morrow, Cæsar,

I shall be furnished to inform you rightly
Both what by sea and land I can be able,
To 'front this present time.

Cæs.

It is my business too.

Lep. Farewell, my lord. Of stirs abroad, I shall To let me be partaker. Cæs.

I knew it for my bond.

Till which encounter,
Farewell.

What you shall know mean time beseech you, sir,

Doubt not, sir;

[Exeunt

SCENE V. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.

Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and MARDIAN.

Why, madam?

Cleo. That I might sleep out this great gap of time,

My Antony is away.

Char.

Too much.

Cleo.

Char.

You think of him

Madam, I trust not so.

O, 'tis treason!

Cleo. Thou, eunuch! Mardian!

Mar.

What's your highness' pleasure?

Cleo. Not now to hear thee sing; I take no pleasure In aught an eunuch has. 'Tis well for thee,

That, being unseminared, thy freer thoughts

May not fly forth of Egypt? Hast thou affections?
Mar. Yes, gracious madam.

Cleo. Indeed?

Mar. Not in deed, madam; for I can do nothing But what indeed is honest to be done.

Yet have I fierce affections, and think

What Venus did with Mars.

Cleo.

O Charmian,

Where think'st he is now? Stands he, or sits he?
Or does he walk? or is he on his horse?

O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!

Do bravely, horse! For wot'st thou whom thou mov'st?
The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm

And burgonet of men.-He's speaking now,
Or murmuring, Where's my serpent of old Nile?
For so he calls me. Now I feed myself
With most delicious poison.-Think on me,
That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black,
And wrinkled deep in time! Broad-fronted Cæsar,
When thou wast here above the ground, I was
A morsel for a monarch; and great Pompey
Would stand, and make his eyes grow in my brow;
There would he anchor his aspéct, and die
on his life.

With looking

Alex.

Enter ALEXAS.

Sovereign of Egypt, hail!
Cleo. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony!
Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath
With its tinct gilded thee.-

How goes it with my brave Mark Antony?
Alex. Last thing he did, dear queen,

He kissed the last of many doubled kisses
This orient pearl.-His speech sticks in my heart.
Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence.

Alex.

Good friend, quoth he,
Say, The firm Roman to great Egypt sends
This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot,
To mend the petty present, I will piece

Her opulent throne with kingdoms. All the East,
Say thou, shall call her mistress. So he nodded,
And soberly did mount an arrogant steed,

Who neighed so high, that what I would have spoke
Was beastly dumb by him.

Cleo
What, was he sad, or merry ?
Alex. Like to the time o' the year, between the extremes
Of hot and cold; he was nor sad, nor merry.

Cleo. O well-divided disposition! - Note him,

Note him, good Charmian, 'tis the man; but note him;
He was not sad; for he would shine on those
That make their looks by his. He was not merry;
Which seemed to tell them, his remembrance lay
In Egypt with his joy: but between both;
O heavenly mingle!-Be'st thou sad, or merry,
The violence of either thee becomes;

So does it no man else.-Met'st thou my posts?
Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers.
Why do you send so thick?

Čleo.

Who's born that day
When I forget to send to Antony,

Shall die a beggar.-Ink and paper, Charmian.-
Welcome, my good Alexas.-Did I, Charmian,
Ever love Cæsar so?

Char.

O, that brave Cæsar!

Cleo. Be choked with such another emphasis ! Say, the brave Antony.

Char.

The valiant Cæsar!

Cleo. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth, If thou with Cæsar paragon again

My man of men.

Char.

By your most gracious pardon,

My salad days;

I sing but after you.
Cleo.
When I was green in judgment; - Cold in blood,
To say, as I said then!-But, come, away.
Get me ink and paper; he shall have every day
A several greeting, or I'll unpeople Egypt.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. Messina. A Room in Pompey's House. Enter POMPEY, MENECRATES, and MENAS.

Pom. If the great gods be just, they shall assist The deeds of justest men.

Mene.

Know, worthy Pompey, That what they do delay, they not deny.

Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays

The thing we sue for.

Mene.

We, ignorant of ourselves,

Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers

Deny us for our good; so find we profit,

By losing of our prayers.

Pom. I shall do well.

The people love me, and the sea is mine;

My power's a crescent, and my auguring hope
Says, it will come to the full. Mark Antony
In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make

No wars without doors. Cæsar gets money, where
He loses hearts. Lepidus flatters both,

Of both is flattered; but he neither loves,
Nor either cares for him.

Men.

Cæsar and Lepidus

Are in the field; a mighty strength they carry.
Pom. Where have you this? 'Tis false,

Men.

From Silvius, sir.

Pom. He dreams; I know they are in Rome together, Looking for Antony. But all the charms of love, Salt Cleopatra, soften thy wanned lip! Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both! Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts, Keep his brain fuming? Epicurean cooks,