William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

Antony.—Say to me,

Whose fortunes shall rise higher; Cæsar’s, or mine?

Soothsayer.—Cæsar’s.

Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side:

Thy daemon, that’s thy spirit which keeps thee, is

Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable,

Where Cæsar’s is not; but near him, thy angel

Becomes a Fear, as being o’erpowered; therefore

Make space enough between you.

Ant.—Speak this no more.

Soothsayer.—To none but thee; no more, but when to thee.

If thou dost play with him at any game,

Thou art sure to lose; and of that natural luck,

He beats thee ’gainst the odds; thy lustre thickens,

When he shines by: I say again, thy spirit

Is all afraid to govern thee near him;

But, be away, ’tis noble.

Ant.—Get thee gone:

Say to Ventidius, I would speak with him:

[Exit Soothsayer.]

He shall to Parthia.—Be it art, or hap,

He hath spoken true: the very dice obey him;

And, in our sports, my better cunning faints

Under his chance: if we draw lots, he speeds:

His cocks do win the battles still of mine,

When it is all to nought; and his quails ever

Beat mine, inhooped at odds.