All language subtitles for Antony and Cleopatra 1981 DVDRip XviD_No sub_Eng

Nay, but this dotage of our
generaI's o'erflows the measure.

Those his goodly eyes,

that o'er the files and musters of
the war have glowed like plated Mars,

now bend, now turn the office and
devotion of their view upon a tawny front.

His captain's heart, which in the scuffles of
great fights hath burst the buckles on his breast,

reneges all temper,

and is become the bellows and
the fan to cooI a gipsy's lust.

& Fanfare

Look where they come

Take but good note

and you will see in him the triple pillar of
the world transformed into a strumpet's fool

If it be love indeed, tell me how much.

There's beggary in the
love that can be reckoned.

I'll set a bourn how far to be beloved.

Then must thou needs find
out new heaven, new earth.

News, my good lord, from Rome.

the sum.
- Nay, hear them, Antony.

Fulvia perchance is angry.

Or who knows if the scarce-bearded Caesar
have not sent his powerfuI mandate to you,

"Do this, or this. Take in that
kingdom, and enfranchise that.

Perform't, or else we damn thee. "

- How, my love.
- Perchance. Nay, and most like.

You must not stay here longer.

Your dismission is come from
Caesar, therefore hear it, Antony.

Where's Fulvia's process?

Caesar's I would say?

Both?

As I am Egypt's queen,
thou blushest, Antony.

And that blood of thine
is Caesar's homager,

else so thy cheek pays shame
when shrill-tongued Fulvia scolds.

The messengers.

Let Rome in Tiber melt,

and the wide arch of
the ranged empire fall.

Here is my space.

Kingdoms are clay. Our dungy
earth alike feeds beast as man.

The nobleness of life is to do thus.

When such a mutuaI pair
and such a twain can do't,

in which I bind on pain of punishment,
the world to weet we stand up peerless.

Excellent falsehood.

Why, did he marry
Fulvia and not love her?

I'll seem the fooI I am not.

Antony will be himself.

But stirred by Cleopatra.

Now, for the love of
love and her soft hours,

let's not confound the
time with conference harsh.

There's not a minute of our lives
should stretch without some pleasure now.

- What sport tonight?
- Hear the ambassadors.

Fie, wrangling queen.

Whom everything becomes,
to chide, to laugh, to weep,

whose every passion fully strives to
make itself, in thee, fair and admired.

No messenger but thine,

and all alone tonight we'll wander through
the streets and note the qualities of people.

Come, my queen.

Last night you did desire it.

Speak not to us.

Is Caesar with Antonius
prized so slight?

Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony,

he comes too short of that great property
which still should go with Antony.

I am full sorry that he approves the
common liar, who thus speaks of him at Rome.

I will hope of better deeds tomorrow.

Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas,

most any thing Alexas,

almost most absolute Alexas,

where's the soothsayer that
you praised so to the queen?

- Soothsayer.
- Your will?

Is this the man? Is't
you, sir, that know things?

In nature's infinite book of
secrecy a little I can read.

Show him your hand.

Good sir, give me good fortune.

- I make not, but foresee.
- Pray, then, foresee me one.

You shall be yet far
fairer than you are.

He means in flesh.

- No, you shall paint when you are old.
- Wrinkles forbid.

Vex not his prescience. Be attentive.

- Hush.
- You shall be more beloving than beloved.

I had rather heat my
liver with drinking.

Nay, hear him.

Good now, some excellent fortune.

Let me be married to three kings
in a forenoon, and widow them all.

Find me to marry me with Octavius
Caesar, and companion me with my mistress.

You shall outlive the
lady whom you serve.

Excellent! I love long
life better than figs.

You have seen and proved a fairer former
fortune than that which is to approach.

Prithee, how many boys
and wenches must I have?

If every of your wishes had a womb,

and fertile every wish
- a million.

Out, fooI! I forgive thee for a witch.

You think none but your sheets
are privy to your wishes.

Nay, come, tell Iras hers.

We'll know all our fortunes.

Mine, and most of our fortunes
tonight shall be drunk to bed.

Ssh.

There's a palm presages
chastity, if nothing else.

E'en as the o'erflowing
Nilus presageth famine.

Go, you wild bedfellow,
you cannot soothsay.

Prithee, tell her but
a worky-day fortune.

Your fortunes are alike.

- But how, but how? Give me particulars.
- I have said.

Am I not an inch of
fortune better than she?

Well, if you were but an inch of fortune
better than I, where would you choose it?

Not in my husband's nose.

Our worser thoughts heavens mend.

Alexas, come.

His fortune, his fortune.

Let him marry a woman that cannot
go, sweet Isis, I beseech thee,

and let her die too,
and give him a worse.

and let worst follow worse,

till the worst of all follow
him laughing to his grave,

fifty-fold a cuckold.

Amen.

Dear goddess, hear that
prayer of the people.

For, as it is a heartbreaking to
see a handsome man loose-wived,

so it is a deadly sorrow to
behold a fouI knave uncuckolded.

- Saw you my lord?
- No, lady.

- Was he not here?
- No, madam.

He was disposed to mirth.

but on the sudden a Roman
thought hath struck him.

Enobarbus, seek him
and bring him hither.

- Where's Alexas?
- Here, at your service.

We will not look upon him.

Go with us.

Fulvia thy wife first
came into the field.

- Against my brother Lucius?
- Ay.

But soon that war had end, and the
time's state made friends of them,

jointing their force 'gainst Caesar,

whose better issue in the war from Italy
upon the first encounter drave them.

Well, what worst?

The nature of bad news
infects the teller.

When it concerns the fooI or coward. On!
Things that are past are done with me.

Who tells me true, though in his
tale lie death, I hear him as he flattered.

Labienus...

This is stiff news.

.. hath with his Parthian force
extended Asia from Euphrates.

His conquering banner shook
from Syria to Lydia and to lonia.

- Whilst...
- Antony, thou wouldst say.

- O, my lord.
- Speak to me home!

Mince not the generaI tongue. Name
Cleopatra as she is called in Rome.

RaiI thou in Fulvia's phrase,

and taunt my faults with such full licence
as both truth and malice have power to utter.

Then we bring forth weeds
when our quick minds lie still,

and our ills told us is as our earing.

Fare thee well awhile.

At your noble pleasure.

These strong Egyptian fetters I
must break or lose myself in dotage.

What are you?

Fulvia thy wife is dead.

- Where died she?
- In Sicyon.

Her length of sickness, with what else more
serious importeth thee to know, this bears.

Forbear me.

There's a great spirit gone.

Thus did I desire it.

What our contempt doth often hurI
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 shoved her on.

I must from this
enchanting queen break off.

Ten thousand harms, more than the
ills I know, my idleness doth hatch.

How now. Enobarbus.

What's your pleasure, sir?

I must with haste from hence.

Why, then, we kill all our women.

We see how mortaI an
unkindness is to them.

If they suffer our
departure, death's the word.

- I must be gone.
- 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.

I do think there is mettle in death,
which commits some... loving act upon her,

she hath such a celerity in dying.

She is cunning past man's thought.

Alack, sir, no.

Her passions are made of nothing
but the finest part of pure love.

We cannot call her winds
and waters sighs and tears.

They are greater storms and
tempests than almanacs can report.

Would I had never seen her.

O, sir.

You had then left unseen
a wonderfuI piece of work,

which not to have been blest withaI
would have discredited your traveI.

Fulvia is dead.

Sir?

Fulvia is dead.

Fulvia.

Dead!

Why, sir, give the gods
a thankfuI sacrifice.

When it pleaseth their deities to
take the wife of a man from him,

it shows to man the
tailors of the earth,

comforting therein, that when old robes
are worn out, there are members to make new.

If there were no more women but
Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut,

and the case to be lamented.

The tears live in an onion
that should water this sorrow.

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

And the business you have broached
here cannot be without you,

especially that of Cleopatra's,

which wholly depends on your abode.

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 leave 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 given the dare to Caesar,
and commands the empire of the sea.

Say, our pleasure, to such
whose place is under us,

requires our quick remove from hence.

I shall do it.

Where is he? See where he is...

.. who's with him, what he does.

I did not send you.

If you find him sad, say I am dancing.

If in mirth, report
that I am sudden sick.

Quick, and return.

Madam, methinks, if
you did love him dearly,

you do not hold the method
to enforce the like from him.

What should I do, I do not?

In each thing give him
way, cross him in nothing.

Thou teachest like a
fooI, the way to lose him.

Tempt him not so too far.

I wish, forbear.

In time we hate that
which we often fear.

- But here comes Antony.
- I am sick and sullen.

I am sorry to give
breathing to my purpose...

Help me away, dear
Charmian. I shall fall.

It cannot be thus long, the sides
of nature will not sustain it.

- Now, my dearest queen...
- Pray you, stand further from me.

What's the matter?

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

What says the married woman? You may go.

Would she had never
given you leave to come.

Let her not say tis I that keep you here.
I have no power upon you. Hers you are.

- The gods best know...
- O, never was there queen so mightily betray'd.

Yet at the first I saw
the treasons planted.

- Cleopatra...
- Why should I think you can be mine and true,

though you in swearing shake the throned
gods, who have been false to Fulvia?

Most sweet queen...

Nay, pray you, seek no colour for
your going, but bid farewell and go.

When you sued staying,
then was the time for words.

No going then.

Eternity was in our lips and
eyes, bliss in our brows' bent,

They are so still,

or thou, the greatest soldier of the
world, art turn'd the greatest liar.

- How now, lady.
- I would I had thy inches,

thou shouldst know there
were a heart in Egypt.

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 civiI swords.

Sextus Pompeius makes his
approaches to the port of Rome.

Equality of two domestic
powers breed scrupulous faction.

The hated, grown to strength,
are newly grown to love.

My more particular,

and that which most with
you should safe my going...

.. is Fulvia's death.

Though age from folly could not give
me freedom, it does from childishness.

Can Fulvia die?

She's dead, my queen.

Look here, and at thy sovereign
leisure read the garboils she awaked,

at the last, best.

See when and where she died.

O most false love.

Where be the sacred vials thou
shouldst fill with sorrowfuI water?

Now I see, I see in Fulvia's
death how mine received shall be.

QuarreI no more, but be prepared
to know the purposes I bear,

which are, or cease, as
you shall give the advice.

By the fire that quickens Nilus' slime,
I go from hence thy soldier, servant,

making peace or war as thou affect'st.

Cut my lace, Charmian.

Come.

But let it be.

I am quickly ill and
well. So Antony loves.

My precious queen, forbear.

And give true evidence to his love,
which stands an honourable triaI.

So Fulvia told me!

I prithee, turn aside and weep for her, then bid
adieu to me, and say the tears belong to Egypt.

Good now, play one scene
of excellent dissembling

and let it look like perfect honour.

- You'll heat my blood. No more!
- You can do better yet, but this is meetly.

I'll leave you, lady.

Courteous lord, one word. Sir...

You and I must part,

but that's not it.

Sir, you and I have loved,

but there's not it.

That you know well.

Something it is I would,

O, my oblivion is a very Antony,

and I am all forgotten.

But that your royalty holds idleness your
subject, I should take you for idleness itself.

But, sir, forgive me.

Since my becomings kill me,
when they do not eye well to you.

Your honour calls you hence.

Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly.

And all the gods go with you.

Upon your sword sit laureI victory,

Let us go.

Come.

Our separation so abides, and flies,

that thou, residing
here, go'st yet with me,

And I, hence fleeting,
here remain with thee.

Away.

You may see, Lepidus,
and henceforth know,

it is not Caesar's naturaI vice
to hate our great competitor.

From Alexandria this is the news.

He fishes, drinks,

and wastes the lamps of night in reveI.

Is not more man -like than Cleopatra.

Nor the queen of Ptolemy
more womanly than he.

Hardly gave audience, or
vouchsafed to think he had partners.

You shall find there a man who is the
abstract of all faults that all men follow.

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.

You are too indulgent.

Let's 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 reeI 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 foils,

when we do bear so great
weight in his lightness.

If he fill'd 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 present pleasure,

and so rebeI to judgment.

Here's more news.

Thy biddings have been done,

and every hour, most noble Caesar,
shalt thou have report how tis abroad.

Pompey is strong at sea,

and it appears he is beloved by
those that only have fear'd Caesar.

To the ports the discontents repair,
and men's reports give him much wrong'd.

I should have known no less.

It hath been taught us from the primaI state,
that he which is was wish'd untiI he were.

And the ebb'd man, ne'er
loved till ne'er worth love,

comes dear'd by being lack'd.

This common body,

like to a vagabond flag upon the stream,

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

Caesar, 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 vesseI can peep forth,
but tis as soon taken as seen,

for Pompey's name strikes more
than could his war resisted.

Antony! Leave thy lascivious wassails.

When thou once wast beaten from Modena,
where thou slew'st Hirtius and Pansa, consuls,

at thy heeI 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 the 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
honour that I speak it now -

was borne so like a soldier, that
thy cheek so much as lank'd not.

Tis pity of him.

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 counciI.

Pompey thrives in our idleness.

Tomorrow, Caesar, I shall be
furnish'd to inform you rightly

both what by sea and land I can
be able to front this present time.

Till which encounter, it is
my business too. Farewell.

Farewell, my lord. What you shall
know meantime of stirs abroad,

I shall beseech you, sir,
to let me be partaker.

Doubt not, sir. I knew it for my bond.

Charmian.

Madam?

Give me to drink mandragora.

Why, madam?

That I might sleep out this great
gap of time my Antony is away.

You think of him too much.

O, tis treason.

Madam, I trust, not so.

Thou, eunuch Mardian.

What's your majesty's pleasure?

Not now to hear thee sing.

I take no pleasure in
aught an eunuch has.

Hast thou affections?

Yes, gracious madam.

- Indeed.
- 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.

O, Charmian.

Where think'st thou 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 movest?

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 Caesar, when thou wast here
above the ground, I was a morseI for a monarch.

And great Pompey would stand and
make his eyes grow in my brow.

There would he anchor his aspect
and die with looking on his life.

Sovereign of Egypt, haiI.

How much unlike art thou Mark Antony.

Yet, coming from him, that great
medicine hath with his tinct gilded thee!

How goes it with my brave Mark Antony?

Last thing he did, dear queen, he kiss'd
- the last of many doubled kisses -

this orient pearI.

His speech sticks in my heart.

Mine ear must pluck it thence.

"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. "

What, was he... sad or merry?

Um...

Like to the time o' the year
between the extremes of hot and cold,

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 seem'd 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?

Ay, madam, twenty severaI messengers.

Why do you send so thick?

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 Caesar so?

O that brave Caesar.

Be choked with such another emphasis.

Say, the brave Antony.

The valiant Caesar.

By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth, if
thou with Caesar paragon again my man of men.

By your most gracious pardon,
madam, I sing but after you.

My salad days, when I
was green in judgment,

cold in blood, to say as I said then.

Get me ink and paper.

He shall have every
day a severaI greeting,

or I'll unpeople Egypt.

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

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

Whiles we are suitors to their
throne, decays the thing we sue for.

I shall do well.

The people love me, and the sea is mine.

My powers are 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.

Caesar gets money where he loses hearts.

Lepidus flatters both, of both is flatter'd,
but he neither loves, nor either cares for him.

Caesar and Lepidus are in the
field. A mighty strength they carry.

- Where have you this? Tis false.
- From Silvius, sir.

He dreams.

I know they are in Rome
together, looking for Antony.

But all the charms of love, salt
Cleopatra, soften thy waned lip.

Let witchcraft join with
beauty, lust with both.

Tie up the libertine in a field
of feasts, keep his brain fuming.

Epicurean cooks sharpen with
cloyless sauce his appetite,

that sleep and feeding may prorogue
his honour even till a Lethe'd dullness.

Mark Antony is every
hour in Rome expected.

Since he went from Egypt tis
a space for further traveI.

I did not think this amorous surfeiter would
have donn'd his helm for such a petty war.

His soldiership is
twice the other twain.

But let us rear the higher our opinion,

that our stirring can from the lap of Egypt's
widow pluck the ne'er-lust-wearied Antony.

I cannot hope Caesar and Antony
shall well greet together.

Were't not that we stand
up against them all,

'twere pregnant they should
square between themselves.

For they have entertained cause
enough to draw their swords.

But how the fear of us may cement their
divisions and bind up the petty difference,

we yet not know.

Be't as our gods will have't.

It only stands our lives upon
to use our strongest hands.

Good Enobarbus.

Tis a worthy deed, and
shall become you well,

to entreat your captain
to soft and gentle speech.

Tis not a time for private stomaching.

Every time serves for the
matter that is then born in't.

- But small to greater matters must give way.
- Not if the small come first.

Your speech is passion.

But, pray you, stir no embers
up. Here comes the noble Antony.

Noble friends.

That which combined us was most great,

and let not a leaner action rend us.

What's amiss, may it be gently heard.

When we debate our triviaI difference
loud, we do commit murder in healing wounds.

Then, noble partners, the
rather, for I earnestly beseech,

touch you the sourest points with sweetest
terms, nor curstness grow to the matter.

Tis spoken well.

Were we before our armies,
and to fight, I should do thus.

- Welcome to Rome.
- Thank you.

- Sit.
- Sit, sir.

Nay, then.

I learn, you take things
ill which are not so,

or being, concern you not.

I must be laugh'd at, if, or for nothing
or a little, I should say myself offended,

and with you chiefly i' the world.

My being in Egypt,
Caesar, what was't to you?

No more than my residing here
at Rome might be to you in Egypt.

Yet, if you there did practise on my state,
your being in Egypt might be my question.

How intend you, practised?

You may be pleased to catch at mine
intent by what did here befall me.

Your wife and brother made wars upon me,

and their contestation
was theme for you,

you were the word of war.

You do mistake your business.

My brother never did urge me in his act.

Of this my letters
before did satisfy you.

If you'll patch a quarreI, as matter whole you
have not to make it with, it must not be with this.

As for my wife, I wish you
had her spirit in such another.

The third o' the world is yours,

which with a snaffle you may
pace easy, but not such a wife.

So much uncurbable, her garboils,
Caesar, made out of her impatience,

which not wanted shrewdness of policy too,
I grieving grant did you too much disquiet.

For that you must but
say, I could not help it.

I wrote to you when
rioting in Alexandria.

You did pocket up my letters, and with
taunts did gibe my missive out of audience.

Sir, he fell upon me ere admitted, then.

Three kings I had newly feasted, and
did want of what I was i' the morning.

But next day I told him of myself,

which was as much as to
have ask'd him pardon.

Let this fellow be nothing of our strife,
if we contend, out of our question wipe him.

You have broken the
article of your oath,

which you shall never have
tongue to charge me with.

- Soft, Caesar!
- No, Lepidus, let him speak.

The honour is sacred which he talks
on now, supposing that I lack'd it.

But on, Caesar, the article of my oath.

To lend me arms and aid
when I required them.

- The which you both denied!
- Neglected, rather!

And then when poison'd hours had
bound me up from mine own knowledge.

As nearly as I may, I'll
play the penitent to you,

but mine honesty shall not make poor my
greatness, nor my power work without it.

Truth is, that Fulvia, to have
me out of Egypt, made wars here,

for which myself, the ignorant motive,

do so far ask pardon as befits
mine honour to stoop in such a case.

Tis noble spoken

If it might please you, to enforce
no further the griefs between ye,

to forget them quite were to remember
that the present need speaks to atone you.

Worthily spoken

Or, if you borrow one another's
love for the instant, you may,

when you hear no more words
of Pompey, return it again.

You shall have time to wrangle in
when you have nothing else to do.

Thou art a soldier only. Speak no more.

That truth should be
silent I had almost forgot.

You wrong this presence,
therefore speak no more.

Go to, then, your considerate stone.

I do not much dislike the matter,
but the manner of his speech,

for't cannot be we shall
remain in friendship,

our conditions so
differing in their acts.

Yet if I knew what hoop
should hold us stanch,

from edge to edge o' the
world I would pursue it.

- Give me leave, Caesar.
- Speak, Agrippa.

Thou hast a sister by the mother's side
- admired Octavia.

Great Mark Antony is now a widower.

Say not so, Agrippa.

If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof
were well deserved of rashness.

I am not married, Caesar. Let
me hear Agrippa further speak.

To hold you in perpetuaI
amity, to make you brothers,

and to knit your hearts with an unslipping
knot, take Antony Octavia to his wife,

whose beauty claims no worse
a husband than the best of men,

whose virtue and whose generaI graces
speak that which none else can utter.

By this marriage, all little
jealousies, which now seem great,

and all great fears, which now import
their dangers, would then be nothing.

Truths would be tales, where
now half tales be truths.

Her love to both would, each to other
and all loves to both, draw after her.

Pardon what I have spoke, for tis
a studied, not a present thought,

by duty ruminated.

Will Caesar speak?

Not till he hears how Antony is
touch'd with what is spoke already.

What power is in Agrippa, if I would say,
"Agrippa, be it so," to make this good?

The power of Caesar, and
his power unto Octavia.

May I never to this good purpose, that
so fairly shows, dream of impediment.

Let me have thy hand.
Further this act of grace,

and from this hour the heart of brothers
govern in our loves and sway our great designs.

There is my hand.

A sister I bequeath you, whom no
brother did ever love so dearly.

Let her live to join our
kingdoms and our hearts,

and never fly off our loves again.

Mmm! Happily amen

I did not think to draw
my sword 'gainst Pompey,

for he hath laid strange courtesies
and great of late upon me.

I must thank him only, lest my
remembrance suffer ill report.

At heeI of that, defy him.

Time calls upon us.

Of us must Pompey presently be
sought, or else he seeks out us.

Um... Where lies he?

About the mount Misenum.

- What is his force by land?
- Great and increasing,

- but by sea he is an absolute master.
- So is the fame.

Would we had spoke together.

Haste we for it.

Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms,
dispatch we the business we have talk'd of.

With most gladness.

And do invite you to my sister's
view, whither straight I'll lead you.

Let us, Lepidus, not lack your company.

Noble Antony, not
sickness should detain me.

Welcome from Egypt, sir.

Good Enobarbus.

We have cause to be glad that
matters are so well digested.

You stayed well by't in Egypt.

Ay, sir,

we did sleep day out of countenance,
and made the night light with drinking.

Eight wild-boars roasted whole at a
breakfast, and but twelve persons there.

- Is this true?
- This was but as a fly by an eagle.

We had much more monstrous matter of
feast, which worthily deserved the noting.

She's a most triumphant lady,
if report be square to her.

When she first met Mark Antony,

she pursed up his heart,
upon the river of Cydnus.

There she appeared indeed, or
my reporter devised well for her.

I will tell you.

The barge she sat in, like a
burnish'd throne, burn'd on the water,

the poop was beaten gold.

Purple the sails, and so perfumed that
the winds were love-sick with them.

The oars were silver, which to
the tune of flutes kept stroke,

and made the water which they beat to
follow faster, as amorous of their strokes.

For her own person,

it beggar'd all description.

She did lie in her pavilion
- cloth-of-gold of tissue -

o'er-picturing that Venus where
we see the fancy outwork nature.

On each side her stood pretty dimpled boys,
like smiling cupids, with divers-colour'd fans,

whose winds did seem to glow the
delicate cheeks which they did cooI,

and what they undid did.

O, rare for Antony.

Her gentlewomen, like the
Nereides, so many mermaids,

tended her i' the eyes, and
made their bends adornings.

At the helm a seeming mermaid steers.

The silken tackle swell with the
touches of those flower-soft hands,

that yarely frame the office.

From the barge a strange invisible perfume
hits the sense of the adjacent wharfs.

The city cast her people out upon her,

and Antony, enthroned
i' the market-place,

did sit alone, whistling to the air,

which, but for vacancy, had gone to gaze
on Cleopatra too, and made a gap in nature.

Rare Egyptian!

Upon her landing, Antony sent
to her, invited her to supper.

She replied, it should be
better he became her guest,

which she entreated.

Our courteous Antony, whom ne'er
the word of "No" woman heard speak,

being barber'd ten times
o'er, goes to the feast,

and for his ordinary pays his
heart for what his eyes eat only.

RoyaI wench.

She made great Caesar
lay his sword to bed.

He plough'd her, and she cropp'd.

I saw her once hop forty paces
through the public street,

and having lost her breath,
she spoke, and panted,

that she did make defect perfection,

and, breathless, power breathe forth.

Now Antony must leave her utterly.

Never, he will not.

Age cannot wither her,

nor custom stale her infinite variety.

Other women cloy the
appetites they feed,

but she makes hungry
where most she satisfies,

for vilest things
become themselves in her,

that the holy priests bless
her when she is riggish.

If beauty, wisdom, modesty,
can settle the heart of Antony,

Octavia is a blessed lottery to him

The world and my great office will
sometimes divide me from your bosom.

All which time before the gods my knee
shall bow my prayers to them for you.

Good night, sir.

My Octavia, read not my
blemishes in the world's report.

I have not kept my square,

but that to come shall
all be done by the rule.

Good night, dear lady.

Good night, sir.

Good night.

Now, sirrah, you do
wish yourself in Egypt?

Would I had never come from
thence, nor you thither.

If you can, your reason?

I see it in my motion,
have it not in my tongue,

but yet hie you to Egypt again.

Say to me, whose fortunes shall
rise higher, Caesar's or mine?

Caesar's.

Therefore, O Antony,
stay not by his side.

Thy demon, that's thy spirit which keeps
thee, is noble, courageous high, unmatchable,

where Caesar's is not.

But, near him, thy angeI becomes
a fear, as being o'erpower'd,

therefore make space enough between you.

Speak this no more.

If thou dost play with him at
any game, thou art sure to lose,

and, of that naturaI luck, he
beats thee 'gainst the odds.

Thy lustre thickens, when he shines by.

I say again, thy spirit is all
afraid to govern thee near him,

but, he away, tis noble.

Get thee gone.

Say to Ventidius I would speak with him.

He shall to Parthia.

Be it art or hap, he hath spoken true.

The very dice obey him,

and in our sports my better
cunning faints under his chance.

If we draw lots, he speeds.

His cocks do win the battle still
of mine, when it is all to nought,

and his quails ever beat
mine, inhoop'd, at odds.

I will to Egypt.

And though I make this
marriage for my peace,

i' the east my pleasure lies.

O, come, Ventidius, you must to Parthia.

Your commission's ready.
Follow me, and receive't.

Give me some music.

Music, moody food of
us that trade in love.

Let it alone.

Let's to billiards. Come, Charmian.

My arm is sore. Best play with Mardian.

As well a woman with an
eunuch play'd as with a woman.

Come, you'll play with me, sir?

As well as I can, madam.

And when good will is show'd, though't
come too short, the actor may plead pardon.

I'll none now.

Give me mine angle.

We'll to the river.

There, my music playing far off,
I will betray tawny-finn'd fishes,

my bended hook shall
pierce their slimy jaws,

and, as I draw them up, I'll think them every
one an Antony, and say, "Ah, ha! you're caught. "

Twas merry when you
wager'd on your angling,

when your diver did hang a salt-fish on
his hook, which he with fervency drew up.

That time! O times!

I laugh'd him out of patience.

And that night I laugh'd
him into patience,

and next morn, ere the ninth
hour, I drunk him to his bed,

then put my tires and mantles on him,

whilst I wore his sword Philippan.

O, from Italy!

Ram thou thy fruitfuI tidings in mine
ears, that long time have been barren.

Madam, madam...

Antony is dead.

If thou say so, villain,
thou kill'st thy mistress.

But well and free, if thou so yield him, there
is gold, and here my bluest veins to kiss,

a hand that kings have
lipp'd, and trembled kissing.

- First, madam, he is well.
- Why, there's more gold.

But, sirrah, mark, we use
to say the dead are well.

Bring it to that, the gold I give thee will
I melt and pour down thy ill-uttering throat.

- Good madam, hear me.
- Well, go to, I will.

But there's no goodness in thy face.

If Antony be free and healthfuI, why so
tart a favour to trumpet such good tidings.

If not well, thou shouldst come
like a fury crown'd with snakes,

not like a formaI man.

Will't please you hear me?

I have a mind to strike
thee ere thou speak'st.

Yet if thou say Antony lives, is well, or
friends with Caesar, or not captive to him,

I'll set thee in a shower of gold,
and haiI rich pearls upon thee.

- Madam, he's well.
- Well said.

- And friends with Caesar.
- Thou'rt an honest man.

- Caesar and he are greater friends than ever.
- Make thee a fortune from me.

But yet, madam...

I do not like "But yet". It
does allay the good precedence.

Fie upon "But yet".

"But yet" is as a gaoler to bring
forth some monstrous malefactor.

Prithee, friend, pour out the pack of matter
to mine ear, the good and bad together.

He's friends with Caesar. In state of
health thou say'st, and thou say'st free.

Free, madam, no. I made no such report.

He's bound unto Octavia.

For what good turn?

For the best turn i' the bed.

I am pale, Charmian.

Madam, he's married to Octavia.

The most infectious
pestilence upon thee!

- Good madam, patience.
- What say you?

Hence, horrible villain, or I'll
spurn thine eyes like balls before me!

I'll unhair thy head!

Thou shalt be whipp'd with
wire, and stew'd in brine,

smarting in lingering pickle.

Gracious madam, I that do bring
the news made not the match.

Say tis not so, a province I will
give thee, and make thy fortunes proud.

The blow thou hadst shall make
thy peace for moving me to rage,

and I will boot thee with what
gift beside thy modesty can beg.

He's married, madam.

Rogue, thou hast lived too long.

- Nay, then I'll run.
- Good madam, keep yourself within yourself.

- The man is innocent.
- Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt.

Melt Egypt into Nile

and kindly creatures
turn all to serpents.

Call the slave again.

Though I am mad, I
will not bite him. Call!

- He is afeard to come.
- I will not hurt him!

These hands do lack nobility, that
they strike a meaner than myself,

since I myself have
given myself the cause.

Come hither, sir.

Though it be honest, it is
never good to bring bad news.

Give to a gracious
message, an host of tongues,

but let ill tidings tell
themselves when they be felt.

- I have done my duty.
- Is he married?

I cannot hate thee worser than
I do, if thou again say yes.

He's married, madam.

The gods confound thee!

Dost thou hold there still?

- Should I lie, madam?
- O, I would thou didst,

so half my Egypt were submerged and
made a cistern for scaled snakes.

Go, get thee hence!

Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face,
to me thou wouldst appear most ugly.

- He is married?
- I crave your highness' pardon.

- He is married?
- Take no offence that I would not offend you,

to punish me for what you
make me do seems much unequaI.

He is married to Octavia.

That his fault should make a knave of
thee, that art not what thou'rt sure of.

Get thee hence.

The merchandise that thou hast brought
from Rome are all too dear for me.

Lie they upon thy hand,
and be undone by 'em.

Good your highness, patience.

In praising Antony, I
have dispraised Caesar.

Many times, madam.

I am paid for't now.

Lead me from hence. I faint.

O Iras!

Charmian!

Tis no matter.

Go to the fellow, good Alexas,

bid him report the feature of Octavia,

her years, her inclination,

let him not leave out
the colour of her hair.

Bring me word quickly.

Let him for ever go!

Let him not.

Charmian!

Though he be painted one way like
a Gorgon, the other way's a Mars.

Bid you Alexas bring
me word how tall she is.

Pity me, Charmian,

but do not speak to me.

To you all three,

the senators alone of this great
world, chief factors for the gods,

I do not know wherefore my
father should revengers want,

having a son and friends,

since Julius Caesar, who at
Philippi the good Brutus ghosted,

there saw you labouring for him.

What was't that moved
pale Cassius to conspire,

and what made the all-honour'd,
honest Roman, Brutus,

with the arm'd rest, courtiers of
beauteous freedom, to drench the CapitoI,

but that they would
have one man but a man?

And that is it hath made me rig my navy,

at whose burthen the
anger'd ocean foams,

with which I meant to scourge the ingratitude
that despitefuI Rome cast on my noble father.

Take your time.

Thou canst not fear us,
Pompey, with thy sails.

We'll speak with thee at sea.

At land, thou know'st how
much we do o'er-count thee.

At land, indeed, thou dost
o'er-count me of my father's house.

But, since the cuckoo builds not for
himself, remain in't as thou mayst.

Be pleased to tell us - for
this is from the present -

There's the point.

Which do not be entreated to, but
weigh what it is worth embraced.

And what may follow,
to try a larger fortune.

You have made me offer
of Sicily, Sardinia,

and I must rid all the sea of pirates,

then, to send measures of wheat to Rome.

This 'greed upon, to part with unhack'd
edges, and bear back our targes undinted.

That's our offer

Know, then, I came before you here
a man prepared to take this offer,

but Mark Antony put
me to some impatience,

though I lose the
praise of it by telling,

you must know, when Caesar
and your brother were at blows,

your mother came to Sicily and
did find her welcome friendly.

I have heard it, Pompey,

and am well studied for a
liberaI thanks which I do owe you.

Let me have your hand.

I did not think, sir,
to have met you here.

The beds i' the east are soft,

and thanks to you, that call'd me
timelier than my purpose hither,

for I have gain'd by it.

Since I saw you last,
there is a change upon you.

I know not what counts harsh
fortune casts upon my face,

but in my bosom shall she never
come, to make my heart her vassaI.

Well met here.

I hope so, Lepidus.

Thus we are agreed.

I crave our composition may be
written, and seaI'd between us.

That's the next to do.

We'll feast each other ere we part,
and let's draw lots who shall begin.

- That will I, Pompey.
- No, Antony, take the lot.

But, first or last, your fine
Egyptian cookery shall have the fame.

I have heard Julius Caesar
grew fat with feasting there.

- You have heard much.
- I have fair meanings, sir.

- Mm. And fair words to them.
- Then so much have I heard.

And I have heard, Apollodorus carried...

No more of that. He did so.

- What, I pray you?
- A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress.

I know thee now.

How farest thou, soldier?

Well! And well am like to do,

for, I perceive, four feasts are toward.

Let me shake thy hand.
I never hated thee.

I have seen thee fight, when
I have envied thy behaviour.

Sir!

I never loved you much,
but I have praised you,

when you have well deserved ten
times as much as I have said you did.

Enjoy thy plainness. It
nothing ill becomes thee.

Will you lead, lords?

You and I have known, sir.

At sea, I think.

- We have, sir.
- You have done well... by water.

- And you by land.
- I will praise any man that will praise me,

though it cannot be denied
what I have done by land.

Nor what I have done by water.

Yes, something you can
deny for your own safety.

You have been a great thief by sea.

- And you by land.
- There I deny my land service.

But give me your hand, Menas.

If our eyes had authority, here
they might take two thieves kissing.

All men's faces are true,
whatsoe'er their hands are.

But there is never a fair
woman has a true face.

No slander,

they steaI hearts.

We came hither to fight with you.

For my part, I am sorry
it is turned to a drinking.

Pompey doth this day
laugh away his fortune.

If he do, sure, he
cannot weep't back again.

You've said, sir.

We looked not for Mark Antony here.

Pray you, is he married to Cleopatra?

Caesar's sister is called Octavia.

True, sir. She was the
wife of Caius Marcellus.

But she is now the
wife of Marcus Antonius.

- Pray you, sir?
- Tis true.

Then is Caesar and he
forever knit together.

If I were bound to divine of this
unity, I would not prophesy so.

I think the policy of that purpose made more
in the marriage than the love of the parties.

I think so too. But you shall find, the band
that seems to tie their friendship together

will be the very
strangler of their amity.

Octavia is of a holy, cold,
and still conversation.

Who would not have his wife so?

Not he that himself is not
so, which is Mark Antony.

He will to his Egyptian dish again,

then shall the sighs of Octavia
blow the fire up in Caesar,

and, as I said before, that which
is the strength of their amity

shall prove the immediate
author of their variance.

Antony will use his
affection where it is.

He married but his occasion here.

And thus it may be.

Thus do they sir

They take the flow o' the Nile
by certain scales i' the pyramid.

They know, by the height, the lowness,
or the mean, if dearth or foison follow.

The higher Nilus swells,
the more it promises.

As it ebbs, the seedsman upon the
slime and ooze scatters his grain,

and shortly comes to harvest.

- You have strange serpents there.
- Ay, Lepidus.

Your serpent of Egypt
is bred now of your mud

by the operation of your sun,

so is your crocodile.

A health to Lepidus!

I am not so well as I should be...

.. but I'll ne'er out.

Not till you have slept. I
fear me you'll be in till then.

Nay, certainly, I have heard the
Ptolemies' pyramises are very goodly things.

Without contradiction,
I have heard that!

- Pompey, a word.
- Say in mine ear. What is't?

Forsake thy seat, I do beseech thee,
captain, and hear me speak a word.

Forbear me till anon.
This wine for Lepidus!

What manner o' thing is your crocodile?

It is shaped, sir, like itself,

and it is as broad as it hath breadth.

It is just so high as it is,

and moves with its own organs.

It lives by that which nourisheth it,

and the elements once out
of it, it transmigrates.

What colour is it of?

Of its own colour too.

Tis a strange serpent.

Tis so. And the tears of it are wet.

Will this descriptibn satisfy him?

With the health that Pompey gives
him, else he is a very epicure.

Go hang, sir, hang! Tell me of that?

Away! Do as I bid you.

Where's this cup I call'd for?

If for the sake of merit thou
wilt hear me, rise from thy stooI.

I think thou'rt mad.

These quicksands, Lepidus,
keep off them, for you sink.

- The matter?
- I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes.

Thou hast served me with much
faith. What's else to say?

Be jolly, lords!

Wilt thou be lord of all the world?

- What say'st thou?
- Wilt thou be lord of the whole world?

- That's twice.
- How should that be?

But entertain it, and, though thou think me
poor, I am the man will give thee all the world.

- Hast thou drunk well?
- No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup.

Thou art, if thou darest
be, the earthly Jove.

Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky
inclips, is thine, if thou wilt have it.

Show me which way.

These three world-sharers, these
competitors, are in thy vesseI.

Let me cut the cable, and, when we
are put off, fall to their throats.

All there is thine.

Ah!

This thou shouldst have
done, and not have spoke on't!

In me tis villainy. In
thee't had been good service.

Thou must know, tis not my
profit that does lead mine honour,

mine honour, it.

Repent that e'er thy tongue
hath so betray'd thine act.

Being done unknown, I should
afterwards have found it well done,

but must condemn it now.

Desist,

and drink.

For this, I'll never follow
thy pall'd fortunes more.

Who seeks, and will not take when once
tis offer'd, shall never find it more.

This health for Lepidus!

Bear him ashore. I'll
pledge it for him, Pompey.

Here's to thee, Menas!

Enobarbus, welcome!

Fill till the cup be hid.

There's a strong fellow, Menas.

Why?

A' bears the third part of the
world in arms, man, see'st not?

The third part, then, is drunk.

Would it were all, that
it might go on wheels.

Drink thou, increase the reels.

- Come!
- This is not yet an Alexandrian feast.

It ripens towards it.

Strike the vessels, ho?

Caesar!
- I could well forbear't.

It's monstrous labour, when I
wash my brain, and it grows fouler.

Be a child o' the time.

Possess it, I'll make answer.

But I had rather fast from all
four days than drink so much in one.

Ha, my brave emperor!

Shall we dance now the Egyptian
bacchanals, and celebrate our drink?

Let's have it, good soldier.

Come, let's all take hands,

till that the conquering wine hath steep'd
our sense in soft and delicate Lethe.

All take hands.

Make battery to our ears with the loud music.

What would you more?

Pompey, good night.

Good brother, let me request you off.

Our graver business
frowns at this levity.

Gentle lords, let's part.

You see we have burnt our cheeks.

Strong Enobarb is weaker than the wine,

and mine own tongue
splits what it speaks.

The wild disguise hath
almost antick'd us all.

What needs more words?

Good night.

Good Antony, your hand.

- I'll try you on the shore.
- And shall, sir. Give's your hand.

O Antony, you have my father's house!

But, what? We are friends.

Come, down into the boat.

Take heed you fall not.

Menas.

Menas!

I'll not on shore.

To my cabin.

These drums! These
trumpets, flutes! What!

Let Neptune hear we bid a loud
farewell to these great fellows.

You take from me a great part of myself,

use me well in't.

Sister, prove such a wife
as my thoughts make thee,

and as my farthest band
shall pass on thy approof.

Most noble Antony, let
not the piece of virtue,

which is set betwixt us as the cement
of our love, to keep it builded,

be the ram to batter the fortress of it,

for better might we have loved without this
mean, if on both parts this be not cherish'd.

Make me not offended in your distrust.

I have said.

You shall not find, though
you be therein curious,

the least cause for
what you seem to fear.

So, the gods keep you, and make the
hearts of Romans serve your ends.

We will here part.

Farewell, my dearest sister.

Fare thee well.

The elements be kind to thee, and
make thy spirits all of comfort.

Fare thee well.

My noble brother.

The ApriI's in her eyes.

It is love's spring, and these
the showers to bring it on.

Be cheerfuI.

Sir, look well to my husband's house,

and...

What, Octavia?

I'll tell you in your ear.

Her tongue will not obey her heart,
nor can her heart inform her tongue -

the swan's down -feather, that
stands upon the swell at full of tide,

and neither way inclines.

Will Caesar weep?

Why, Enobarbus, when Antony found Julius
Caesar dead, he cried almost to roaring,

and he wept when at Philippi
he found Brutus slain.

That year, indeed, he
was troubled with a rheum.

No, sweet Octavia, you
shall hear from me still.

The time shall not
out-go my thinking on you.

Come, sir, come. I'll wrestle
with you in my strength of love.

Look, here I have you...

.. thus I let you go,
and give you to the gods.

Adieu, be happy.

Let all the number of the stars
give light to thy fair way.

Farewell. Farewell.

Farewell.

Where is the fellow?

Um... half afeard to come.

Go to, go to.

Come hither, sir.

Come thou near.

Most gracious majesty.

- Didst thou behold Octavia?
- Ay, dread queen.

- Where?
- Madam, in Rome.

I look'd her in the face, and saw
her led between her brother and...

M
- Mark Antony.

Is she as tall as me?

She is not, madam.

Didst hear her speak?

Is she shrill-tongued or low?

Madam, I heard her speak.
She is... low-voiced.

That's not so good.

He cannot like her long.

Like her! O Isis, tis impossible.

I think so, Charmian.

Dull of tongue, and dwarfish.

What majesty is in her gait?

Remember, if e'er thou
look'dst on majesty.

She... she creeps.

Her motion and her station are as one.

She shows a body rather than a
life, a statue than a breather.

- Is this certain?
- Or I have no observance.

Three in Egypt cannot make better note.

He's very knowing, I do perceive't.

There's nothing in her yet.

- The fellow has good judgment.
- Excellent.

Guess at her years, I prithee.

Widow!

Charmian, hark.

And I do think she's thirty.

Bear'st thou her face in mind?

Is't long or round?

Round even to faultiness.

For the most part, too,
they are foolish that are so.

- Her hair, what colour?
- Brown, madam.

And her forehead as low
as she would wish it.

There's gold for thee.

Thou must not take my
former sharpness ill.

I will employ thee back again. I
find thee most fit for business.

Go make thee ready.

Our letters are prepared.

- A proper man.
- Indeed, he is so.

And I repent me much
that I so harried him.

Why, methinks, by him, this
creature's no such thing.

Nothing, madam.

The man hath seen some
majesty, and should know.

Hath he seen majesty?

Isis else defend, and
serving you so long.

I have one thing more to
ask him yet, good Charmian.

But tis no matter.

Thou shalt bring him to
me where I will write.

All may be well enough.

Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that.

That were excusable,

that, and thousands
more of semblable import,

but he hath waged new
wars 'gainst Pompey,

made his will, and
read it to public ear.

Spoke scantly of me, when perforce he
could not but pay me terms of honour.

My good lord, believe not all,

or, if you must
believe, stomach not all.

A more unhappy lady, if this
division chance, ne'er stood between,

praying for both parts.

The good gods will mock me presently,

when I shall pray, "O
bless my lord and husband!"

Undo that prayer, by crying out
as loud, "O, bless my brother!"

Husband win,

win brother, prays,
and destroys the prayer.

No midway 'twixt these extremes at all.

Gentle Octavia.

Let your best love draw to that
point, which seeks best to preserve it.

If I lose mine honour, I lose myself.

Better I were not yours
than yours so branchless.

But, as you requested,
yourself shall go between us.

The mean time, lady, I'll raise the
preparation of a war shall stain your brother.

Make your soonest haste.
So your desires are yours.

Thanks to my lord.

Wars 'twixt you twain would be
as if the world should cleave,

and that slain men
should solder up the rift.

When it appears to
you where this begins,

turn your displeasure that way,

for our faults can never be so equaI,
that your love can equally move with them.

Provide your going,
choose your own company,

and command what cost
your heart has mind to.

How now, friend Eros.

- There's strange news come, sir.
- Ssh.

What, man?

Caesar and Lepidus have
made wars upon Pompey.

This is old. What is the success?

Caesar, having made use of him in the wars
'gainst Pompey, presently denied him rivality,

would not let him partake
in the glory of the action,

and not resting here, accuses him of
letters he had formerly wrote to Pompey.

Upon his own appeaI, seizes him.

So the poor third is up, till
death enlarge his confine.

Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps,

no more.

Contemning Rome, he has done all
this, and more, in Alexandria.

Here's the manner of it.

In the market-place,
on a tribunaI silver'd,

Cleopatra and himself in chairs
of gold were publicly enthroned.

At the feet sat Caesarion,
whom they call my father's son,

and all the unlawfuI issue that their
lust since then hath made between them.

Unto her he gave the
stablishment of Egypt,

made her of lower Syria,
Cyprus, Lydia, absolute queen.

This in the public eye?

In the common show-place,
where they exercise.

His sons he there proclaim'd
the kings of kings.

Great Media, Parthia, and
Armenia he gave to Alexander,

to Ptolemy he assign'd
Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia.

She in the habiliments of the
goddess Isis that day appear'd,

and oft before gave
audience, as tis reported, so.

Let Rome be thus inform'd.

Who, queasy with his insolence already,
will their good thoughts call from him.

The people know it, and have
now received his accusations.

- Who does he accuse?
- Caesar.

And that, having in Sicily Sextus Pompeius
spoiI'd, we had not rated him his part o' the isle.

Then does he say, he lent
me some shipping unrestored.

Lastly, he frets that Lepidus of
the triumvirate should be deposed,

and, being, that we
detain all his revenue.

- Sir, this should be answer'd.
- Tis done already, and the messenger gone.

I have told him, Lepidus
was grown too crueI,

that he his high authority
abused, and did deserve his change.

For what I have conquer'd,
I grant him part,

but then, in his Armenia, and other of
his conquer'd kingdoms, I demand the like.

- He'll never yield to that.
- Nor must not then be yielded to in this.

HaiI, Caesar, and my lords.

HaiI, most dear Caesar.

That ever I should call thee castaway.

You have not call'd me
so, nor have you cause.

Why...

Why have you stoI'n upon us thus?

You come not like Caesar's sister.

The wife of Antony should
have an army for an usher,

and the neighs of horse to tell of
her approach long ere she did appear.

The trees by the way
should have borne men,

and expectation fainted,
longing for what it had not.

Nay, the dust should have ascended to the
roof of heaven, raised by your populous troops!

But you are come a market-maid to Rome,

and have prevented the ostentation of our love,
which, left unshown, is often left unloved.

We should have met you by sea and land,

supplying every stage
with an augmented greeting.

Good my lord, to come thus was I not
constrain'd, but did it on my free will.

My lord, Mark Antony, hearing that you prepared
for war, acquainted my grieved ear withaI,

whereon, I begg'd his pardon for return.

Which soon he granted, being an
obstruct 'tween his lust and him.

Do not say so, my lord.

I have eyes upon him, and his
affairs come to me on the wind.

- Where is he now?
- My lord, in Athens.

No, my most wronged sister.

Cleopatra hath nodded him to her.

He hath given his empire up to a whore,

who now are levying the
kings o' the earth for war.

Ay me, most wretched...

.. that have my heart parted betwixt
two friends that do afflict each other.

Cheer your heart.

Be you not troubled with the time, which drives
o'er your content these strong necessities,

but let determined things to
destiny hold unbewaiI'd their way.

Welcome to Rome.

Nothing more dear to me.

You are abused beyond
the mark of thought,

and the high gods, to do you justice, make
them ministers of us and those that love you.

Best of comfort.

And ever welcome to us.

- Welcome, lady.
- Welcome, dear madam.

Each heart in Rome
does love and pity you.

Only the adulterous Antony, most large
in his abominations, turns you off,

and gives his potent regiment to
a trull, that noises it against us.

- Is it so, sir?
- Most certain.

Sister, welcome.

Pray you, be ever known to patience.

My dear'st sister.

I will be even with thee, doubt it not.

But why, why, why?

Thou hast forspoke my being in
these wars, and say'st it is not fit.

Well, is it? Is it?

If not denounced against us, why
should not we be there in person?

Well, I could reply. If we should serve with horse
and mares together, the horse were merely lost.

What is't you say?

Your presence needs must puzzle Antony.

Take from his heart, take from his brain,
from's time, what should not then be spared.

He is already traduced for levity,

and tis said in Rome that Photinus an
eunuch and your maids manage this war.

Sink Rome, and their tongues
rot that speak against us.

A charge we bear i' the war,

and, as the president of my
kingdom, will appear there for a man.

Speak not against it.
I will not stay behind.

Is it not strange, Canidius,
that from Tarentum and Brundusium

he could so quickly cut the
lonian sea, and take in Toryne?

You have heard on't, sweet?

Celerity is never more
admired than by the negligent.

A good rebuke, which might have well becomed
the best of men, to taunt at slackness.

Canidius, we will fight with him by sea.

By sea! What else?

- Why will my lord do so?
- For that he dares us to't.

Your ships are not well mann'd,

your mariners are muleters, reapers,
people ingross'd by swift impress.

In Caesar's fleet are those that
often have 'gainst Pompey fought.

Their ships are yare, yours, heavy.

No disgrace will fall you for refusing
him at sea, being prepared for land.

By sea, by sea.

Most worthy sir, you therein throw away
the absolute soldiership you have by land!

I'll fight at sea!

I have sixty sails, Caesar none better.

Our overplus of shipping will we burn,

And, with the rest full-mann'd,

from the head of Actium
beat the approaching Caesar.

But if we faiI, we
then can do't at land.

How now, soldier?

O noble emperor, do not fight by sea.

Trust not to rotten planks.

Do you misdoubt this
sword and these my wounds?

Let the Egyptians and the
Phoenicians go a-ducking.

We have used to conquer, standing on
the earth, and fighting foot to foot.

Well, well. Away!

Set we our squadrons on yond side o'
the hill, in eye of Caesar's battle,

from which place we may the number of the
ships behold, and so proceed accordingly.

Strike not by land.

Provoke not battle,
till we have done at sea.

Do not exceed the
prescript of this scroll.

Our fortune lies upon this jump.

Hark!

The land bids me tread no more upon't!

It is ashamed to bear me!

Friends, come hither.

I am so lated in the world,
that I have lost my way for ever.

I have a ship laden with
gold. Take that, divide it.

Fly, and make your peace with Caesar.

- Fly? Not we.
- I have fled myself!

And have instructed cowards to
run and show their shoulders.

Friends, be gone.

I have myself resolved upon a
course which has no need of you.

Begone. My treasure's
in the harbour, take it.

I follow'd that I blush to look upon.

Leave me, I pray, a little.

Pray you now. Nay, do so, for, indeed, I
have lost command, therefore I pray you.

I'll see you by and by.

Nay, gentle madam, to him, comfort him.

- Do, most dear queen.
- Do!

Why. What else?

No no no no no!

The queen, my lord, the queen.

Go to him, madam, speak to him.

He is unqualitied with very shame.

Well, then, sustain me.

Oh!

Most noble sir, arise.
The queen approaches.

Her head's declined, and death will seize
her, but your comfort makes the rescue.

I have offended reputation,
a most unnoble swerving.

Sir, the queen.

Oh...

Whither hast thou led me, Egypt?

See, how I convey my
shame out of thine eyes

by looking back what I have left
behind 'stroy'd in dishonour.

O, my lord, my lord.

Forgive my fearfuI sails.

I little thought you
would have follow'd.

Egypt, thou knew'st too well my heart
was to thy rudder tied by the strings,

and thou shouldst tow me after.

O'er my spirit thy full
supremacy thou knew'st,

and that thy beck might from the
bidding of the gods command me.

O, my pardon.

Now I must to the young
man send humble treaties,

dodge and palter in
the shifts of lowness,

who with half the bulk o'
the world play'd as I pleased,

making and marring fortunes.

You did know how much
you were my conqueror,

and that my sword, made weak by my
affection, would obey it on all cause.

Pardon.

Pardon.

Fall not a tear, I say.

One of them rates all
that is won and lost.

Give me a kiss.

Even this repays me.

We sent our schoolmaster.

Love, I am full of lead.

Some wine, within there, and our viands.

Fortune knows we scorn her
most when most she offers blows.

Let him appear that's come
from Antony. Know you him?

Caesar, tis his schoolmaster.

An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither
he sends so poor a pinion of his wing,

which had superfluous kings for
messengers not many moons gone by.

Approach, and speak.

Such as I am, I come from Antony.

I was of late as petty to his ends
as is the morn -dew on the myrtle-leaf

to his grand sea.

Be't so. Declare thine office.

Lord of his fortunes he salutes
thee, and requires to live in Egypt,

which not granted, he
lessens his request,

and to thee sues to let him breathe between
the heavens and earth, a private man in Athens.

This for him.

submits her to thy might,

and of thee craves the circle
of the Ptolemies for her heirs,

now hazarded to thy grace.

For Antony...

.. I have no ears to his request.

The queen of audience
nor desire shall faiI,

so she from Egypt drive
her all-disgraced friend,

or take his life there.

This if she perform, she
shall not sue unheard.

So to them both.

Fortune pursue thee!

Bring him through the bands.

To try thy eloquence, now it is time.

Dispatch.

From Antony win Cleopatra.

Promise, and in our
name, what she requires.

Add more, from thine invention,

offers.

Women are not in their
best fortunes strong,

but want will perjure
the ne'er touch'd vestaI.

Try thy cunning, Thyreus.

Make thine own edict for thy pains,
which we will answer as a law.

Caesar, I go.

Observe how Antony becomes his flaw,

and what thou think'st his very action
speaks in every power that moves.

Caesar, I shall.

What shall we do, Enobarbus?

Think, and die.

Is Antony or we at fault in this?

Antony only, that would make
his will lord of his reason.

What though you fled from that great face of
war, whose severaI ranges frighted each other?

Why should he follow?

The itch of his affection should not then
have nick'd his captainship, at such a point,

when half to half the world opposed,
he being the meered question.

Twas a shame no less than was his
loss, to course your flying flags,

and leave his navy gazing.

Prithee, peace!

- Is that his answer?
- Ay, my lord.

The queen shall then have
courtesy, so she shall yield us up.

- He says so.
- Let her know't!

To the boy Caesar send
this grizzled head,

and he will fill thy wishes to
the brim with principalities.

That head, my lord?

To him again.

Tell him he wears the
rose of youth upon him,

from which the world should
note something particular.

His coin, ships, legions,
may be a coward's,

whose ministers would prevaiI under the service
of a child as soon as i' the command of Caesar.

I dare him therefore to lay his gay
comparisons apart, and answer me declined,

sword against sword,

ourselves alone!

I'll write it. Follow me.

Yes, like enough, high-battled
Caesar will unstate his happiness,

and be staged to the
show, against a sworder.

I see men's judgments are
a parceI of their fortunes,

and things outward do draw the inward
quality after them, to suffer all alike.

That he should dream,
knowing all measures,

the full Caesar will
answer his emptiness.

Caesar, thou hast
subdued his judgment too.

A messenger from Caesar.

What, no more ceremony?

See, my women.

Against the blown rose may they stop
their nose that kneeI'd unto the buds.

Admit him, sir.

Mine honesty and I begin to square.

The loyalty well held to fools
does make our faith mere folly.

Yet he that can endure to follow
with allegiance a fall'n lord

does conquer him that did his master
conquer and earns... a place i' the story.

Caesar's will?

- Hear it apart.
- None but friends. Say boldly.

So, haply, are they friends to Antony.

He needs as many, sir, as
Caesar has, or needs not us.

If Caesar please, our master
will leap to be his friend.

and that is, Caesar's!

So.

Thus then, thou most renown'd.

Caesar entreats, not to consider in what
case thou stand'st, further than he is Caesar.

Go on. Right royaI.

He knows that you embrace not Antony
as you did love, but as you fear'd him.

Oh.

The scars upon your honour, therefore, he does
pity, as constrained blemishes, not as deserved.

He is a god, and knows
what is most right.

Mine honour was not yielded,
but conquer'd merely.

To be sure of that, I will ask Antony.

Sir, sir, thou art so leaky, that
we must leave thee to thy sinking,

for thy dearest quit thee.

Shall I say to Caesar
what you require of him?

For he partly begs
to be desired to give.

It much would please him, that of his
fortunes you should make a staff to lean upon,

but it would warm his spirits, to
hear from me you had left Antony,

and put yourself under his
shrowd, the universaI landlord.

- What's your name?
- My name is Thyreus.

Most kind messenger,
say to great Caesar this.

In deputation I kiss
his conquering hand.

Tell him, I am prompt to lay my
crown at's feet, and there to kneeI.

Tell him from his all-obeying
breath I hear the doom of Egypt.

Tis your noblest course.

Wisdom and fortune combating together,
if that the former dare but what it can,

no chance may shake it.

Give me grace to lay
my duty on your hand.

Your Caesar's father oft, when he
hath mused of taking kingdoms in,

bestow'd his lips on that unworthy
place, as it rain'd kisses.

Favours, by Jove that thunders.

What art thou, fellow?

One that but performs the bidding of the fullest
man, and worthiest to have command obey'd.

You will be whipp'd.

Approach, there.

Ah, you kite!

Authority melts from me of
late, when I cried, "Ho. "

Like boys unto a muss, kings would
start forth, and cry, "Your will?"

Have you no ears?

I am Antony yet!

Take hence this Jack, and whip him.

Tis better playing with a lion's
whelp than with an old one dying.

Moon and stars. Whip him.

Were't twenty of the greatest
tributaries that do acknowledge Caesar,

should I find them so saucy
with the hand of she here...

What's her name, since
she was Cleopatra?

Whip him, fellows, till, like a
boy, you see him cringe his face,

and whine aloud for
mercy. Take him hence.

- Mark Antony.
- Tug him away. Being whipp'd, bring him again.

This Jack of Caesar's shall
bear us an errand to him.

You were half blasted ere I knew you.

Ha. Have I my pillow left unpress'd in
Rome, forborne the getting of a lawfuI race,

and by a gem of women, to be
abused by one that looks on feeders?

- Good my lord...
- You have been a boggler ever.

But when we in our viciousness
grow hard, O misery on't.

The wise gods seeI our eyes.

In our own filth drop our clear
judgments, make us adore our errors,

laugh at us, while we
strut to our confusion.

O, is't come to this?

I found you as a morseI cold
upon dead Caesar's trencher.

Nay, you were a fragment
of Cneius Pompey's,

besides what hotter hours, unregister'd in
vulgar fame, you have luxuriously pick'd out.

For, I am sure, though you can guess what
temperance should be, you know not what it is.

Wherefore is this?

To let a fellow that will take
rewards and say, "God quit you. "

be familiar with my
playfellow, your hand,

this kingly seaI and
plighter of high hearts.

O, that I were upon the hill of Basan,

to outroar the horned herd.

For I have savage cause

and to proclaim it civilly,
were like a halter'd neck

which does the hangman thank
for being yare about him.

- Is he whipp'd?
- Soundly, my lord.

Cried he? And begg'd a' pardon?

He did ask favour.

If that thy father live, let him
repent thou wast not made his daughter,

and be thou sorry to follow
Caesar in his triumph,

since thou hast been
whipp'd for following him.

Henceforth the white
hand of a lady fever thee.

Shake thou to look on't.

Get thee back to Caesar,
tell him thy entertainment.

Look, thou say he
makes me angry with him,

for he seems proud and
disdainfuI, harping on what I am,

not what he knew I was!

He makes me angry!

And at this time most easy 'tis to do't, when
my good stars, that were my former guides,

have empty left their orbs, and shot
their fires into the abysm of hell.

If he mislike my
speech and what is done,

tell him he has Hipparchus,
my enfranched bondman,

whom he may at pleasure whip, or hang,
or torture, as he shall like, to quit me.

Urge it thou. Hence
with thy stripes, begone.

Have you done yet?

Alack, our terrene moon is now eclipsed,

and it portends alone
the fall of Antony.

I must stay his time.

To flatter Caesar, would you mingle
eyes with one that ties his points?

Not know me yet?

Cold-hearted toward me?

Ah, dear,

if I be so, from my cold
heart let heaven engender haiI,

and poison it in the source,

and the first stone drop in my neck.

As it determines, so dissolve my life.

The next Caesarion smite.

Till by degrees the memory of my womb,
together with my brave Egyptians all,

by the discandying of this
pelleted storm, lie graveless.

Till the flies and gnats of
Nile have buried them for prey.

I am satisfied.

Caesar sits down in Alexandria,

where I will oppose his fate.

Our force by land hath nobly held,

our navy too have knit again, and
fleet, threatening most sea-like.

Where hast thou been, my heart?

Dost thou hear, lady?

If from the field I shall return once more
to kiss these lips, I will appear in blood.

I and my sword will earn our chronicle.

There's hope in't yet.

That's my brave lord.

I will be treble-sinew'd,

hearted, breathed,
and fight maliciously.

For when mine hours were nice and lucky,
men did ransom lives of me for jests,

but now I'll set my teeth, and
send to darkness all that stop me.

Come, let's have one other gaudy night.

Call to me all my sad captains,
fill our bowls once more.

Let's mock the midnight bell.

It is my birthday.

I had thought to have held it poor,

but, since my lord is Antony again,

I will be Cleopatra.

We will yet do well.

Call all his noble captains to my lord.

Do so, we'll speak to them,

and tonight I'll force the
wine peep through their scars.

Come, my queen. There's sap in't yet.

The next time I do fight,
I'll make death love me,

for I will contend even
with his pestilent scythe.

Now he'll outstare the lightning.

To be furious, is to
be frighted out of fear,

and in that mood the dove
will peck the estridge,

and I see still, a diminution in our
captain's brain restores his heart.

When valour preys on reason, it
eats the sword it fights with.

I will seek some way to leave him.

He calls me boy,

and chides, as he had power
to beat me out of Egypt.

My messenger he hath whipp'd with rods,

dares me to personaI combat,

Caesar to Antony.

Let the old ruffian know I
have many other ways to die.

Meantime laugh at his challenge.

Caesar must think, when one so great
begins to rage, he's hunted even to falling.

Give him no breath, but now
make boot of his distraction.

Never anger made good guard for itself.

Let our best heads know, that tomorrow
the last of many battles we mean to fight.

Within our files there are, of those that served
Mark Antony but late, enough to fetch him in.

See it done.

And feast the army.

We have store to do it, and
they have earn'd the waste.

Poor Antony.

He will not fight with me, Domitius.

No.

Why should he not?

He thinks, being twenty times of
better fortune, he is twenty men to one.

Tomorrow, soldier, by
sea and land I'll fight,

or I will live, or bathe my dying honour
in the blood shall make it live again.

- Woo't thou fight well?
- I'll strike, and cry, "Take all!"

Well said. Come on.

Call forth my household servants.

Let's tonight be bounteous at our meaI.

Give me thy hand,

thou hast been rightly honest.

So hast thou.

Thou, and thou,

and thou.

You have served me well, and
kings have been your fellows.

What means this?

Tis one of those odd tricks which
sorrow shoots out of the mind.

And thou art honest too.

I wish I could be made so many men, and
all of you clapp'd up together in an Antony,

that I might do you service
so good as you have done.

The gods forbid.

Well, my good fellows,
wait on me tonight.

Scant not my cups,

and make as much of me as when mine empire
was your fellow too, and suffer'd my command.

- What does he mean?
- To make his followers weep.

Tend me tonight. May be it
is the period of your duty.

Haply you shall not see me more,

or if, a mangled shadow.

Perchance tomorrow you'll
serve another master.

I look on you as one
that takes his leave.

Mine honest friends,
I turn you not away,

but, like a master married to
your good service, stay till death.

Tend me tonight two hours, I ask no
more, and the gods yield you for't.

What mean you, sir, to
give them this discomfort?

and I, an ass, am onion -eyed.

For shame, transform us not to women.

Now the witch take
me, if I meant it thus.

Oh...

Grace grow where those drops fall.

My hearty friends, you take
me in too dolorous a sense,

for I spake to you for your comfort,

did desire you to burn
this night with torches!

Know, my hearts, I
hope well of tomorrow,

and will lead you where rather I'll expect
victorious life than death and honour.

Let's to supper. Come.
And drown consideration.

Eros.

Mine armour, Eros.

Sleep a little.

No, my chuck.

Eros, come. Mine armour, Eros.

Come, my good fellow, put mine iron on.

If fortune be not ours today,
it is because we brave her. Come.

Nay, I'll help too.

What's this for?

Ah, let be, let be.

Thou art the armourer of my heart.

False, false.

This, this.

Sooth, la, I'll help.

Thus... it must be.

Well, well. We shall thrive now.

Seest thou, my good fellow?

- Go put on thy defences.
- Briefly, sir.

- Is not this buckled well?
- Rarely, rarely.

He that unbuckles this, till we do please
to daff't for our repose, shall hear a storm.

Thou fumblest, Eros, and my queen's
a squire more tight at this than thou.

Dispatch.

O love, that thou couldst see my wars
today, and knew'st the royaI occupation.

Thou shouldst see a workman in't.

The morn is fair. Good morrow, generaI.

This morning, like the spirit of a youth
that means to be of note, begins betimes.

So, so.

Come, give me that.

This way.

Fare thee well, dame,
whate'er becomes of me.

This is a soldier's kiss.

He goes forth gallantly.

That he and Caesar might determine
this great war in single fight.

Then Antony...

But now...

Well, on.

The gods make this a
happy day to Antony.

Would thou and those thy scars had
once prevaiI'd to make me fight at land.

Hadst thou done so, the
kings that have revolted,

and the soldier that has this morning left
thee, would still have follow'd your heels.

- Who's gone this morning?
- Who.

One ever near thee.

Call for Enobarbus,
he shall not hear thee,

or from Caesar's camp
say, "I am none of thine. "

- What say'st thou?
- Sir, he is with Caesar.

Sir, his chests and
treasure he has not with him.

- Is he gone?
- Most certain.

Go, Eros.

Send his treasure after.

Do it. Detain no jot, I charge thee.

Write to him, I will subscribe,
gentle adieus and greetings.

Say that I wish he never find
more cause to change a master.

O, my fortunes have
corrupted honest men.

Dispatch.

Enobarbus.

Go forth Agrippa
and begin the fight

Our wilNs Antony be took
alive Make it so known

Caesar I shall

The time of universaI peace is near.

the three-nook'd world
shall bear the olive freely.

Antony is come into the field

Go charge Agrippa plant those
that have revolted in the van...

.. that Antony may seem to
spend his fury upon himself.

Enobarbus, Antony hath after
thee sent all thy treasure,

with his bounty overplus.

- I give it you.
- Mock not, Enobarbus.

I tell you true, best you safed
the bringer out of the host.

I must attend mine office,
or would have done't myself.

Your emperor continues still a Jove.

I am alone the villain of the earth,

and feeI I am so most.

O Antony, thou mine of bounty,

how wouldst thou have
paid my better service,

when my turpitude thou
dost so crown with gold.

This blows my heart.

If swift thought break it not, a
swifter mean shall outstrike thought.

But thought will do't, I feeI.

I fight against thee.

No.

I will go seek some
ditch wherein to die.

The fouI'st best fits
my latter part of life.

We have beat him to his camp!

Run one before, and let
the queen know of our gests.

Tomorrow, before the sun shall see us,
we'll spill the blood that has today escaped.

I thank you all.

For doughty-handed are you,

and have fought not as you served the cause,
but as't had been each man's like mine!

You have shown all Hectors!

Enter the city, clip your wives,
your friends, tell them your feats,

whilst they with joyfuI tears wash
the congealment from your wounds,

and kiss the honour'd gashes whole.

Lord of lords

O infinite virtue,

comest thou smiling from the
world's great snare uncaught?

My nightingale, we have
beat them to their beds.

Behold this man.

Commend unto his lips
thy favouring hand.

Kiss it, my warrior.

He hath fought today as if a god, in hate
of mankind, had destroy'd in such a shape.

I'll give thee, friend, an armour
all of gold. It was a king's.

He has deserved it, were it
carbuncled like holy Phoebus' car.

Give me thy hand.

Through Alexandria make a jolly march.

Bear our hack'd targets
like the men that owe them.

Had our great palace the capacity to
camp this host, we all would sup together,

and drink carouses to the next day's
fate, which promises royaI periI.

Trumpeters, with brazen din
blast you the city's ear!

Make mingle with rattling tabourines,

that heaven and earth may strike their
sounds together, applauding our approach.

O, bear me witness, night.

Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon,

when men revolted shall upon
record bear hatefuI memory,

poor Enobarbus did
before thy face repent.

O sovereign mistress of true melancholy,

the poisonous damp of
night disponge upon me,

that life, a very rebeI to my
will, may hang no longer on me.

Throw my heart against the
flint and hardness of my fault,

which, being dried with grief, may break
to powder, and finish all fouI thoughts.

O Antony,

nobler than my revolt is infamous,

forgive me in thine own particular,

but let the world rank me in register
a master-leaver and a fugitive.

O Antony.

O Antony.

Their preparation is today by sea.

We please them not by land.

For both, my lord.

I would they'Id fight i'
the fire or i' the air.

We'Id fight there too.

But thus it is.

Our foot upon the hills adjoining
to the city shall stay with us.

Order for sea is given.

They have put forth the haven where
their appointment we may best discover,

and look on their endeavour.

But being charged, we will be still
by land, which, as I take't, we shall,

for his best force is
forth to man his galleys.

To the vales, and hold
our best advantage.

This fouI 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!

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 spanieI'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 souI 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.

Ah, thou spell! Avaunt!

Why is my lord enraged against his love?

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.

O, most monster-like, be shown
for poor'st diminutives, for doits,

and let patient Octavia plough thy
visage up with her prepared nails.

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.

The witch shall die.

To the young Roman boy she hath sold me,

and I fall under this plot.

She dies for't.

Help me, my women.

O, he is more mad than
Telamon for his shield,

the boar of Thessaly
was never so emboss'd.

To the monument. There lock yourself,
and send him word you are dead.

The souI and body rive not more in
parting than greatness going off.

To the monument. Mardian,
go tell him I have slain myself.

Say, that the last I spoke was "Antony",
and word it, prithee, piteously.

Hence, Mardian, and bring
me how he takes my death.

To the monument.

Eros,

thou yet behold'st me?

Ay, noble lord.

Sometimes we see a
cloud that's dragonish,

a vapour sometime like a bear or lion,

a tower'd citadeI, a pendent rock,

a forked mountain, or blue
promontory with trees upon't,

that nod unto the world,
and mock our eyes with air.

Thou hast seen these signs.

They are black vesper's pageants.

Ay, my lord.

That which is now a horse, even
with a thought the rack dislimns,

and makes it indistinct,
as water is in water.

It does, my lord.

Here I am Antony, yet cannot
hold this visible shape.

I made these wars for Egypt.

And the queen, whose
heart I thought I had,

for she had mine,

which whilst it was mine had annex'd
unto't a million more, now lost.

She, Eros, has pack'd cards with Caesar,

and false-play'd my glory
unto an enemy's triumph.

Nay, weep not, gentle Eros.

There is left us
ourselves to end ourselves.

O, thy vile lady.

She has robb'd me of my sword.

No, Antony.

My mistress loved thee, and her
fortunes mingled with thine entirely.

Hence, saucy eunuch. Peace.

She hath betray'd me
and shall die the death.

Death of one person can be paid but
once, and that she has discharged.

What thou wouldst do
is done unto thy hand.

The last she spake was,
"Antony, most noble Antony".

Then in the midst a tearing groan
did break the name of Antony.

It was divided between
her heart and lips.

She render'd life, thy
name so buried in her.

Dead, then?

Dead.

Unarm, Eros.

The long day's task is
done, and we must sleep.

Off, pluck off.

The seven -fold shield of Ajax
cannot keep the battery from my heart.

O, cleave, my sides.

Heart, once be stronger than thy
continent, crack thy fraiI case.

Apace, Eros, apace.

No more a soldier. Bruised pieces, go.

You have been nobly borne.

From me awhile.

I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra,
and weep for my pardon.

Thus it must be, for now
all length is torture.

Since the torch is out,

lie down, and stray no farther.

Now all labour Mars what it does,

yea, very force entangles
itself with strength.

SeaI then, and all is done.

Eros.

I come, my queen.

Eros.

Stay for me.

Where souls do couch on
flowers, we'll hand in hand,

and with our sprightly
port make the ghosts gaze.

Dido and her Aeneas shall want troops,

and all the haunt be ours.

Come, Eros. Eros!

What would my lord?

Since Cleopatra died, I have lived in such
dishonour, that the gods detest my baseness.

I, that with my sword
quarter'd the world,

and o'er green Neptune's
back with ships made cities,

condemn myself to lack
the courage of a woman,

less noble mind than she which by her death
our Caesar tells, "I am conqueror of myself. "

Thou art sworn, Eros, that,
when the exigent should come,

which now is come indeed,

when I should see behind me the inevitable
prosecution of disgrace and horror,

that, on my command,
thou then wouldst kill me.

Do't.

The time is come.

Thou strikest not me,
tis Caesar thou defeat'st.

- Put colour in thy cheek.
- The gods withhold me.

Shall I do that which all the Parthian
darts, though enemy, lost aim, and could not?

Eros, wouldst thou be
window'd in great Rome

and see thy master
thus with pleach'd arms,

bending down his corrigible neck,
his face subdued to penetrative shame,

whilst the wheeI'd seat of
fortunate Caesar, drawn before him,

branded his baseness that ensued?

- I would not see't.
- Come, then,

for with a wound I must be cured.

Draw that thy honest sword, which thou
hast worn most usefuI for thy country.

O sir, pardon me!

When I did make thee free, sworest thou
not then to do this when I bade thee?

Do it at once, or thy precedent services
are all but accidents unpurposed.

Draw, and come.

Turn from me, then, that noble countenance,
wherein the worship of the whole world lies.

Lo thee.

Then let it do at once the
thing why thou hast drawn it.

My dear master, my
captain, and my emperor,

let me say, before I strike
this bloody stroke, farewell.

Tis said, man, and farewell.

Farewell, great chief.

- Shall I strike now?
- Now, Eros.

Why, there then!

Thus do I escape the
sorrow of Antony's death.

Thrice-nobler than myself.

Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros,
what I should, and thou couldst not.

My queen and Eros have got
upon me a nobleness in record,

but I will be a bridegroom in my death,
and run into't as to a lover's bed.

Come, then,

and, Eros, thy master dies thy scholar,

to do thus I learn'd of thee.

Not dead?

The guard, ho.

O, dispatch me.

I have done my work ill, friends.

Make an end of what I have begun.

- The star is fall'n.
- And time is at his period.

Alas, and woe.

- Let him that loves me strike me dead.
- Not I.

- Nor I.
- Nor any one.

- Where's Antony?
- There, Alexas, there.

Lives he?

Wilt thou not answer, man?

Art thou there, Alexas?

Draw thy sword, and give me
sufficing strokes for death.

Most absolute lord,

my mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee.

When did she send thee?

Now, my lord.

Where is she?

Lock'd in her monument.

She had a prophesying fear
of what hath come to pass,

for when she saw - which
never shall be found -

you did suspect she had disposed with Caesar,
and that your rage would not be purged,

she sent you word she was dead.

But, fearing since how it might work,
hath sent me to proclaim the truth,

and I am come, I dread, too late.

Too late, good Alexas.

Bear me, good friends,
where Cleopatra bides.

Tis the last service
that I shall command you.

I have led you oft.

Carry me now, good friends,
and have my thanks for all.

O Charmian,

I will never go from hence.

Be comforted, dear madam.

No, I will not.

All strange and terrible events are
welcome, but comforts we despise.

Our size of sorrow, proportion'd to our
cause, must be as great as that which makes it.

Is he dead?

His death's upon him, but not dead.

His guard have brought him hither.

O sun, burn the great
sphere thou movest in.

Darkling stand the
varying shore o' the world.

O Antony.

Antony, Antony.

Help, Charmian, help.

Iras, help.

Help, friends below.

Let's draw him hither.

Not Caesar's valour
hath o'erthrown Antony,

but Antony's hath triumph'd on itself.

So it should be, that none but
Antony should conquer Antony,

I am dying, Egypt...

Dying.

Only I here importune death awhile,

untiI of many thousand kisses
the poor last I lay up thy lips.

I dare not, dear.

Dear my lord, pardon. I
dare not, lest I be taken.

Not the imperious show of the full-fortuned
Caesar ever shall be brooch'd with me.

If knife, drugs, serpents, have
edge, sting, or operation, I am safe.

Your wife Octavia, with her
modest eyes and still conclusion,

shall acquire no
honour demuring upon me.

But come. Come, Antony.

Help me, my women.

We must draw thee up.

Assist, good friends.

O, quick, or I am gone.

Here's sport indeed.

How heavy weighs my lord.

Our strength is all gone into
heaviness, that makes the weight.

Had I great Juno's power, the
strong-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up,

and set thee by Jove's side.

Yet come a little.

Wishes were ever fools!

O, come!

Come! Come!

And welcome. Welcome!

Die where thou hast lived.

Quicken with kissing.

Had my lips that power,
thus would I wear them out.

A heavy sight.

I am dying, Egypt.

Dying.

Give me some wine, and
let me speak a little.

No, let me speak,

and let me raiI so high, that the
false housewife fortune break her wheeI,

One word, sweet queen.

Of Caesar seek your
honour, with your safety.

They do not go together.

Gentle, hear me.

None about Caesar trust but Proculeius.

My resolution and my hands I'll trust.

The miserable change now at my end

lament nor sorrow at,

but please thy thoughts in feeding them with
those my former fortunes wherein I lived,

the greatest prince o' the world,

the noblest,

and do now not basely die,

not cowardly put off my
helmet to my countryman,

a Roman by a Roman valiantly vanquish'd.

Now my spirit is going.

I can no more.

Noblest of men, woo't die?

Hast thou no care of me?

Shall I abide in this dull world, which
in thy absence is no better than a sty?

O, see, my women!

The crown o' the earth doth melt.

My lord.

O, wither'd is the garland of the war,

the soldier's pole is fall'n.

Young boys and girls
are leveI now with men.

The odds is gone,

and there is nothing left
remarkable beneath the visiting moon.

O, quietness, lady.

She is dead too, our sovereign.

- Lady?
- Madam.

O madam, madam!

- Madam!
- RoyaI Egypt! Empress!

Peace, peace, Iras.

No more, but e'en a woman,

and commanded by such poor passion as the
maid that milks and does the meanest chares.

It were for me to throw my
sceptre at the injurious gods,

to tell them that this world did equaI
theirs till they had stoI'n our jeweI.

AII's but naught.

Patience is sottish,

and impatience does
become a dog that's mad.

Then... is it sin to rush
into the secret house of death,

ere death dare come to us?

How do you, women?

What, what.

Good cheer.

Why, how now, Charmian.

My noble girls.

Ah, women, women, look,

our lamp is spent,

it's out.

Good sirs, take heart.

We'll bury him,

and then, what's brave, what's noble,

let's do it after the high Roman
fashion, and make death proud to take us.

Come.

Away.

This case of that huge spirit...

Ah, women, women.

Come.

We have no friend but resolution,

and the briefest end.

Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield.

Being so frustrate, tell him he
mocks the pauses that he makes.

Caesar, I shall.

Wherefore is that?

And what art thou that
darest appear thus to us?

I am call'd Dercetas.

Whilst he stood up and
spoke, he was my master,

and I wore my life to
spend upon his haters.

If thou please to take me to thee,
as I was to him I'll be to Caesar.

If thou pleasest not,
I yield thee up my life.

What is't thou say'st?

I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead.

The breaking of so great a thing
should make a greater crack.

The round world should have shook lions into
civiI streets, and citizens to their dens.

The death of Antony
is not a single doom.

In the name lay a moiety of the world.

He is dead, Caesar.

Not by a public minister of
justice, nor by a hired knife,

but that self hand, which writ
his honour in the acts it did,

hath with the courage which the
heart did lend it, splitted the heart.

This is his sword. I
robb'd his wound of it.

Behold it stain'd with
his most noble blood.

Look you sad, friends?

The gods rebuke me, but it is
tidings to wash the eyes of kings.

And strange it is, that nature must compeI
us to lament our most persisted deeds.

His taints and honours
waged equaI with him.

A rarer spirit never did steer humanity,

but you, gods, will give us
some faults to make us men.

Caesar is touch'd.

When such a spacious mirror's set
before him, he needs must see himself.

O Antony.

I have follow'd thee to this,

but we do lance diseases in our bodies.

I must perforce have shown to thee
such a declining day, or look on thine.

We could not stall
together in the whole world.

But yet let me lament, with tears
as sovereign as the blood of hearts,

that thou, my brother,

my competitor in top of all design,

my mate in empire, friend and
companion in the front of war,

the arm of mine own body, and the heart
where mine his thoughts did kindle,

that our stars, unreconciliable,

should divide our equalness to this.

Hear me, good friends.

But I will tell you
at some meeter season.

The business of this
man looks out of him.

We'll hear him what he says.

Whence are you?

A poor Egyptian yet.

The queen my mistress, confined
in all she has, her monument,

of thy intents desires instruction,

that she preparedly may frame
herself to the way she's forced to.

Bid her have good heart.

She soon shall know
of us, by some of ours,

how honourable and how
kindly we determine for her.

For Caesar cannot learn to be ungentle.

So the gods preserve thee.

Come hither, Proculeius.

Go and say, we purpose her no shame.

Give her what comforts the quality
of her passion shall require,

lest, in her greatness, by some
mortaI stroke she do defeat us,

for her life in Rome would
be eternaI in our triumph.

Go, and with your speediest bring us
what she says, and how you find of her.

Caesar, I shall.

Where's Dolabella, to second Proculeius?

Dolabella.

Let him alone,

for now I remember how he's employ'd.

He shall in time be ready.

Go with me to my tent,

where you shall see how hardly
I was drawn into this war,

how calm and gentle I proceeded
still in all my writings.

Go with me, and see
what I can show in this.

My desolation does begin
to make a better life.

Tis paltry to be Caesar.

Not being Fortune, he's
but fortune's knave,

a minister of her will.

And it is great to do that
thing that ends all other deeds,

which shackles accidents
and bolts up change,

which sleeps, and never
palates more the dug,

the beggar's nurse and Caesar's.

Caesar sends greeting
to the Queen of Egypt,

and bids thee study on what fair demands
thou mean 'st to have him grant thee.

- What's thy name?
- My name is Proculeius.

Antony did tell me of you,

bade me trust you.

But I do not greatly care to be
deceived, that have no use for trusting.

If your master would
have a queen his beggar,

you must tell him, that majesty,

to keep decorum, must no
less beg than a kingdom.

If he please to give me
conquer'd Egypt for my son,

he gives me so much of mine own,
as I will kneeI to him with thanks.

Be of good cheer.

You're fall'n into a
princely hand, fear nothing.

Make your full reference
freely to my lord,

who is so full of grace, that
it flows over on all that need.

Let me report to him
your sweet dependency,

and you shall find a conqueror
that will pray in aid for kindness,

where he for grace is kneeI'd to.

Pray you, tell him I
am his fortune's vassaI,

and I send him the greatness he has got.

I hourly learn a doctrine of obedience,

and would gladly look him i' the face.

This I'll report, dear lady.

Have comfort, for I know your plight
is pitied of him that caused it.

O Cleopatra! Thou art taken queen

- Quick, quick, good hands.
- Hold, worthy lady, hold!

Do not yourself such wrong, who are
in this relieved, but not betray'd.

What, of death too, that
rids our dogs of languish?

Cleopatra, do not abuse my master's
bounty by the undoing of yourself.

Let the world see his nobleness well acted,
which your death will never let come forth.

Where art thou, death?

Come hither. Come!

Come, come, and take a queen
worth many babes and beggars.

O, temperance, lady.

Sir, I will eat no meat.

I'll not drink, sir.

If idle talk will once be
necessary, I'll not sleep neither.

This mortaI house I'll
ruin, do Caesar what he can.

Know, sir, that I will not wait
pinion'd at your master's court,

nor once be chastised with
the sober eye of dull Octavia.

Shall they hoist me up and show me to
the shouting varletry of censuring Rome?

Rather a ditch in Egypt
be gentle grave unto me.

Rather on Nilus' mud lay me stark naked,

and let the water-flies
blow me into abhorring.

Rather make my country's
high pyramides my gibbet,

and hang me up in chains.

You do extend these thoughts of horror
further than you shall find cause in Caesar.

Proculeius!

What thou hast done thy master Caesar
knows, and he hath sent for thee.

For the queen, I'll
take her to my guard.

So, Dolabella, it shall content me best.

Be gentle to her.

To Caesar I will speak what you shall
please, if you'll employ me to him.

Say, I would die.

Most noble empress,
you have heard of me?

I cannot tell.

Assuredly you know me.

No matter, sir, what
I have heard or known.

You laugh when boys or
women tell their dreams.

Is't not your trick?

I understand not, madam.

I dream'd there was an Emperor Antony.

O, such another sleep, that I
might see but such another man.

If it might please ye...

His face was as the heavens,

and therein stuck a sun and
moon, which kept their course,

and lighted the little O
- the earth.

Most sovereign creature...

His legs bestrid the ocean,

and his rear'd arm crested the world.

His voice was propertied
as all the tuned spheres,

and that to friends.

But when he meant to quaiI and shake
the orb, he was as rattling thunder.

For his bounty, there
was no winter in't.

An autumn twas that
grew the more by reaping.

His delights were dolphin -like.

They show'd his back above
the element they lived in.

In his livery walk'd
crowns and crownets.

Realms and islands were as
plates dropp'd from his pocket.

Cleopatra.

Think you there was,

or might be, such a man
as this I dream'd of?

Gentle madam, no.

You lie, up to the hearing of the gods.

But, if there be, or
ever were, one such,

it's past the size of dreaming.

Nature wants stuff to vie
strange forms with fancy,

yet, to imagine an Antony, were
nature's piece 'gainst fancy,

condemning shadows quite.

Hear me, good madam.

Your loss is as yourself, great,

and you bear it as
answering to the weight.

Would I might never o'ertake pursued success,
but I do feeI, by the rebound of yours,

a grief that smites
my very heart at root.

I thank you, sir.

I am loath to tell you
what I would you knew.

Though he be honourable...

He'll lead me, then, in triumph?

Madam, he will. I know't.

Arise you shall not kneel

rise.

Rise, Egypt.

Sir, the gods will have it thus,

my master and my lord I must obey.

Take to you no hard thoughts.

The record of what injuries you
did us, though written in our flesh,

we shall remember as
things but done by chance.

Sole sir o' the world,

I cannot project mine own
cause so well to make it clear,

but do confess I have been
laden with like frailties

which before have often shamed our sex.

Cleopatra, know, we shall
extenuate rather than enforce.

If you apply yourself to our good
intents, which towards you are most gentle,

you shall find a benefit in this change,

but if you seek to lay on me a
cruelty, by taking Antony's course,

you shall bereave yourself
of my good purposes,

and put your children to that destruction
which I'll guard them from, if thereon you rely.

I'll take my leave.

And may, through all the world.

Tis yours.

And we, your scutcheons
and your signs of conquest,

shall hang in what place you please.

Here, my good lord.

You shall advise me
in all for Cleopatra.

This is the brief of money, plate,
and jewels, I am possess'd of.

Tis exactly valued.

Not petty things admitted.

Still be't yours.

Bestow it at your pleasure.

And believe, Caesar's no merchant, to make
prize with you of things that merchants sold.

Therefore be cheer'd.

Make not your thoughts your prisons.

No, dear queen,

for we intend so to dispose you
as yourself shall give us counseI.

Feed, and sleep.

Our care and pity is so much upon
you, that we remain your friend.

And so, adieu.

My master, and my lord.

Adieu.

He words me, girls.

He words me, that I should
not be noble to myself.

But, hark thee, Charmian.

Finish, good lady.

The bright day is done,
and we are for the dark.

Hie thee again.

I have spoke already,
and it is provided.

- Go put it to the haste.
- Madam, I will.

- Where is the queen?
- Behold, sir.

Dolabella.

Madam, as thereto sworn by your command,

which my love makes religion
to obey, I tell you this.

Caesar through Syria
intends his journey,

and within three days you with
your children will he send before.

Make your best use of this.

I have perform'd your
pleasure and my promise.

Dolabella, I shall remain your debtor.

I your servant.

Adieu, good queen.

I must attend on Caesar.

Farewell, and thanks.

Now, Iras, what think'st thou?

Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shalt
be shown in Rome, as well as I.

Mechanic slaves with greasy
aprons, rules, and hammers

shall uplift us to the view.

In their thick breaths, rank of
gross diet, shall we be enclouded,

and forced to drink their vapour.

- O the good gods.
- Nay, tis most certain, Iras.

Saucy lictors will catch
at us, like strumpets,

and scald rhymers ballad us out o' tune.

The quick comedians extemporally will stage
us, and present our Alexandrian revels.

Antony shall be brought drunken forth,

and I shall see some
squeaking Cleopatra boy

my greatness i' the posture of a whore.

O the good gods.

Nay, that's certain.

I'll never see't,

for, I am sure, my nails
are stronger than mine eyes.

Why, that's the way to fooI their preparation,
and to conquer their most absurd intents.

Now, Charmian.

Show me, my women, like a queen.

Go fetch my best attires.

I am again for Cydnus,
to meet Mark Antony.

Sirrah Iras, go.

Now, noble Charmian,
we'll dispatch indeed,

and, when thou hast done this chare, I'll
give thee leave to play till doomsday.

Bring our crown and all.

Wherefore's this noise?

Here is a ruraI fellow that will not
be denied your highness' presence.

He brings you figs.

Let him come in.

What poor an instrument
may do a noble deed.

He brings me liberty.

My resolution's placed,

and I have nothing of woman in me now.

From head to foot I am marble-constant,

now the fleeting moon
no planet is of mine.

- This is the man.
- Avoid, and leave him.

Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus
there, that kills and pains not?

Truly, I have him.

But I would not be the party that
should desire you to touch him,

for his biting is immortaI.

Those that do die of it
do seldom or never recover.

Rememberest thou any
that have died on't?

Very many. Men and women too.

I heard of one of them only yesterday,

a very honest woman, but
something given to lie,

as a woman should not do,
but in the way of honesty.

How she died of the biting
of it, what pain she felt,

truly, she made very
good report o' the worm.

But this is most fallible.

The worm's an odd worm.

Get thee hence.

Farewell.

I wish you joy of the worm.

Farewell.

You must think this, look you,
that the worm will do his kind.

Ay, ay. Farewell.

Look you, the worm is not to be trusted
but in the keeping of wise people,

for, indeed, there is
no goodness in the worm.

Take thou no care. It shall be heeded.

Very good.

Give it nothing, I pray you,
for it is not worth the feeding.

Will it eat me?

You must not think I am so simple

but I know the deviI
himself will not eat a woman.

I know that a woman is a dish for the
gods, if the deviI dresses her not.

But, truly, these same whoreson devils
do the gods great harm in their women,

for in every ten they
make, the devils mar five.

Well, get thee gone.

- Farewell.
- Yes, forsooth.

I wish you joy o' the worm.

Give me my robe.

Put on my crown.

I have immortaI longings in me.

Now no more the juice of Egypt's
grape shall moist this lip.

Yare, yare, good Iras.

Quick.

Methinks I hear Antony call.

I see him rouse himself
to praise my noble act.

I hear him mock the luck of Caesar,

which the gods give men to
excuse their after wrath.

Husband, I come.

Now to that name my
courage prove my title.

I am fire and air.

My other elements I give to baser life.

So, have you done?

Come then, and take the
last warmth of my lips.

Farewell, kind Charmian.

Iras...

Long farewell.

Have I the aspic in my lips?

Dost fall?

If thou and nature can so gently part,
the stroke of death is as a lover's pinch,

which hurts, and is desired.

Dost thou lie still?

If thus thou vanishest,

thou tell'st the world it
is not worth leave-taking.

Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain,

that I may say, the
gods themselves do weep.

This proves me base.

If first she meet the curled
Antony, he'll make demand of her,

and spend that kiss which
is my heaven to have.

Come.

Thou mortaI wretch.

With thy sharp teeth...

this knot intrinsicate...

of life at once untie.

Poor venomous fooI.

Be angry, and dispatch.

O eastern star

Peace, peace.

Dost thou not see my baby at my
breast, that sucks the nurse asleep?

O break

Break!

As sweet as balm,

as soft as air,

as gentle...

O Antony.

Nay, I will take thee too.

What should I stay...

In this vile world?

So fare thee well

Now boast thee, death, in thy
possession lies a lass unparalleI'd.

Downy windows, close,

and golden Phoebus never be
beheld of eyes again so royaI.

Your crown's awry.

I'll mend it,

and then play.

Where is the queen?

Speak softly.

Wake her not.

Caesar hath sent

Too slow a messenger.

O, come apace, dispatch.

I partly feeI thee.

What work is here?

Charmian,

is this well done?

It is well done,

and fitting for a princess
descended of so many royaI kings.

How goes it here?

All dead.

Caesar, thy thoughts touch
their effects in this.

Thyself art coming to see perform'd the
dreaded act which thou so sought'st to hinder.

O sir, you are too sure an augurer.

That you did fear is done.

Bravest at the last.

She levell'd at our purposes,
and, being royaI, took her own way.

The manner of their deaths?

I do not see them bleed.

A simple countryman,
that brought her figs.

This was his basket.

If she had swallow'd poison,
'twould appear by externaI swelling,

but she looks like sleep,

as she would...

catch another Antony in
her strong toiI of grace.

Here, on her breast, there is a
vent of blood and something blown.

The like is on her arm.

This is an aspic's traiI,

and these fig leaves have slime upon them,
such as the aspic leaves upon the caves of Nile.

Most probable that so she died,

for her physician tells me she hath pursued
conclusions infinite of easy ways to die.

Take up her bed,

and bear her women from the monument.

She shall be buried by her Antony.

No grave upon the earth shall
clip in it a pair so famous.

High events as these
strike those that make them,

and their story is no less in pity than
his glory which brought them to be lamented.

Our army shall in solemn
show attend this funeraI,

and then to Rome.

Come, Dolabella.

See high order in this great solemnity.