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 fword Philippan. O! from Italy ;-
Enter a MESSENGER.

Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears,
That long time have been barren.

MES. Madam, madam,

CLEO. Antony's dead?—

If thou fay fo, villain, thou kill'ft thy mistress:
But well and free,

If thou fo yield him, there is gold, and here
My blueft veins to kiss; a hand, that kings
Have lipp'd, and trembled kiffing.

MES. First, madam, he's well.

[We use

CLEO. Why, there's more gold. But, firrah, mark;

To fay, the dead are well: bring it to that,

The gold I give thee, will I melt, and pour
Down thy ill-uttering throat.

MES. Good madam, hear me.

CLEO. Well, go to, I will;

But there's no goodness in thy face: If Antony
Be free, and healthful,-why fo tart a favour

To trumpet

fuch good tidings? If not well,

Thou should'st come like a fury crown'd with fnakes, Not like a formal man.

MES. Will't please you hear me?

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

Yet, if thou fay, Antony lives, is well,

Or friends with Cæfar, or not captive to him,
I'll fet thee in a fhower of gold, and hail

Rich pearls upon thee.

MES. Madam, he's well.

CLEO. Well faid.

MES. And friends with Cæfar.

CLEO. Thou'rt an honeft man.

MES. Cæfar and he are greater friends than ever.
CLEO. Make thee a fortune from me.

MES. But yet, madam,

CLEO. I do not like but yet, it does allay
The good precedence; fye upon but yet:
But yet is as a gaoler to bring forth

Some monftrous malefactor. Pry'thee, friend,
Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear,

The good and bad together: He's friends with Cæfar;
In state of health, thou say'st; and, thou say'st, free.
MES. Free, madam! no; I made no fuch report:
He's bound unto Octavia.

CLEO. For what good turn?

MES. For the best turn i' the bed.

CLEO. I am pale, Charmian.

MES. Madam, he's married to Octavia.

CLEO. The most infectious peftilence upon thee!

[Strikes him down.

MES. Good madam, patience.

[Strikes him again.

Horrible villain! or I'll spurn thine eyes

CLEO. What fay you?-Hence,

Like balls before me; I'll unhair thy head;

[She bales him up and down.

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

Smarting in ling'ring pickle.

MES. Gracious madam,

that do bring the news, made not the match. CLEO. Say, 'tis not fo, a province I will give thee, And make thy fortunes proud: the blow thou hadft

Shall make thy peace, for moving me to rage;
And I will boot thee with what gift befide

Thy modesty can beg.

MES. He's married, madam.

CLEO. Rogue, thou haft liv'd too long. [Draws a dagger. MES. Nay, then I'll run :

What mean you, madam? I have made no fault. [Exit. CHAR. Good madam, keep yourself within yourself; The man is innocent.

CLEO. Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt.Melt Egypt into Nile! and kindly creatures Turn all to ferpents !-Call the flave again; Though I am mad, I will not bite him :-Call. CHAR. He is afeard to come,

CLEO. I will not hurt him :

Thefe hands do lack nobility, that they strike
A meaner than myfelf; fince I myself
Have given myself the caufe.-Come hither, fir.
Re-enter MESSENGER.

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.

MES. I have done my duty.

CLEO. Is he married?

I cannot hate thee worfer than I do,

If thou again fay, Yes.

MES. He is married, madam.

[still ?

CLEO. The gods confound thee! doft thou hold there

MES. Should I lie, madam?

CLEO. O, I would, thou didft;

So half my Egypt were fubmerg'd, and made

A cistern for fcal'd fnakes! Go, get thee hence;

Had'st thou Narciffus in thy face, to me

Thou would't appear moft ugly. He is married?
MES. I crave your highness' pardon.

CLEO. He is married?

MES. Take no offence, that I would not offend you : To punish me for what you make me do,

Seems much unequal: He is married to Octavia.

CLEO. O, that his fault fhould make a knave of thee, That art not! What? thour't fure of 't?-Get thee

hence :

The merchandise, which thou haft brought from Rome, Are all too dear for me; Lie they upon thy hand,

And be undone by 'em.

[Exit MESSENGer. CHAR. Good your highness, patience.

CLEO. In praifing Antony, I have disprais'd Cæfar.

CHAR. Many times, madam.

CLEO, 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.-
[Exit ALEXAS:
Let him for ever go :-Let him not-Charmian,
Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon,
T'other way he's a Mars:—Bid you Alexas [To MARDIAN.
Bring me word, how tall she is.-Pity me, Charmian,
But do not speak to me.-Lead me to my chamber.

[Exeunt:

SCENE VI. Near Mifenum.

Enter POMPEY, and MENAS, at one fide, with drum and

trumpet; at another, CESAR, LEPIDUS, ANTONY, ENOBARBUS, MECENAS, with foldiers marching. POм. Your hoftages I have, so have you mine; And we shall talk before we fight.

CES. Moft meet,

That first we come to words; and therefore have we Our written purposes before us fent :

Which, if thou haft confider'd, let us know

If 'twill tie up thy discontented sword;
And carry back to Sicily much tall youth,
That else must perish here.

Ром.

POм. To you all three,

The fenators alone of this great world,

Chief factors for the gods, I do not know,
Wherefore my father fhould revengers want,
Having a fon, and friends; fince Julius Cæfar,
Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted,
There faw you labouring for him. What was it,
That mov'd pale Caffius to confpire? And what
Made the all-honour'd, honest, Roman Brutus,
With the arm'd reft, courtiers of beauteous freedom,
To drench the Capitol; but that they would
Have one man but a man? And that is it,
Hath made me rig my navy; at whose burden
The anger'd ocean foams; with which I meant
To fcourge the ingratitude that defpiteful Rome
Caft on my noble father.

Cas. Take your time.

ANT. Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy fails, We'll speak with thee at fea: at land, thou know'st How much we do o'er-count thee.

Pом. At land, indeed,

Thou doft o'er-count me of my

father's house: