Alarum afarre off, as at a Sea-fight.
Enter Anthony, and Scarrus.
Yet they are not ioyn'd:
Where yon'd Pine does ſtand, I ſhall diſcouer all.
Ile bring thee word ſtraight, how'ris like to go. exit.
Swallowes haue built
In Cleopatra's Sailes their neſts. The Auguries
Say, they know not, they cannot tell, looke grimly,
And dare not ſpeake their knowledge. Anthony,
Is valiant, and deiected, and by ſtarts
His fretted Fortunes giue him hope and feare
Of what he has, and has not.
All is loſt:
This fowle Egyptian hath betrayed me:
My Fleete hath yeelded to the Foe, and yonder
They caſt their Caps vp, and Carowſe together
Like Friends long loſt. Triple-turn'd Whore, 'tis thou
Haſt ſold me to this Nouice, and my heart
Makes onely Warres on thee. Bid them all flye:
For when I am reueng'd vpon my Charme,
I haue done all. Bid them all flye, be gone.
Oh Sunne, thy vpriſe ſhall I ſee no more,
Fortune, and Anthony part heere, euen heere
Do we ſhake hands? All come to this? The hearts
That pannelled me at heeles, to whom I gaue
Their wiſhes, do diſ-Candie, melt their ſweets
On bloſſoming Cæſar: And this Pine is barkt,
That ouer-top'd them all. Betray'd I am.
Oh this falſe Soule of Egypt! this graue Charme,
Whoſe eye beck'd forth my Wars, & cal'd them home:
Whoſe Boſome was my Crownet, my chiefe end,
Like a right Gypſie, hath at faſt and looſe
Beguil'd me, to the very heart of loſſe.
What Eros, Eros?
Ah, thou Spell! Auaunt.
Why is my Lord enrag'd againſt his Loue?
Vaniſh, or I ſhall giue thee thy deſeruing,
And blemiſh Cæſars Triumph. Let him take thee,
And hoiſt thee vp to the ſhouting Plebeians,
Follow his Chariot, like the greateſt ſpot
Of all thy Sex. Moſt Monſter-like be ſhewne
For poor'ſt Diminitiues, for Dolts, and let
Patient Octauia, plough thy viſage vp
With her prepared nailes. exit Cleopatra.
'Tis well th'art gone,
If it be well to liue. But better 'twere -
Thou fell'ſt into my furie, for one death
Might haue preuented many. Eros, hoa?
The ſhirt of Neſſus is vpon me, teach me
Alcides, thou mine Anceſtor, thy rage.
Let me lodge Licas on the hornes o'th'Moone,
And with thoſe hands that graſpt the heauieſt Club,
Subdue my worthieſt ſelfe: The Witch ſhall die,
To the young Roman Boy ſhe hath ſold me, and I fall
Vnder this plot: She dyes for't. Eros hoa? exit.