University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras.
Cleo.

O, These leaden-footed messengers! will
they never arrive? Have earth and
ocean conspired to shut us in from all tidings?
I climb the pyramids, and look over the causeways
leading to Pelusium; I ascend the Pharos, and strain
my eyes to the verge of the world; I take the promontories
for fleets, and the white vapours for
sails—but no vessel comes! The land sends no post,
the sea no pinnace, to tell where their lord and my
lord is gone!

Women enter with the Young Prince and Princess.

Why have ye brought in these obtruders on me?

1st Wom.

Madam, they leave their food, and
pine in corners, and droop like over-charged
flowers, but when you are present.

Cleo.
Alas, the dear ones!—what can I do for them?
We but reflect discomforts on each other.
They serve to shew, that I am unhusbanded;
And I, that they are unfather'd!
O, my twin-stars, must all our sports and pleasantries,
Have ending thus!—Where have ye been, my darlings?

Y. Cleo.

My brother and I, madam, have been
hunting for our playfellow through all the chambers
and galleries; and when we could not find
him, we sat down and cried together.

Cleo.
Ay, there I should have been companion'd with ye.
Tears, tears, my precious orphans, are an office,
In which I would have born ye faithful fellowship.

Alex.
But, will our father never come back?—
Shall we never have a father again, madam?

Cleo.
No, no. He thinks you homely and deform'd;
And says you are misbegotten.

Y. Cleo.

Don't believe it, mother. He loves us
better than if we were all made up of diamonds.

Cleo.
How should he chuse?—Yes, you two are the links
Of love and life, by which I yet depend
To draw and bind him to me.
Miriam, prepare the chariot for my princes;
Give them a daily airing on the road
By which their mighty father should return:
The gods, by them, may send us happier issues.

[Exeunt Children with their Attendants.
Charm.

You know not, my mistress, how
much grief and sickness have changed you from
yourself.

Cleo.

Will these messengers never come?

Char.

If you go on thus, you cannot live to
enjoy the good tidings they shall bring you.

Cleo.
Come, then—
We'll try, a little, to divert this heaviness.
Give me mine angle, we'll along to the river;
There, with enticing baits, I will betray
The tawny fish: my bended hook shall pierce
Their scarlet gills; and, as I draw them up,
I'll think them every one an Antony,
And cry, You are caught, you are caught!

Charm.

Do you remember, madam, how you
shamed him, more than the loss of a battle; when
he, exultingly, drew up a fire-dried mullet, which
your diver had, secretly, fastened to his hook?

Cleo.
Yes, Charmian, yes.
That time—O times!—

I banter'd him out of patience, and laugh'd him
again into temper. I governed the man who governed
the world, like a fish, with mine angle,
and a single—A messenger!

[Horn sounds.

Perhaps, from Italy!—Charmian, your arm.

SCENE II.

Messenger enters.
[Cleo.]
Saw'st thou Alexas, fellow?—

Mess.
No, madam.

Cleo.
Thy looks do speak dark tidings—He does come,
As doth the raven to the sick man's window,
To say his doom's at hand!—I would he'd speak,
But cannot bid him.

Mess.
Madam! madam!

Cleo.
Dead?

Mess.
First, madam—He is well.

Cleo.
Gold! give him gold!—
But hold—it is a phrase of vulgar usage,
To say the dead are well—bring it to that,
The gold I give thee will I melt, and pour
Down thine ill uttering throat!

Mess.
I wait your patience.

Cleo.
Go to then—I will hear thee—
But there's no goodness in thy face!

Mess.
He is well, madam.

Cleo.
Why, that's well said.

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 of me!

Mess.
But yet—

Cleo.
I do not like, but yet—it does allay
The good precedence.—

Mess.
He is married to Octavia.

Cleo.
The most infectious pestilence upon thee!
Horrible villain!—hence!

Mess.
Gracious lady,
I bring the news but made it not.

Cleo.
Slave, thou hast lived too long!

[Exit Mess.
Charm.
Sweet mistress, keep yourself within yourself;
The man is innocent.

Cleo.
Call him in again—
[Messenger returns.
Though it be honest, it is never gracious
To bring bad tidings—
Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, henceforth
Thou'lt look a gorgon to me.—Is he married?

Mess.
To Cæsar's sister.

Cleo.
The gods confound thee!—dost thou hold there still?

Mess.
Should I lie, madam?

Cleo.
O, I would thou didst!
So half my Egypt were submerged, and made
A cistern for scaled snakes!—
The merchandises thou hast brought from Italy,
Are all too dear for me—Go, get thee hence!—
Lie they upon thy hands, and be undone!

[Exit Messenger.
Charm.
Good now, your highness, patience!

Cleo.
I will, and if I can—Call him again.
[Exit Iras.
Pray you, come hither, sir!

[Enter Messenger.
Mess.
Good majesty!
Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you,
When you are in displeasure.

Cleo.
Nearer, come!

Mess.
Most gracious Queen!

Cleo.
Art thou assured he is married?

Mess.
Madam, I am.

Cleo.
Falsest, falsest Antony!
O, murderous Roman, thou hast stabb'd my fame;
And, on the fair fronts of thine own begotten,
Branded the name of bastard!—Tell me, fellow!
Tell me—didst see Octavia?

Mess.
I did, dread sovereign!
I look'd her in the face, and saw her led
Between her brother and Marc Antony.

Cleo.
Say—Is her stature tall?

Mess.
It is not, madam.

Cleo.
Didst hear her speak?—Is her voice silver-tuned?

Mess.
Madam, I heard her speak—she is low-tongued.

Cleo.
And dwarfish?—Sure, he cannot like her long!

Char.
Impossible.

Iras.
Impossible.

Cleo.
I think so, wenches.—Tell me, gentle friend,
What majesty is in her mien?—Bethink thee—
Hast thou e'er look'd on majesty?

Mess.
Yes, lady!—
The majesty of the world.

Char.
Isis forbid else!—
The man is an Egyptian.

Mess.
She creeps, madam.
Her motion and her person are as one—
She shews a body, rather than a life;
A statue, than a breather!

Cleo.
Is this certain?

Mess.
Or I have no observance.

Char.
Three in Egypt,
Cannot make better note.

Cleo.
I do perceive it.
He is very knowing—There's nothing in her, yet.
The fellow has good judgment.

Iras.
Excellent!

Cleo.
Guess at her years, I pray thee.

Mess.
Madam, she was a widow; and has children,
Likely to make her grannam.

Cleo.
Hark! a widow, girls!

Char.
And grandmother—O hideous!

Iras.
Ah, poor Antony!

Cleo.
Her hair, what colour?

Mess.
Black, madam; and her forehead
As low as she could wish.

Cleo.
There is gold for thee—
Thou must not take my former sharpness ill.
I will employ thee back again; I find thee
Most fit for business—Go, and make thee ready,
We will prepare our letters.

[Exit Messenger.
Char.
A proper man!

Cleo.
Indeed he is so.—I repent me much,
That I so harried him.—Why, as he reports,
This creature is no such matter.

Iras.
Nothing.

Cleo.
The fellow has discernment, and should know.

Char.
Defend us else! the man has seen distinctions!

Cleo.
I have one thing, yet, to ask him, my good Charmian!—
But, 'tis no matter—thou shalt bring him to me,
Where I will write—All may be well enough.

Char., Iras.
We warrant you, madam.

[Several horns sounds
Cleo.
From Italy, again!—perhaps.

SCENE III.

Alexas enters.
Cleo.
Alexas!

Alexas.
Sovereign of Egypt, hail!—Hail Cleopatra!
Shortly the mistress of the spacious East!

Cleo.
Alexas, thou art much unlike Marc Antony;
Yet, coming from him, he doth gild thy favour.
O, welcome!
Where is our emperor?

Alexas.
On his way to Egypt.

Cleo.
Coming?

Alexas.
If that the heavy grief he took, to hear
The tidings of your sickness, let him not,
He holds me hard in chace.

Cleo.
And how, Alexas?—well—and how?—thou hast put me
Almost beside my sense!

Alexas.
Ere we could overtake, or learn his course,
He reach'd Neapolis, where he met Cæsar,
Was reconciled, and wedded.

Cleo.
Lost again!—
Perdition stands confirm'd.

Alexas.
Your patience, mistress!
All's well as you could wish.—Your gallant brother
First came, while Antony was at high feast,
And sent a silver plate, thus mark'd in Syriac:
“Ptolemy Artuasdes, the last male offspring
“of the line of Lagos, comes to resume the
“shackles of the King of Armenia.”
This sentence, like a Sybil's, ope'd, at once,
His eye upon his error.

Cleo.
O, the gods,
O the bless'd gods!—and is he then convinced?

Alexas.
He is, and tasks his fault with deep atonements.
He rose, and down he came, and, to his breast,
Clasp'd, and reclasp'd, the royal Artuasdes;
Call'd him his brother, heap'd proud favours on him;
And added Media to his wide dominions.

Cleo.
A trumpet!—whence?

[Trumpet.
Alexas.
By Isis and Osiris, yes, 'tis he.
He comes!—the emperor's trumpet—I do know it,
By the pride of its tonance!

Cleo.
Now—
The gods defend us from a sudden death,
Although of transport!

SCENE IV.

Antony enters attended, &c.
Ant.
O, thou day o'the world,
Chain mine arm'd neck, leap thou, attire and all,
Through proof of harness, to my heart!
O Cleopatra!
I should have flown, my love, and have prevented
All tidings of my coming, though my messengers
Had all been Mercuries, the sent of Jove,
And wing'd at head and heel,
But that the grief of your distemperature
Did seize me at Brundusium, my mind's sickness
Weighing my body down—till, all impatient,
I gave commandment to my sad attendants,
To take me up, and cast me in the hold,
And bear my bones, if nothing else, to Egypt!
Not speak, my love?
Why, Cleopatra—what?—
All drown'd in tears?—

Cleo.
Let it be, sir.—'Tis nature's kind relief—

Ant.
A shower in June—'tis full of sunshine, sweet!—

Cleo.
Will you not visit Octavia again suddenly?

Ant.
No more, no more of that—the fault of error!
I pray thee, dearest, speak not, think not of her:
For here I plight thee mine eternal faith,
Never to part, till nature's frame shall sunder.

Cleo.
My Antony, my Antony, my Antony!

[Embraces
Ant.
You're pale, my love; the morning of your cheek
Lacks of its wonted rose; and that thief, sickness,
Has robb'd me of a part of Cleopatra.

Cleo.
No matter, dear; you bring the sovereign balm,
And now, all will be whole again.

Ant.
But—
Mine eyes look round, in vain, for two acquaintance,
Dear as the life that lights them.
Where are my heirs of the world, my sun and moon?
Where my young Cytherea of the isles,
And Hero of the Grannic?

Cleo.
Gone on the way that points toward Pelusium;
Their little hearts beating with expectation
To meet their playfellow.

Ant.
Fly some, and give them note of our arrival.—
How fare ye?
How fare ye, my brave wenches?

Charm.
Thanks to your mightiness!

Iras.
We rejoice to see you!

Ant.
What, shall we to our sports?—I have been famish'd!
All cramp'd and shackled with formalities;
And, with a double and impetuous relish,
I rush to my delights—Shall we have sport?
I am all jovial, as the god of laughter;
Frolic and wild, with boundless joy, as are
The revellers of Bacchus!

Cleo.
Hye, Alexas!
Proclaim a festival, a day of triumph,
Through Alexandria! every door, fly open!
And every house be made a theatre
For freakful masque, and general exultation!
Fill up the public cisterns, to the brim,
With wines of th'Archipelago—He, who shews
A brow of sadness, on the day of Antony,
We do attach him, as a public traitor
To Egypt and our throne!

SCENE V.

Enobarbus enters.
Ant.
Domitius Enobarbus!—By the Jove
Of Horned Ammon, he!—How's this, Domitius?
Did I not leave thee in thy darling Italy,
From whence thou didst refuse to move thy foot,
Or share our further fortunes?

Enob.
True—it is all very true.

Ant.
And whence, and how, this most unlook'd for meeting?

Enob.

Because I am an ass—is that any matter
of news? Here I am come again to you, though
the tide of discretion, and the wind of good fortune,
were both full in my teeth.

Ant.

Why didst thou come, then?

Enob.

Why?—for no why, that I know of.—
Can any man give a reason for acting against reason?
I'd have been damn'd, before I'd a come
near you, if I could have found in my heart to
have kept away.—In my conscience, I think a
lady, who shall be nameless, has given you a love-potion,
and you have bequeathed the dregs to a
certain foolish attendant of yours.

Ant.
Thank you, thank you, my honest soldier—
We will live to recompence this, and all former friendships.

Cleo.
Welcome to Egypt, my old monitor!

Enob.

No more of that, madam, no more of
that—the last flaggon that I drank to your healths,
has washed all kinds of catechism from memory;
and I come to spend, what is lent me of life, in a
laugh.—Is there no game on foot?—what jollity,
what jubilee?—I will lead a dance to the maddest
in Alexandria,

Charm.

You are welcome to Egypt!

Iras.

Welcome to Egypt, sir!

Enob.

Thanks, thanks, my sweet lasses!—but,
take care of your tyres, to night—there will be
romps, I can tell ye!

Ant.
That's my brave Enobarbus!
My Queen, my goddess!
Yield him thy bluest veins—a hand that kings
Have lip'd, and trembled, kissing.

[Enobarbus kisses her hand.
Enob.

By my troth, lovely lady, the world
will never, again, give such another sweet
apology, for a man's playing beside the purpose.—

Cleo.
Your true friend, ever.

Messenger enters.
Mess.
My lord, a swift wing'd galley from Tarentum,
Brings word that Cæsar, with a mighty power,
Sets out for Alexandria.

Ant.
'Twere safer for him to have kept in port.
What, does the young Diogenes come forth
To bark at joy, and interrupt the pleasures
His sourness cannot taste?—We will chastize
The boy for his presumption.

Enob.

My lord, I had forgot to tell you,
that, before I left Italy, Cæsar did publish a multitude
of manifestos against you, appealing to
the injury you had done his sister, and to the
justice of his own quarrel, as he was pleased to
stile it.

Ant.
No matter, no matter.—Guessing whereto
I was bound,
He sent me a saucy message to Brundusium;
To which I return'd,
That my weapon was desirous to give him personal answer—
Or, that I would meet him, host to host, on the plains
Of that Pharsalia, where I did help his uncle,
Cæsar, to wrest the world from Pompey.

Cleo.
A woman to a boy, is equal controversy:
I will, myself, go forth and chase him home!
I have one hundred of the range of war,
All in the bay, full mann'd, and 'quipt for service.

Ant.
That's my Penthesilea!—We look out
For our fleets, hourly;—here they were appointed.
We'll fight with him by sea!

Enob.
My dear master,
Why would you do so?—You have here, at hand,
The force of nineteen legions, veterans all,
The honourable remnant and approof
Of courage, often tried, but never conquer'd.
These were enough to win the world to Antony,
Though all of it were Cæsar's.

Cleo.
'Tis against Cleopatra that Rome comes:
The cause is Egypt's, Egypt's be the quarrel!

Ant.
The cause is your's, and your's be all the glory!

Enob.
You, therein, throw away
The absolute soldiership you have by land;
You do forego your own renowned knowledge,
And cast assurance to the jaws of fortune.

Cleo.
Would you, then, let him land?—By sea, my Antony!

Ant.
By sea, by sea, my mistress!

Enob.
O, noble emperor, do not fight by sea!
Trust not to rotten planks—Do you misdoubt
Our swords, and these our wounds?—Let the Egyptians
And the Phænicians go a ducking—We
Are used to conquer standing firm on earth,
And fighting foot to foot.

Ant.
Well, well—away—
By sea, by land, by fire, or in the air,
We would confront him!—Come, come on, my Thetis!

[Exeunt.
Enob.

Well, Antony, well—the gods make
me a false prophet!—but we shall see, we shall
see!

[Exit.