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Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. | |
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Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, and Attendant. | |
| Cleo. Give me some music; music, moody food | |
| Of us that trade in love. | |
| Attend. The music, ho! | 5 |
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Enter MARDIAN. | |
| Cleo. Let it alone; let’s to billiards: come, Charmian. | |
| Char. My arm is sore; best play with Mardian. | |
| Cleo. As well a woman with a eunuch play’d | |
| As with a woman. Come, you’ll play with me, sir? | 10 |
| Mar. As well as I can, madam. | |
| Cleo. 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 | 15 |
| 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. | |
| Char. ’Twas merry when | 20 |
| You wager’d on your angling; when your diver | |
| Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, which he | |
| With fervency drew up. | |
| Cleo. That time—O times!— | |
| I laugh’d him out of patience; and that night | 25 |
| 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. | |
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Enter a Messenger. | 30 |
| O! from Italy; | |
| Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, | |
| That long time have been barren. | |
| Mess. Madam, madam,— | |
| Cleo. Antony ’s dead! if thou say so, villain, | 35 |
| 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. | |
| Mess. First, madam, he is well. | 40 |
| Cleo. 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. | 45 |
| Mess. Good madam, hear me. | |
| Cleo. Well, go to, I will; | |
| But there’s no goodness in thy face; if Antony | |
| Be free and healthful, so tart a favour | |
| To trumpet such good tidings! if not well, | 50 |
| Thou shouldst come like a Fury crown’d with snakes, | |
| Not like a formal man. | |
| Mess. Will ’t please you hear me? | |
| Cleo. I have a mind to strike thee ere thou speak’st: | |
| Yet, if thou say Antony lives, is well, | 55 |
| Or friends with Cæsar, or not captive to him, | |
| I’ll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail | |
| Rich pearls upon thee. | |
| Mess. Madam, he’s well. | |
| Cleo. Well said. | 60 |
| Mess. And friends with Cæsar. | |
| Cleo. Thou’rt an honest man. | |
| Mess. Cæsar and he are greater friends than ever. | |
| Cleo. Make thee a fortune from me. | |
| Mess. But yet, madam,— | 65 |
| Cleo. 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, | 70 |
| The good and bad together. He’s friends with Cæsar; | |
| In state of health, thou sayst; and thou sayst, free. | |
| Mess. Free, madam! no; I made no such report: | |
| He’s bound unto Octavia. | |
| Cleo. For what good turn? | 75 |
| Mess. For the best turn i’ the bed. | |
| Cleo. I am pale, Charmian! | |
| Mess. Madam, he’s married to Octavia. | |
| Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon thee! [Strikes him down. | |
| Mess. Good madam, patience. | 80 |
| Cleo. What say you? Hence, [Strikes him again. | |
| Horrible villain! or I’ll spurn thine eyes | |
| Like balls before me; I’ll unhair thy head: [She hales him up and down. | |
| Thou shalt be whipp’d with wire, and stew’d in brine, | |
| Smarting in lingering pickle. | 85 |
| Mess. Gracious madam, | |
| I, that do bring the news made not the match. | |
| Cleo. 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, | 90 |
| And I will boot thee with what gift beside | |
| Thy modesty can beg. | |
| Mess. He’s married, madam. | |
| Cleo. Rogue! thou hast liv’d too long. [Draws a knife. | |
| Mess. Nay, then I’ll run. | 95 |
| 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 | 100 |
| Turn all to serpents! Call the slave again: | |
| Though I am mad, I will not bite him. Call. | |
| Char. He is afeard to come. | |
| Cleo. I will not hurt him. [Exit CHARMIAN. | |
| These hands do lack nobility, that they strike | 105 |
| A meaner than myself; since I myself | |
| Have given myself the cause. | |
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Re-enter CHARMIAN, and Messenger. Come hither, sir. | |
| Though it be honest, it is never good | |
| To bring bad news; give to a gracious message | 110 |
| A host of tongues, but let ill tidings tell | |
| Themselves when they be felt. | |
| Mess. I have done my duty. | |
| Cleo. Is he married? | |
| I cannot hate thee worser than I do | 115 |
| If thou again say ‘Yes.’ | |
| Mess. He’s married, madam. | |
| Cleo. The gods confound thee! dost thou hold there still? | |
| Mess. Should I lie, madam? | |
| Cleo. O! I would thou didst, | 120 |
| So half my Egypt were submerg’d and made | |
| A cistern for scal’d snakes. Go, get thee hence; | |
| Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me | |
| Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married? | |
| Mess. I crave your highness’ pardon. | 125 |
| Cleo. He is married? | |
| Mess. Take no offence that I would not offend you; | |
| To punish me for what you make me do | |
| Seems much unequal; he’s married to Octavia. | |
| Cleo. O! that his fault should make a knave of thee, | 130 |
| That art not what thou’rt sure of. Get thee hence; | |
| The merchandise which thou hast 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. | 135 |
| Cleo. In praising Antony I have disprais’d Cæsar. | |
| Char. Many times, madam. | |
| Cleo. I am paid for ’t now. | |
| Lead me from hence; | |
| I faint. O Iras! Charmian! ’Tis no matter. | 140 |
| 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 forever go:—let him not—Charmian!— | 145 |
| Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, | |
| The other way’s a Mars. [To MARDIAN.] Bid you Alexas | |
| Bring me word how tall she is. Pity me, Charmian, | |
| But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber. [Exeunt. | |
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