University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Enobarbus, Agrippa, and Roman Nobles.
Agrip.

Where will you find mouths for all those victuals?

Enob.

They are all for the royal table I assure
you, my friend. Why, gentlemen, we have fourscore
and sixteen kitchens, each larger than a court
of justice; and, by the quarter of the hour, in regular
succession, each kitchen is provided with a
feast for a thousand, hot fuming from spits, pans,
kettles, stews, ovens, and cauldrons, that the service
may never fail, or come in coldly, when appetite
or humour shall please to call. Our liquor
flows, plenteous as the Nile in its swell; and Alexandria
is fed from the refuse of our table.

Agrip.

You did not live thus, in your retreat
through Parthia.

Enob.

True, Agrippa. And these, your gentlemen
of the summer nobility, will like our
Egyptian fare somewhat better than following my
master Antony over the Alps, and living upon
sallads dug out of the snow.

Agrip.

All my appetite is in my eyes. I long
to feast them on your Cleopatra.

Enob.

Ay, Agrippa! she, indeed, is the dish
of dishes—such as never shall come to table again,
till nature shall provide a new service of women.

Agrip.

Where, pray you, did Antony first
meet with her?

Enob.

In Cilicia. She had given aid to Cassius;
and Antony sent for her in high dudgeon, to
answer many charges preferred against her. If I
were not unhappy at description, I would give you
the manner of it.

Agrip.

Any how.

Nobl.

Any how.

Agrip.

Let us have it, we beseech you.

Enob.

Why, she came down the river Cydnus,
in a galley, whose poop and sides were inlaid with
burnished gold, and appeared to whiz and burn
along the water. The oars were silver, and kept
stroke to the sound of flutes and hautboys. The
sails were of Tyrian purple, the tackle of silk; and
the streamers, like flaming meteors, seemed to
kindle the very gales that came to cool them.—
But, as for herself, I shall say nothing; for, though
I hate her more heartily than ever I loved my mother,
yet I would not do her injustice.—She beggars description.

Agrip.

Nay, good now, Enobarbus!—as I am a
Roman you tell it rarely.

All.

Rarely, rarely!

Enob.

Under a canopy of golden tissue, whose
curtains were thrown aloft, she lay, carelessly reclined,

out-picturing the goddess, whose picture is
said to have out-copied nature. Her wenches,
dressed like Nereids or the Graces of the Ocean,
here steered the helm, here handled the cordage,
and here shifted the silken sails: while boys,
quivered and winged like dimpled Cupids, kept
fanning off the air that kindled at her cheek. In
her eye was glory, and in her smile fascination.
The city threw forth all its people upon her, and
left Antony alone on his tribunal in the marketplace,
whistling after the wind, that flew to meet
Cleopatra.

Agrip.

Why your account is enough to empty
Rome also, and bring Italy into Egypt!

Nobl.

All to Egypt, all to Egypt!

Agrip.

But, is it certain that your emperor is
married to this wonder?

Enob.

As sure as an Egyptian priest can
fetter him.

Agrip.

An Antony, however, can never be
bound to any thing, save his liking; and he, you
know, is an inconstant, and a voluptuary.

Enob.

I tell the, Agrippa, inconstancy itself
must be a captive to Cleopatra. Age cannot
wither, nor custom make common her infinite perfections.

Agrip.

I grieve to hear this.—I came, commissioned
by Cæsar, to propose terms of lasting
amity; and to offer his sister, Octavia, pre-eminent
in every excellence, to Antony for wife.

Enob.

I am glad you come not to threaten; for
our late successes have put us on so broad a bottom,

that we think we stand firm against the
fates.—But here comes the emperor—I would confer
with you of these matters, preparatory to your
introduction.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Antony enters, with young Alexander and Cleopatra fondling on each side.
Ant.
Away, ye little rogues, ye wanton varlets!
Away, I am not in the humour now,
To wrestle with your fondness—
To ride the may-rods, or to roll the slope,
Or play at marble pellets—Hence, ye roguelings!
I am not in the vein.

Alex.
Sister!
Do you take hold of one leg, while I take hold
Of t'other, and then I'll warrant you!

Cleo.
Now, Ally, now!—
I lay a good round wager we have him down!

Ant.
There now, I am down already.
[Sits.
What would ye more?—How dare you use me thus?
Know ye not I'm an emperor?

Alex.
Yes, yes—but, father,
What matters being an emperor?

Ant.
What matters, sirrah?—
Marry, and that's a pregnant question too!
What matters?—why, to wear a crown, as I do.

Cleo.
Don't believe him, brother.
I'll tell you what's to be an emperor—
It is to speak big words, and to be strong,
And to throw others down, as we throw him.

Alex.
Then, Patty, we are stronger than an emperor.

Ant.
Indeed, and that's true too.

SCENE III.

To them enters Cleopatra.
Cleo.
What, have my little teizers got about you?

Ant.
Yes, like the careless kids, and fleecy younglings,
Their play is ready at all hours; in that
They overmatch me—O, my Cleopatra,
I think it is not sickness, nor ill temper,
Yet something is upon me—'Tis that kind
Of soothing weight, wherein the eye looks round,
Desirous of some cause that might excuse
The folly of its melting.

Cleo.
A morning vapour!—or, perhaps, the weight
Of these successes, piled so largely on us!
For the great mind may better rouze itself
Against the shock and brunt of evil fortune.

Ant.
Did I indulge the Sybil in my breast,
I should imagine some event at hand,
Of fatal portance.—'Tis, as though some power,
Intelligent of things, should whisper here,
The years of Antony have run their round.—
A tear, my love?—I meant not to alarm
Thy tenderness of nature.—Soon, or late,
All will have ending—and the happiest life,
That e'er was granted to humanity,
Must have a tragic close!

Cleo.
Prevent the sense of such an hour, ye gods!
Rather strike now, and lay me down in death!
O Antony, love's lord!
Live I, or these, our precious little ones,
Save on thy looks, our daily nourishment?
Is not thine aspect as yon heavenly sun,
That gives these tender flowers to ope their sweets,
And lift their fragrant heads?

Ant.
No more, no more!
Anticipation is a greater evil,
Than aught that may befall. Who fears not fate,
Scarce feels it.—
The gods may yet have many rolling years,
Of love and empire stored for us, and these
The pride of their productions!

SCENE IV.

Enobarbus enters.
Enob.

My lord,—Agrippa, and a train of
noblemen, of the first note in Rome, petition to
be admitted to your presence.

Ant.

What, do they come to cite us to their senate-house?

Enob.

No, my good lord,—they touch an
humbler key. They come, deputed by Cæsar

and the conscript fathers, to congratulate you on
your conquests over Parthia and the East.

Ant.
We will attend them—Come, my matchless pair
Of priceless pearls, we'll shew these saucy Romans,
Our stay in Egypt hath a nobler issue,
Than their proud Italy can boast!

[Exeunt Antony, Enobarbus, and Children.

SCENE V.

To Cleopatra, Alexas, Mardian, Charmian, Iras, &c.
Alexas.
Madam, the royal captive of Armenia
Implores permission to unfold a matter,
Touching your crown and honour.

Cleo.
Admit him.

SCENE VI.

Artuasdes enters in Chains of Gold.
Cleo.
A presence that bespeaks us.—Noble sir,
The lot of war is not the test of worth—
The task of virtue is not to controul,
But bear our fortune.—Would you aught with us?

Art.
Yes, lady.

Cleo.
You are, as we are told, Armenia's monarch,
The valiant Artuasdes.

Art.
Once, a monarch.

Cleo.
He, of that name, who lately bore the scepter,
Was near to us in blood.—Was he your sire?

Art.
No, madam.

Cleo.
They say you have a matter to reveal,
Touching ourselves.

Art.
Nearly.

Cleo.
Unfold, I pray you.

Art.
To none but Cleopatra.

Cleo.
Leave us!
[Her attendants go out.
—Now, sir!—
But let me not precipitate your purpose,—
Your frame appears to labour with some secret,
Too big for birth!

Art.
O Cleopatra!

Cleo.
Speak—What, man, in tears?
Speak—we have power, and are not void of pity.

Art.
For you, for you they fall.—O, fairest page
Of the world's volume, how art thou become
A blot to every eye!
Thou shame and glory of the house of Lagos!
Sweet flower of nature's field!—O pity, pity!—
So cropt and cast abroad.

Cleo.
Opprobrious ruffian!—But, thine head shall pay
The trespass of thy tongue.

Art.
My head?—how gladly!
So that my blood might wash thy stains away.

Cleo.
Yet I am patient—Come, unfold thy slanders.
For which of our offences hast thou dared
To cast dishonour on us?

Art.
Art thou not harlot to the Antony?
What, though he be the foremost man on earth—
Were he the first of all the gods in heaven,
Yet the bright heiress of the Ptolemies
Were, so, degraded.

Cleo.
Is that our crime?—but we excuse thine error,
And thank thee for thine interest in our honour.
Sayst thou, the harlot of the Antony?—
So Rome gives out; for Rome would have it so.
But Egypt, and the gods of Nile, do know
I am his wedded wife.

Art.
His wife?—O Isis!

Cleo.
His wedded, honour'd wife!—But, who art thou,
That with so kindly and so warm a passion,
Takest to thee our concerns?

Art.
First, let me pay this tribute of my joy,
To the redemption of thy fame.

Cleo.
Ha!—Somewhat
Would say, thou'rt nearer unto Cleopatra,
Than yet she can divine.—Who—whence—what art thou?

Art.
While thou, Arsinoe, and young Ptolemy,
Were yet but infants; a conspiracy,
In a dark hour, and at one bloody stroke,
Meant to cut off the royal line of Egypt.

Cleo.
True.

Art.
Your mother,
Sister to Artuasdes, then was pregnant;
And your sage father, to prevent like treason,
In secret sent the infant to Armenia.

Cleo.
Somewhat of this, but like a dream long laps'd,
Occurs to thought.—And, lives the royal little one?

Art.
Perhaps.

Cleo.
How fated?

Art.
Not for happy.

Cleo.
Haply too in bonds.—Is it not so?

Art.
Know'st thou thy father's character and signet?

[Gives a parchment and wax.
Cleo.
Yes, yes, 'tis Ptolemy's.—
My heart, unknowing, took acquaintance with thee.
Thou art the son of Lagos.—O, my brother!

[Embraces.
Art.
Ah, Cleopatra! while thy fame was doubtful,
I long disdain'd to claim alliance with thee.
As ill it now becomes thy royalty,
To own these bonds.

Cleo.
We cancel their disgrace.
Ah, how had Egypt sunk with shame eternal,
To see the heir of her imperial house,
Led through her streets in chains!

Art.
But, canst thou answer to thy Roman lord
This conduct?

Cleo.
O, doubt it not. He will restore thy kingdom,
With regions multiplied.—What,
Shall I not give a brother to his bosom,
A champion to his side?—Shall I not give
A guardian to our precious little ones?

Art.
Yes, Cleopatra, a true father to them.

Cleo.
Wilt thou, my brother?—Once more, to my arms!
And yet, again!—To thy sole sister, welcome!
Dearer than health or fame!—more rich than empire!
Welcome, O welcome, to thy native Egypt,
The seat of thy great fathers!

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

While Cleopatra and Artuasdes embrace, Antony enters, and stands in mute astonishment till they go out.
Ant.
Mine eyes are false!—Is that the Queen of Egypt?—
So close, and kind, in secret?—
Gape hell, and swallow all affiance up,
All faith, and trust, and fabled truth, in woman!—
Though all the synod of the gods had sworn,
I had not believed it.—
Alexas!

[Alexas passing.
Alexas.
Sir.

Ant.
Where is thy mistress?

Alexas.

I left her here, some time since, with
the royal captive of Armenia.

Ant.
And why didst thou leave her?

Alexas.
It was her order.

Ant.
Oh!—

Alexas.
Is any thing the matter, my lord?

Ant.
No—nothing—
A slight pain—Leave me!

Alexas.
Sir!

Ant.
Hence!
[Alexas goes out.
Is it then so?—or is existence but a doubt
Of something, or of nothing, to disturb
And turn the brain?—
O world, then, world, bid thou adieu to truth,
As I to happiness!—Why,—
With what a transport of repeated appetence,
The strumpet clasp'd her sturdy paramour,
Mindful of former lusts!—Out on her!—
Hot, hot, and craving, as the gulph of hell,
Is woman's appetite!—
She dies!—and I live wretched!—Be it so,
She dies, tho' female nature should expire,
And human race have ending.
Who waits?—Scarus! ho, Scarus!

SCENE VIII.

Scarus enters.
Scar.
My lord.

Ant.
There is no other shift—vengeance!—
No other use for life—tremendous, sudden!—
What,—Scarus, I say!

Scar.
I wait your pleasure, sir.

Ant.
O, are you there?—
I had a thing to order—Stay—I have it.—
Dispatch, man!—
Build me a scaffold in the market-place,
Nine stories high!
At which the astonish'd earth may gaze from far,
And tremble at our justice!

Scar.
Might I presume?

Ant.
Away,—and see it done!
[Exit Scarus.
But soft—how then, how then?
I give the scoffing world to plaud itself,
In blaming my long dotage.—
Haply, 'tis but the fault of nature in her!
All women may be thus—no doubt, no doubt—
And virtue but their skill, for covering naughtiness—
Damn'd, damn'd adulteress—contaminate to the bone,
And the lewd marrow!—
O, my poor children!—
How has her foulness shed the frost of infamy
Upon your blighted heads!—better for you,
Her shame were partly covered!—What, and if
I seem to cast the first contempt upon her?—
Right—this instant—
Quit her in scorn!—to Rome—to Parthia—any where!
Furthest is best—Ho, Enobarbus!

[Servant enters.
Serv.
Call'd you, my lord?

Ant.
Send Enobarbus to us.
[Exit Servant.
Whence is this grief to man?—O misery!
That he would give you twenty thousand worlds,
But for a little truth in one small woman,
Yet may not purchase.—Curse her, curse her, curse her!
If, after satiate lewdness, she may taste
The bitter of remorse,—
Be it her daily cup!—Infix, ye furies,
Infix your scorpions in her tainted flesh—
Set all her losses, all my wrongs before her,
And gnaw her harlot-heart!—

SCENE IX.

Enobarbus enters.
Enob.
Did my lord call?

Ant.
Hast e'er a galley ready?

Enob.
Yes, as you order'd, the Antonia spreads
Her sail for Sicily.

Ant.
I'll straight aboard.

Enob.
Aboard, my lord,—whither?

Ant.
No matter,—see that all things be in readiness;
[Exit Enobarbus.
I'll follow.—
But hark!

[He re-enters.
Enob.
My lord!

Ant.
Ask not, nor answer questions by the way.
Dispatch!—
[Exit Enobarbus.
And dost thou hear?

[He returns.
Enob.
Your pleasure, sir!

Ant.
Few officers will serve—
And no leave-taking—mark you that—Away!—
[Exit.
Yet stay—If any—but it matters not.
[He returns.
Away, I say—I follow on the instant!
[Exit Enobarbus.
Yet—one departing look—to wring her heart!
Once, and no more, for ever!—Who attends?

Serv.
What would my lord?

Ant.
Haste, call me back Domitius Enobarbus!
Hold!—No—Perdition on the strumpet!
To speak, were to capitulate!—
But, O, my little play-fellows!
Must I then leave ye?

[Herald enters.
Her.

My lord, ambassadors from several eastern
satraps, and the new king of—

Ant.
Damn your ambassadors,
Kings, satraps, and their subjects, east and west.
Avoid!—
[Exit Herald.
To go, to part—to leave her here, at large,
To the high ramps and broadness of her strumpetting—
'Twill breed contagions in the very elements;
And the hot airs that shall exhale from Egypt,
Shall bear her rankness through the world.—
To kill, to cool.—Ay, that—

SCENE X.

Eros enters.
[Ant.]
My faithful Eros!
Thou comest on the point—Come hither, Eros!

Eros.
What would my gracious master?

Ant.
Canst thou be secret?

Eros.
As the catacombs.

Ant.
And do a deed—

Eros.
A deed!

Ant.
Of justice, Eros?

Eros.
What my lord bids, is justice.

Ant.
Wouldst thou believe it?—

Eros.
What?

Ant.
Nay, by yon blushing sun,
I saw it.

Eros.
Saw it, my master?—What, whom, when?—
I fly to execute!

Ant.
Thou hast heard what Julius said—
The wife of Cæsar should not be suspected.

Eros.
Wife, my lord, wife!—Is it possible?

Ant.
Fact, Eros, fact—
These eyes beheld them intermingling breaths,
And loose embracements.

Eros.
I was present when she dismiss'd her attendants,
To give audience, in private, to the prince of Armenia.

Ant.
'Tis so.—He, he!—
One of the quondam servants of her lusts,
Whom thus she recognizes.—Eros!

Eros.
My lord!

Ant.
I would she were at rest—

Eros.
With her forefathers—is it not?

Ant.
Ay, Eros.

Eros.
She shall not see to-morrow's sun.

Ant.
The manner, fearful!—
My hate is now extreme, even as my fondness—
Blood, blood!—

Eros.
It shall be so.

Ant.
The guards are all Pretorian—take my signet—
[Gives his signet,
And this my present!

Gives a dagger.
Eros.
I will give it truely.

Ant.
To her false heart!

Eros.
I will.—The Armenian too—

Ant.
A dungeon for the slave,
Till his adulterous flesh rot, piece meal, from him!

Eros.
Enough.

Ant.
I must aboard.—About it, Eros!—
[Exit Eros.
Accursed land, I leave thee now for ever.
Sink, Egypt! Nile o'erwhelm it, in a flow
That never shall have ebb!—
Gods, what have I to act!—how hard the part,
Chear in the face, with anguish at the heart!

[Exit Antony.

SCENE XI.

Enter Cleopatra, Artuasdes, Charmian, Iras, &c.
Art.
The great gods keep him firm, and make him worthy
Of all your love and confidence!—But yet,
I doubt his nature much.

Cleo.
O, fear him not!
You have been deceived. You know him not, my brother!
O no.
My Antony's made up of love and truth,
Whatever woman's fondest wish would form him;
Pleasant as summer, constant as the sun,
And bounteous as the seasons.—How now, Mardian,
Saw you my lord?

Mard.

No, madam. But I met several of his
officers laden with matters, caught up in a hurry,
and bustling toward the bay.

Cleo.
How, Mardian, how!—
Where tends their haste?

Mard.

That too I did enquire; but they turn'd
upon me a look of contempt, and deign'd no
further answer.

Cleo.
What may this mean?

SCENE XII.

Alexas enters.
Alexas.
Alas, my royal mistress!
Some mischief is on foot.—I met the emperor,
Striding, with furious pace, toward the port:
His face was as the brow of angry heaven,
When pests and blasting lightnings do impend,
And mortals fly to cover. I shrunk from him:
But, my ear caught the thunder of his voice,
Which, with a ban, that shook the continent,
Curs'd you, and us, and Egypt!

Cleo.
My heart misgives!—yet why I fear, I know not.

SCENE XIII.

Eros enters.
[Cleo.]
Eros!—O, welcome, Eros!
Where goes thy lord?

Eros.
To Italy, my lady—
Never again to set his foot in Egypt.

Cleo.
Alas!

[Cleopatra faints.
Eros.
Ha—so sudden!
Breath and complexion gone!—No feigning here!
The swoon of death is on her—what need of steel?
the very touch of grief hath cut her thread of life.
—He is abused. I swear it, by the gods, you
have been abused, my master!

Art.
False, false Roman!
Proud and insensible—my fears foretold it!
Raise her up gently—She revives.

Cleo.
Why have you brought me from the realms of silence,
Into a world of woe?—Come hither, Eros!
Now, as thou art a soldier, tell me truely—
Has thy lord left us?

Eros.
Madam, he has.

Cleo.
Wherefore?

Eros.
He saw you in the arms of this Armenian,
Caressing, and caress'd.

Cleo.
Say'st thou!—Ay, there it is—O fatal error!
He saw—but knew not that he was my brother.

Eros.
Your brother, royal lady?

Cleo.
Ay, Eros, ay; even so, my long lost brother,
The last of the imperial line of Lagos;
All of my kindred that is left on earth,
But newly found on this misdeeming day.

Art.
A woeful brother have I proved to thee,
Thou brightness of thy race! What's to be done?

Cleo.
Good Eros, fly, pursue, o'ertake, arrest him!
My lord, and thine!—reform this sad misprision.
Turn back his truant steps—fall at his feet;
And kiss them, in the name of Cleopatra!
From all my galleys, take the swiftest wing'd.
Wait not for further orders, lest I hold thee
From noon till night, with greetings to my Antony!
A province waits on thy success!—Away,
Away, kind Eros!

Eros.
Doubt not, I bring him on the speediest plumes
Of love and fond impatience!
[Exit Eros.

Cleo.
Alexas, fly thou after—and thou, Mardian,
After Alexas.
Posts upon posts shall overtake my fugitive,
Or I'll unpeople Egypt!

Art.
Sister, I take for ever from your sight,
The source of this day's in-breach on your happiness.
Where such a store of beauty is the tempter,
Even brothers may give cause for jealous deemings.

Cleo.
I would not, yet, suspect my Antony,
Of thoughts so devious.

Art.
I will reveal myself in person to him,
And, by my absence, try to heal the wound
My presence gave thy peace.—And O, 'tis time,
'Tis time I go.—
The Ptolemies were wont to wed their sisters;
And every hour I tarry, I shall think
The union less unlawful.

[Exit.
Cleo.
Charmian!

Charm.
My royal mistress.

Cleo.
These ills fall thick—How lost is human nature,
When left of all it loves!—Photinus!

Phot.
Madam!

Cleo.
Stop your appointed revels through the realm;
Triumphs and festivals are not for mourners!
And, dost thou hear?

Phot.
Your pleasure.

Cleo.
Down with the towers, hang every house in black;
And be no more the sound of music heard,
Throughout the land of Egypt!
[Exit Photinus.
Charmian!

Charm.
Madam!

Cleo.
Prepare my couch, within the catacombs;
Where I may lie, in this my death of comforts,
With the remains of my great ancestors.
See, that no voices of detested joy
Disturb me in the silence of my sorrows;
Nor any beam break in upon the gloom,
Saving the lamp of midnight!

[Exeunt.