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

Автор: Sidney Lee
Издательство: Bookwire
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Жанр произведения: Языкознание
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9788027236695
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[Enter another MESSENGER.]

       What are you?

       SECOND MESSENGER.

       Fulvia thy wife is dead.

       ANTONY.

       Where died she?

       SECOND MESSENGER.

       In Sicyon:

       Her length of sickness, with what else more serious

       Importeth thee to know, this bears. [Gives a letter.]

       ANTONY.

       Forbear me.

       [Exit MESSENGER.]

       There’s a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it:

       What our contempts doth often hurl 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 shov’d her on.

       I must from this enchanting queen break off:

       Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,

       My idleness doth hatch—ho, Enobarbus!

       [Re-enter ENOBARBUS.]

       ENOBARBUS.

       What’s your pleasure, sir?

       ANTONY.

       I must with haste from hence.

       ENOBARBUS. Why, then we kill all our women: we see how mortal an unkindness is to them; if they suffer our departure, death’s the word.

       ANTONY.

       I must be gone.

       ENOBARBUS. 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.

       ANTONY.

       She is cunning past man’s thought.

       ENOBARBUS. 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: this cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she makes a shower of rain as well as Jove.

       ANTONY.

       Would I had never seen her!

       ENOBARBUS. O sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work; which not to have been blest withal would have discredited your travel.

       ANTONY.

       Fulvia is dead.

       ENOBARBUS.

       Sir?

       ANTONY.

       Fulvia is dead.

       ENOBARBUS.

       Fulvia?

       ANTONY.

       Dead.

       ENOBARBUS. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful 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: this grief is crown’d with consolation; your old smock brings forth a new petticoat:—and, indeed, the tears live in an onion that should water this sorrow.

       ANTONY.

       The business she hath broached in the state

       Cannot endure my absence.

       ENOBARBUS. And the business you have broached here cannot be without you; especially that of Cleopatra’s, which wholly depends on your abode.

       ANTONY.

       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; our slippery people,—

       Whose love is never link’d to the deserver

       Till his deserts are past,—begin to throw

       Pompey the Great, and all his dignities,

       Upon his son; who, high in name and power,

       Higher than both in blood and life, stands up

       For the main soldier: whose quality, going on,

       The sides o’ the world may danger: much is breeding

       Which, like the courser’s hair, hath yet but life

       And not a serpent’s poison. Say, our pleasure

       To such whose place is under us, requires

       Our quick remove from hence.

       ENOBARBUS.

       I shall do’t.

       [Exeunt.]

      SCENE III. Alexandria. A Room in CLEOPATRA’S palace.

       [Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS.]

       CLEOPATRA.

       Where is he?

       CHARMIAN.

       I did not see him since.

       CLEOPATRA.

       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.

       [Exit ALEXAS.]

       CHARMIAN.

       Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly,

       You do not hold the method to enforce

       The like from him.

       CLEOPATRA.

       What should I do, I do not?

       CHARMIAN.

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

       CLEOPATRA.

       Thou teachest like a fool,—the way to lose him.

       CHARMIAN.

       Tempt him not so too far; I wish, forbear;

       In time we hate that which we often fear.

       But here comes Antony.

       [Enter ANTONY.]

       CLEOPATRA.

       I am sick and sullen.

       ANTONY.

       I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose,—

       CLEOPATRA.

       Help me away, dear Charmian; I shall fall;

       It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature

       Will not sustain it.

       ANTONY.

       Now, my dearest queen,—

       CLEOPATRA.

       Pray you, stand farther from me.

       ANTONY.

       What’s the matter?