You know not what it is.
CLEOPATRA.
Wherefore is this?
ANTONY.
To let a fellow that will take rewards,
And say ‘God quit you!’ be familiar with
My playfellow, your hand; this kingly seal
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.
[Re-enter Attendants with THYREUS.]
Is he whipp’d?
FIRST ATTENDANT.
Soundly, my lord.
ANTONY.
Cried he? and begg’d he pardon?
FIRST ATTENDANT.
He did ask favour.
ANTONY.
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 disdainful, 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, be gone.
[Exit THYREUS.]
CLEOPATRA.
Have you done yet?
ANTONY.
Alack, our terrene moon
Is now eclips’d, and it portends alone
The fall of Antony!
CLEOPATRA.
I must stay his time.
ANTONY.
To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes
With one that ties his points?
CLEOPATRA.
Not know me yet?
ANTONY.
Cold-hearted toward me?
CLEOPATRA.
Ah, dear, if I be so,
From my cold heart let heaven engender hail,
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!
ANTONY.
I am satisfied.
Caesar sits down in Alexandria; where
I will oppose his fate. Our force by land
Hath nobly held: our sever’d navy to
Have knit again, and fleet, threat’ning 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.
CLEOPATRA.
That’s my brave lord!
ANTONY.
I will be treble-sinew’d, hearted, breath’d,
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.
CLEOPATRA.
It is my birthday.
I had thought t’have held it poor; but since my lord
Is Antony again I will be Cleopatra.
ANTONY.
We will yet do well.
CLEOPATRA.
Call all his noble captains to my lord.
ANTONY.
Do so; we’ll speak to them: and tonight I’ll force
The wine peep through their scars.—Come on, 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.
[Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS.]
ENOBARBUS.
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.
[Exit.]
ACT IV.
SCENE I. CAESAR’S Camp at Alexandria.
[Enter CAESAR reading a letter; AGRIPPA, MAECENAS, and others.]
CAESAR.
He calls me boy; and chides as he had power
To beat me out of Egypt; my messenger
He hath whip’d with rods; dares me to personal combat,
Caesar to Antony:—let the old ruffian know