ANTONY & CLEOPATRA. Sidney Lee. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Sidney Lee
Издательство: Bookwire
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isbn: 9788027236695
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[Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS.]

       CLEOPATRA.

       Where is the fellow?

       ALEXAS.

       Half afear’d to come.

       CLEOPATRA.

       Go to, go to.

       [Enter a Messenger.]

       Come hither, sir.

       ALEXAS.

       Good majesty,

       Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you

       But when you are well pleas’d.

       CLEOPATRA.

       That Herod’s head

       I’ll have: but how? when Antony is gone,

       Through whom I might command it?—Come thou near.

       MESSENGER.

       Most gracious majesty,—

       CLEOPATRA.

       Didst thou behold Octavia?

       MESSENGER.

       Ay, dread queen.

       CLEOPATRA.

       Where?

       MESSENGER.

       Madam, in Rome

       I look’d her in the face, and saw her led

       Between her brother and Mark Antony.

       CLEOPATRA.

       Is she as tall as me?

       MESSENGER.

       She is not, madam.

       CLEOPATRA.

       Didst hear her speak? is she shrill-tongu’d or low?

       MESSENGER.

       Madam, I heard her speak: she is low-voic’d.

       CLEOPATRA.

       That’s not so good:—he cannot like her long.

       CHARMIAN.

       Like her! O Isis! ‘tis impossible.

       CLEOPATRA.

       I think so, Charmian: dull of tongue and dwarfish!—

       What majesty is in her gait? Remember,

       If e’er thou look’dst on majesty.

       MESSENGER.

       She creeps,—

       Her motion and her station are as one;

       She shows a body rather than a life,

       A statue than a breather.

       CLEOPATRA.

       Is this certain?

       MESSENGER.

       Or I have no observance.

       CHARMIAN.

       Three in Egypt

       Cannot make better note.

       CLEOPATRA.

       He’s very knowing;

       I do perceive’t:—there’s nothing in her yet:—

       The fellow has good judgment.

       CHARMIAN.

       Excellent.

       CLEOPATRA.

       Guess at her years, I pr’ythee.

       MESSENGER.

       Madam,

       She was a widow.

       CLEOPATRA.

       Widow!—Charmian, hark!

       MESSENGER.

       And I do think she’s thirty.

       CLEOPATRA.

       Bear’st thou her face in mind? is’t long or round?

       MESSENGER.

       Round even to faultiness.

       CLEOPATRA.

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

       Her hair, what colour?

       MESSENGER.

       Brown, madam: and her forehead

       As low as she would wish it.

       CLEOPATRA.

       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 prepar’d.

       [Exit Messenger.]

       CHARMIAN.

       A proper man.

       CLEOPATRA.

       Indeed, he is so: I repent me much

       That so I harried him. Why, methinks, by him,

       This creature’s no such thing.

       CHARMIAN.

       Nothing, madam.

       CLEOPATRA.

       The man hath seen some majesty, and should know.

       CHARMIAN.

       Hath he seen majesty? Isis else defend,

       And serving you so long!

       CLEOPATRA.

       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.

       CHARMIAN.

       I warrant you, madam.

       [Exeunt.]

      SCENE IV. Athens. A Room in ANTONY’S House.

       [Enter ANTONY and OCTAVIA.]

       ANTONY.

       Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that,—

       That were excusable, that and thousands more

       Of semblable import—but he hath wag’d

       New wars ‘gainst Pompey; made his will, and read it

       To public ear:

       Spoke scandy of me: when perforce he could not

       But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly

       He vented them:most narrow measure lent me;

       When the best hint was given him, he not took’t,

       Or did it from his teeth.

       OCTAVIA.

       O 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:

       Sure 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 mid-way

       ‘Twixt these extremes at all.

       ANTONY.

       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’s: the meantime, lady,