 | Antony and Cleopatra |  |
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
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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!
| Antony and Cleopatra | |