 | Antony and Cleopatra |  |
3
ANTONY and CLEOPATRA.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
Alexandria.A Room in Cleopatra's Palace.
Enter Thyreus, and Dolabella; sent from Cæsar.
Thy.
Nay, but this dotage of our general's
O'erflows the measure: those his goodly eyes,
That o'er the files and musters of the war
Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn,
The office and devotion of their view
Upon a tawny front: his captain's heart,
Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst
The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper;
And is become the bellows, and the fan,
To cool a gipsy's lust. Look, where they come:
Flourish. Enter Antony, Cleopatra, and their Trains; Eunuchs fanning her.
Take but good note, and you shall see in him
The triple pillar of the world transform'd
Into a strumpet's fool: behold, and see.
Cle.
If it be love indeed, tell me how much.
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There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd.
Cle.
I'll set a bourn how far to be belov'd.
Ant.
Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth.
Enter an Attendant.
Att.
News, my good lord, from Rome.
Ant.
—'T grates me:—The sum.
Cle.
Nay, hear them, Antony:
Fulvia, perchance, is angry; Or, who knows
If the scarce-bearded Cæsar have not sent
His powerful mandate to you, Do this, or this;
Take in that kingdom, and infranchise that;
Perform't, or else we damn thee.
Ant.
—How, my love!
Cle.
Perchance? nay, and most like:—
You must not stay here longer, your dismission
Is come from Cæsar; therefore hear it, Antony.—
Where's Fulvia's process?—Cæsar's, I would say?—Both?
Call in the messengers.—As I am Egypt's Queen,
Thou blushest, Antony; and that blood of thine
Is Cæsar's homager: so thy cheek pays shame,
When shrill-tongu'd Fulvia scolds.—The messengers.
Ant.
Let Rome in Tyber melt! and the wide arch
Of the rang'd empire fall! Here † is my space;
Kingdoms are clay: Our dungy earth alike
Feeds beast as man: the nobleness of life
Is, to do † thus; when such a mutual pair,
And such a twain can do't; in which, I bind,
On pain of punishment, the world to weet
We stand up peerless.
Cle.
—Excellent falshood!
Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her?—
I seem the fool I am not; Antony
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Ant.
—But, stir'd by Cleopatra,—
Now, for the love of love, and his soft hours,
Let's not confound the time with conference harsh:
There's not a minute of our lives should stretch
Without some pleasure now: What sport to-night?
Cle.
Hear the embassadors.
Ant.
—Fie, wrangling Queen!
Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh,
To weep; whose every passion fully strives
To make itself, in thee, fair and admir'd!
No messenger, but thine; And all alone,
To-night, we'll wander through the streets, and note
The qualities of people. Come, my Queen;
Last night you did desire it: Speak not to us.
[Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra, and Trains.
Dol.
Triumphant lady!—Fame, I see, is true.
Thy.
Too true: Since she first met Mark Antony
Upon the river Cydnus, he has been hers.
Dol.
There she appear'd indeed; or my reporter
Devis'd well for her.
Thy.
—I will tell you, sir.
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burnt on the water: the poop was beaten gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that
The winds were love-sick with them: the oars were silver;
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water, which they beat, to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
It beggar'd all description: she did lye
In her pavilion, (cloth of gold, of tissue)
O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see
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Stood pretty dimpl'd boys, like smiling Cupids,
With diverse-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,
And what they undid, did.
Dol.
—O, rare for Antony!
Thy.
Her gentlewomen, like the Nereids,
So many mermaids, tended her i'the eyes,
And made their bends adornings: at the helm
A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackle
Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands,
That yarely frame the office. From the barge,
A strange invisible perfume hits the sense
Of the adjacent wharfs: The city cast
Her people out upon her: and Antony,
Enthron'd i'the market place, did sit alone,
Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy,
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too,
And made a gap in nature.
Dol.
—Rare Egyptian!
Thy.
Upon her landing, Antony sent to her,
Invited her to supper: she reply'd,
It should be better, he became her guest;
Which she intreated: Our courteous Antony,
(Whom never the word, no, woman heard speak)
Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast;
And, for his ordinary, pays his heart,
For what his eyes eat only.
Dol.
—Royal wench!
She made great Julius lay his sword to bed;
He plough'd her, and she crop'd. Now Antony
Must leave her utterly.
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—Never; he will not:
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety: Other women cloy
The appetites they feed; but she makes hungry,
Where most she satisfies.
Dol.
—Well; I am sorry,
He too approves the common lyar, who
Thus speaks of him at Rome: But I will hope
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy!
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE II.
The same. Another Room.Enter Alexas, Iras, Charmian, a Soothsayer, and Others.
Cha.
Alexas, sweet Alexas, most anything Alexas, almost
most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer that you
prais'd so to the Queen? O, that I knew this husband
which, you say, must charge his horns with garlands!
Ale.
Soothsayer,—
Soo.
Your will?
Cha.
Is this the man?—Is't you, sir, that know things?
Soo.
In nature's infinite book of secresy
A little I can read.
Ale.
—Shew him your hand.
Enter Enobarbus.
Eno.
Bring in the banquet quickly; wine enough,
Cleopatra's health to drink.
[to some within.
Cha.
Good sir, give me good fortune.
Soo.
I make not, but foresee
Cha.
Pray then, foresee me one. Let me be marry'd
to three Kings in a forenoon, and widow them all: let
me have a child at fifty, to whom Herod of Jewry may
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companion me with my mistress.
Soo.
You shall out-live the lady whom you serve.
Cha.
O excellent! I love long life better than figs.
Soo.
You have seen and prov'd a fairer former fortune
Than that which is to approach.
Cha.
Then, belike, my children shall have no names.—
Nay, come, tell Iras hers.
Ale.
We'll know all our fortunes.
Eno.
Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, shall
be—drunk to bed.
Ira.
There's a palm presages chastity, if nothing else.
Cha.
E'en as the o'er-flowing Nilus presageth famine.
Ira.
Go, you wild bed-fellow; you cannot soothsay.
Cha.
Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prognostication,
I cannot scratch mine ear.—Prythee, tell her
but a worky-day fortune.
Soo.
Your fortunes are alike.
Ira.
But how, but how? give me particulars.
Soo.
I have said.
Ira.
Am I not an inch of fortune better than she?
Cha.
Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better
than I, where would you choose it?
Ira.
Not in my husband's nose.
Cha.
Our worser thoughts heavens mend!—Alexas—
come his fortune, his fortune.—O, let him marry a
woman that cannot go, sweet Isis, I beseech thee! And
let her die too, and give him a worse! and let worse
follow worse, 'till the worst of all follow him laughing
to his grave, fifty-fold a cuckold! Good Isis, hear me
this prayer, though thou deny me a matter of more
weight; good Isis, I beseech thee!
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Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the
people! for, as it is a heart-breaking to see a handsom
man loose-wiv'd, so it is a deadly sorrow to behold a foul
knave uncuckolded; Therefore, dear Isis, keep decorum,
and fortune him accordingly!
Cha.
Amen.
Ale.
Lo, now! if it lay in their hands to make me a
cuckold, they would make themselves whores, but they'd do't.
Eno.
Hush! here comes Antony.
Cha.
—Not he, the Queen.
Enter Cleopatra, attended.
Cle.
Saw you my lord?
Eno.
—No, lady.
Cle.
Was he not here?
Cha.
—No, madam.
Cle.
He was dispos'd to mirth; but, on the sudden,
A Roman thought hath strook him.—Enobarbus,—
Eno.
Madam.
Cle.
Seek him, and bring him hither.—Where's Alexas?
Ale.
Here, lady, at your service. My lord approaches.
Enter Antony, with a Messenger; Attendants following.
Cle.
We will not look upon him; Go with us.
[Exeunt Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Alexas, Iras, Charmian, Soothsayer, and the rest.
Mes.
Fulvia thy wife first came into the field.
Ant.
Against my brother Lucius?
Mes.
—Ay: but soon
That war had end; and the time's state made friends
Of them, jointing their forces against Cæsar;
Whose better issue in the war from Italy,
Upon the first encounter, drave them.
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—Well,
What worst?
Mes.
The nature of bad news infects the teller.
Ant.
When it concerns the fool, or coward. On:
Things, that are past, are done, with me: 'Tis thus;
Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death,
I hear him as he flatter'd.
Mes.
—Labienus,
Hath with his Parthian force, through extended Asia,
From Eúphrates his conquering banner shook,
From Syria, to Lydia, and Ionia;
Whilst—
Ant.
—Antony, thou would'st say,—
Mes.
—O, my lord,—
Ant.
Speak to me home, mince not the general tongue;
Name Cleopatra as she's call'd in Rome:
Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase; and taunt my faults
With such full licence, as both truth and malice
Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds,
When our quick winds lie still; and our ills told us,
Is as our earing. Fare thee well a while.
Mes.
At your noble pleasure.
[Exit.
Ant.
From Sicyon how the news? Speak there.
1. A.
The man from Sicyon,—Is there such a one?
2. A.
He stays upon your will.
Ant.
—Let him appear.—
These strong Egyptian fetters I must break,
Enter another Messenger.
Or lose myself in dotage.—What are you?
Mes.
Fulvia thy wife is dead.
Ant.
—Where dy'd she?
Mes.
—In Sicyon:
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Importeth thee to know, this ‡ bears.
Ant.
—Forbear me.—
[Exit Messenger.
There's a great spirit gone: Thus did I desire it:
What our contempts do 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!
Enter Enobarbus.
Eno.
What's your pleasure, sir?
Ant.
I must with haste from hence.
Eno.
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.
Ant.
I must be gone.
Eno.
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 esteem'd
nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this,
dies instantly; I have seen her die twenty times upon
far poorer moment.
Ant.
She is cunning past man's thought. Fulvia is dead.
Eno.
Sir?
Ant.
Fulvia is dead.
Eno.
Fulvia?
Ant.
Dead.
Eno.
Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. If
there were no more women but Fulvia, then had you
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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.
Ant.
The business she hath broached in the state
Cannot endure my absence.
Eno.
And the business you have broached here cannot
be without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which
wholy depends on your abode.
Ant.
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 love 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 giv'n the dare to Cæsar, 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.
Eno.
I shall do't.
[Exeunt.
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SCENE III.
The same. Another Room.Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas.
Cle.
Where is he?
Cha.
I did not see him since.
Cle.
See where he is, who's with him, what he does,—
I did not send you;— [to Iras.]
If you find him sad,
Say, I am dancing; if in mirth, report
That I am sudden sick: Quick, and return.
[Exit Alexas.
Cha.
Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly,
You do not hold the method to enforce
The like from him.
Cle.
—What should I do, I do not?
Cha.
In each thing give him way, cross him in nothing.
Cle.
Thou teachest like a fool: the way to lose him.
Cha.
Tempt him not so too far: I wish, forbear;
In time we hate that which we often fear.
Enter Antony.
But here comes Antony.
Cle.
—I am sick, and sullen.
Ant.
I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose,—
Cle.
Help me away, dear Charmian, I shall fall;
It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature
Will not sustain it.
Ant.
—Now, my dearest Queen,—
Cle.
Pray you, stand farther from me.
Ant.
—What's the matter?
Cle.
I know, by that same eye, there's some good news:
What says the marry'd woman? You may go;
'Would, she had never giv'n you leave to come!
Let her not say, 'tis I that keep you here,
I have no power upon you; hers you are.
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The gods best know,—
Cle.
—O, never was there Queen
So mightily betray'd! Yet, at the first,
I saw the treasons planted.
Ant.
—Cleopatra,—
Cle.
Why should I think, you can be mine, and true,
Though you in swearing shake the throned gods,
Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness,
To be entangl'd with those mouth-made vows
Which break themselves in swearing!
Ant.
—Most sweet Queen,—
Cle.
Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going;
But bid farewel, and go: when you su'd staying,
Then was the time for words: No going then;
Eternity was in our lips, and eyes;
Bliss in our brows' bent; none our parts so poor,
But was a race of heaven: They are so still,
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world,
Art turn'd the greatest liar.
Ant.
—How now, lady?
Cle.
I would, I had thy inches; thou should'st know,
There were a heart in Egypt.
Ant.
—Hear me, Queen:
The strong necessity of time commands
Our services a while; but my full heart
Remains in use with you. Our Italy
Shines o'er with civil swords: Sextus Pompeius
Makes his approaches to the port of Rome:
Equality of two domestic powers
Breeds scrupulous faction: The hated, grown to strength,
Are newly grown to love: the condemn'd Pompey,
Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace
15
Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten;
And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge
By any desperate change: My more particular,
And that which most with you should safe my going,
Is Fulvia's death.
Cle.
Though age from folly could not give me freedom,
Is does from childishness; Can Fulvia die?
Ant.
She's dead, my Queen:
Look ‡ here, and, at thy sovereign leisure, read
The garboils she awak'd; at the last, best:
See, when, and where she dy'd.
Cle.
—O most false love!
Where be the sacred vials thou should'st fill
With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see,
In Fulvia's death, how mine shall be receiv'd.
Ant.
Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know
The purposes I bear; which are, or cease,
As you shall give the advices: By the fire
That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence
Thy soldier, servant; making peace, or war,
As thou affect'st.
Cle.
—Cut my lace, Charmian, come;—
But let it be; I am quickly ill, and well,
So Antony loves.
Ant.
—My precious Queen, forbear;
And give true evidence to his love, which stands
An honourable trial.
Cle.
—So Fulvia told me.
I prythee, turn aside, and weep for her;
Then bid adieu to me, and say, the tears
Belong to Egypt: Good now, play one scene
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Like perfect honour.
Ant.
—You'll heat my blood; no more.
Cle.
You can do better yet; but this is meetly.
Ant.
—Now, by my sword,—
Cle.
—and target,—Still he mends;
But this is not the best:—Look, prythee, Charmian,
How this Herculean Roman does become
The carriage of his chafe.
Ant.
I'll leave you, lady.
Cle.
—Courteous lord, one word.
Sir, you and I must part,—but that's not it:
Sir, you and I have lov'd,—but there's not it;
That you know well: Something it is I would,—
O, my oblivion is a very Antony,
And I am all-forgotten.
Ant.
—But that your royalty
Holds idleness your subject, I should take you
For idleness itself.
Cle.
—'Tis sweating labour,
To bear such idleness so near the heart
As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me;
Since my becomings kill me, when they do not
Eye well to you: Your honour calls you hence;
Therefore be deaf to my unpity'd folly,
And all the gods go with you! Upon your sword
Sit laurel'd victory! and smooth success
Be strew'd before your feet!
Ant.
—Let us go. Come;
Our separation so abides, and flies,
That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me,
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee.
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[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Rome. A Room in Cæsar's House.Enter Octavius Cæsar, Lepidus, and their Trains.
Cæs.
You may ‡ see, Lepidus, and henceforth know,
It is not Cæsar's natural vice to hate
One great competitor: From Alexandria
This is the news, He fishes, drinks, and wastes
The lamps of night in revel: is not more manlike
Than Cleopatra; nor the Queen of Ptolemy
More womanly than he: hardly gave audience, or
Vouchsaf'd to think he had partners: You shall find there
A man, who is the abstract of all faults
That all men follow.
Lep.
—I must not think, there are
Evils enough to darken all his goodness:
His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven,
More fiery by night's blackness; hereditary,
Rather than purchas'd; what he cannot change,
Than what he chooses.
Cæs.
You are too indulgent: Let us grant, it is not
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy;
To give a kingdom for a mirth; to sit
And keep the turn of tipling with a slave;
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet
With knaves that smell of sweat: say, this becomes him,
(As his composure must be rare indeed,
Whom these things cannot blemish) yet must Antony
No way excuse his foils, when we do bear
So great weight in his lightness: If he fill'd
His vacancy with his voluptuousness,
Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bones,
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That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud
As his own state, and ours,—'tis to be chid
As we rate boys; who, being mature in knowledge,
Pawn their experience to their present pleasure,
And so rebel to judgment.
Enter a Messenger.
Lep.
—Here's more news.
Mes.
Thy biddings have been done; and every hour,
Most noble Cæsar, shalt thou have report
How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea;
And it appears, he is belov'd of those
That only have fear'd Cæsar: to the ports
The discontents repair, and men's reports
Give him much wrong'd.
Cæs.
—I should have known no less:—
It hath been taught us from the primal state,
That he, which is, was wish'd, until he were;
And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd, 'till ne'er worth love,
Comes dear'd, by being lack'd. This common body,
Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream,
Goes to, and back, lacquying the varying tide,
To rot itself with motion.
Enter another Messenger.
Mes.
—Cæsar, I bring thee word,
Menecrates, and Menas, famous pirates,
Make the sea serve them which they ear and wound
With keels of every kind: Many hot inroads
They make in Italy; the borders maritime
Lack blood to think on't, and flush youth revolt:
No vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon
Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes more,
19
Cæs.
—Antony,
Leave thy lascivious wassails: When thou once
Wert beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st
Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel
Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st against,
Though daintily brought up, with patience more
Than savages could suffer: thou did'st drink
The stale of horses, and the gilded puddle
Which beasts would cough at: thy palate then did deign
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge;
Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets,
The barks of trees thou browsed'st: on the Alps,
It is reported, thou did'st eat strange flesh,
Which some did die to look on: And all this
(It wounds thine honour, that I speak it now)
Was born so like a soldier, that thy cheek
So much as lank'd not.
Lep.
'Tis pity of him.
Cæs.
Let his shames quickly
Drive him to Rome: Time is it, that we twain
Did shew ourselves i'the field; and, to that end,
Assemble we immediate council: Pompey
Thrives in our idlenes.
Lep.
—To-morrow, Cæsar,
I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly
Both what by sea and land I can be able,
To 'front this present time.
Cæs.
—'Till which encounter,
It is my business too. Farewel.
Lep.
Farewel, my lord: What you shall know mean time
Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir,
20
Cæs.
—Doubt not, sir;
I knew it for my bond.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.Enter Cleopatra, supporting herself on Iras; Charmian, and Mardian, following.
Cle.
Charmian,—
Cha.
Madam.
Cle.
Ha, ha,—Give me to drink mandragora.
Cha.
—Why, madam?
Cle.
That I might sleep out this great gap of time,
My Antony is away.
Cha.
—You think of him
Too much.
Cle.
—O! Treason!
Char.
—Madam, I trust, not so.
Cle.
Thou, eunuch, Mardian,—
Mar.
—What's your highness' pleasure?
Cle.
Not now to hear thee sing; I take no pleasure
In ought an eunuch has: 'Tis well for thee,
That, being unseminar'd, thy freer thoughts
May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections?
Mar.
Yes, gracious madam.
Cle.
—Indeed!—O Charmian,
Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he, or sits he?
Or does he walk? Or is he on his horse?—
O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!
Do bravely, horse; For wot'st thou whom thou mov'st?
The demy Atlas of this earth, the arm
And burgonet of man.—He's speaking now,
Or murmuring, Where's my serpent of old Nile?
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With most delicious poison:—Think on me,
That am with Phœbus' amorous pinches black,
And wrinkl'd deep in time? Broad-fronted Cæsar,
When thou wast here above the ground, I was
A morsel for a monarch: and great Pompey
Would stand, and make his eyes grow in my brow;
There would he anchor his aspect, and die
With looking on his life.
Enter Alexas.
Ale.
Sovereign of Egypt, hail!
Cle.
How much art thou unlike Mark Antony!
Yet, coming from him, that great med'cine hath
With his tinct gilded thee.—
How goes it with my brave Mark Anthony?
Ale.
Last thing he did, dear Queen,
He kiss'd, the last of many doubl'd kisses,
This orient pearl; His speech sticks in my heart.
Cle.
Mine ear must pluck it thence.
Ale.
—Good friend, quoth he,
Say, The firm Roman to great Egypt sends
This ‡ treasure of an oister: at whose foot,
To mend the petty present, I will piece
Her opulent throne with kingdoms; All the east,
Say thou, shall call her mistress. So he nodded,
And soberly did mount an arm-gaunt steed;
Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke
Was beastly dumb'd by him.
Cle.
—What, was he sad, or merry?
Ale.
Like to the time o' the year between the extreams
Of hot and cold; he was nor sad, nor merry.
Cle.
O well-divided diaposition!—Note him,
22
He was not sad; for he would shine on those
That make their looks by his: he was not merry;
Which seem'd to tell them, his remembrance lay
In Egypt with his joy: but between both:
O heavenly mingle!—Be'st thou sad, or merry,
The violence of either thee becomes;
So does it no man else.—Met'st thou my posts?
Ale.
Ay, madam, twenty several messengers:
Why do you send so thick?
Cle.
—Who's born that day
When I forget to send to Antony,
Shall die a beggar.—Ink and paper, Charmian.—
Welcome, my good Alexas.—Did I, Charmian,
Ever love Cæsar so?
Cha.
—O that brave Cæsar!
Cle.
Be choak'd with such another emphasis!
Say, the brave Antony.
Cha.
—The valiant Cæsar!
Cle.
By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth,
If thou with Cæsar paragon again
My man of men.
Cha.
—By your most gracious pardon,
I sing but after you.
Cle.
—My sallad days;
When I was green in judgment, cold in blood;
To say, as I said then! But, come, away;
Get me ink and paper: he shall have every day
A several greeting, or I'll unpeople Egypt.
[Exeunt.
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