Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Alexas, and Iras.
Where is he?
I did not ſee him ſince.
See where he is,
Whoſe with him, what he does:
I did not ſend you. If you finde him ſad,
Say I am dauncing: if in Myrth, report
That I am ſodaine ſicke. Quicke, and returne.
Madam, me thinkes if you did loue him deerly,
You do not hold the method, to enforce
The like from him.
What ſhould I do, I do not?
In each thing giue him way,croſſe him in nothing.
Thou teacheſt like a foole:the way to loſe him.
Tempt him not ſo too farre. I wiſh forbeare,
In time we hate that which we often feare.
But heere comes Anthony.
I am ſicke, and ſullen.
I am ſorry to giue breathing to my purpoſe.
Helpe me away deere Charmian, I ſhall fall,
It cannot be thus long, the ſides of Nature
Will not ſuſtaine it.
Now my deereſt Queene.
Pray you ſtand farther from mee.
What's the matter?
I know by that ſame eye ther's ſome good news.
What ſayes the married woman you may goe?
Would ſhe had neuer giuen you leaue to come.
Let her not ſay 'tis I that keepe you heere.
I haue no power vpon you: Hers you are.
The Gods beſt know.
Oh neuer was there Queene
So mightily betrayed: yet at the fitſt
I ſaw the Treaſons planted.
Why ſhould I thinke you can be mine, & true,
(Though you in ſwearing ſhake the Throaned Gods)
Who haue beene falſe to Fuluia?
To be entangled with thoſe mouth-made vowes,
Which breake themſelues in ſwearing.
Moſt ſweet Queene.
Nay pray you ſeeke no colour for your going,
But bid farewell, and goe:
When you ſued ſtaying,
Then was the time for words: No going then,
Eternity was in our Lippes, and Eyes,
Bliſſe in our browes bent: none our parts ſo poore,
But was a race of Heauen. They are ſo ſtill,
Or thou the greateſt Souldier of the world,
Art turn'd the greateſt Lyar.
How now Lady?
I would I had thy inches, thou ſhould'ſt know
There were a heart in Egypt.
Heare me Queene:
The ſtrong neceſſity of Time, commands
Our Seruicles a-while: but my full heart
Remaines in vſe with you. Our I taly,
Shines o're with ciuill Swords; Sextus Pompeius
Makes his approaches to the Port of Rome,
Equality of two Domeſticke powers,
Breed ſcrupulous faction: The hated growne to ſtrength
Are newly growne to Loue: The condemn'd Pompey,
Rich in his Fathers Honor, creepes apace
Into the hearts of ſuch, as haue not thriued
Vpon the preſent ſtate, whoſe Numbers threaten,
And quietneſſe growne ſicke of reſt, would purge
By any deſperate change: My more particular,
And that which moſt with you ſhould ſafe my going,
Is Fuluias death.
Though age from folly could not giue me freedom
It does from childiſhneſſe. Can Fuluia dye?
She's dead my Queene.
Looke heere, and at thy Soueraigne leyſure read
The Garboyles ſhe awak'd: at the laſt, beſt,
See when, and where ſhee died.
O moſt falſe Loue!
Where be the Sacred Violles thou ſhould'ſt fill
With ſorrowfull water? Now I ſee, I ſee,
In Fuluias death, how mine receiu'd ſhall be.
Quarrell no more, but bee prepar'd to know
The purpoſes I beare: which are, or ceaſe,
As you ſhall giue th'aduice. By the fire
That quickens Nylus ſlime, I go from hence
Thy Souldier, Seruant, making Peace or Warre,
As thou affects.
Cut my Lace, Charmian come,
But let it be, I am quickly ill, and well,
So Anthony loues.
My precious Queene forbeare,
And giue true euidence to his Loue, which ſtands
An honourable Triall.
So Fuluia told me.
I prythee turne aſide, and weepe for her,
Then bid adiew to me, and ſay the teares
Belong to Egypt. Good now, play one Scene
Of excellent diſſembling, and let it looke
Like perfect Honor.
You'l heat my blood no more?
You can do better yet: but this is meetly.
Now by Sword.
And Target. Still he mends.
But this is not the beſt. Looke prythee Charmian,
How this Herculean Roman do's become
The carriage of his chafe.
Ile leaue you Lady.
Courteous Lord, one word:
Sir, you and I muſt part, but that's not it:
Sir, you and I haue lou'd, but there's not it:
That you know well, ſomething it is I would:
Oh, my Obliuion is a very Anthony,
And I am all forgotten.
But that your Royalty
Holds Idleneſſe your ſubiect, I ſhould take you
For Idleneſſe it ſelfe.
'Tis ſweating Labour,
To beare ſuch Idleneſſe ſo neere the heart
As Cleopatra this. But Sir, forgiue me,
Since my becommings kill me, when they do not
Eye well to you. Your Honor calles you hence,
Therefore be deafe to my vnpittied Folly,
And all the Gods go with you. Vpon your Sword
Sit Lawrell victory, and ſmooth ſucceſſe
Be ſtrew'd before your feete.
Let vs go.
Come: Our ſeparation ſo abides and flies,
That thou reciding heere, goes yet with mee;
And I hence fleeting, heere remaine with thee.