:

Enter another Messenger.

Or lose myself in dotage. What are you?

2 Mes. Fulvia thy wife is dead.
Ant.

2 Mes. In Sicyon:

Where died she?

Her length of fickness, with what else more serious

Importeth thee to know, this bears. [Gives a Letter.

Ant.

Forbear me.

[Exit Messenger.

There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I defire 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.-How now! Enobarbus!

Enter ENOBARBUS.

Eno. What's your pleasure, fir?
Ant. I must with haste from hence.

Eno. Why, then, we kill all our women: We fee 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 occafion, 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: I do think, there is mettle in death, which commits commits some loving act upon her, she hath such a celerity in dying.

Ant. She is cunning past man's thought.

Eno. Alack, fir, no; her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love: We cannot call her winds and waters, fighs and tears; they are greater storms and tempests than almanacks can report: this cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she makes a shower of rain as well as Jove.

Ant. 'Would I had never seen her!

Eno. O, fir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work; which not to have been bless'd withal, would have difcredited your travel.

Ant. Fulvia is dead.

Eno. Sir?

Ant. Fulvia is dead.

Eno. Fulvia?

Ant. Dead.

1

Eno. Why, fir, give the gods a thankful facrifice. When it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a man from him, it shows to man the tailors of the earth; comforting therein, that when old robes are worn out, there are members to make new. If there were no more women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut, and the cafe to be lamented: this grief is crown'd with confolation; your old smock brings forth a new petticoat :-and, indeed, the tears live in an onion, that should water this forrow.

Ant. The business she hath broached in the state, Cannot endure my abfence.

Eno. And the business you have broach'd here cannot be without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly 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 given the dare to Cæfar, and commands
The empire of the fea: our flippery 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 fon; who, high in name and power,
Higher than both in blood and life, stands up
For the main foldier: whose quality, going on,
The fides o'the world may danger: Much is breeding,
Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life,
And not a ferpent's poison. Say, our pleasure,
To fuch whose place is under us, requires
Our quick remove from hence,
Eno. I shall do't.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and Alexas.

Cleo. Where is he?

Char.

I did not fee him fince.

Cleo. See where he is, who's with him, what he does:

I did not send you;-If you find him fad,

Say, I am dancing; if in mirth, report

That I am fudden sick: Quick, and return.

[Exit ALEX.

Char.

Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly,

You do not hold the method to enforce

The like from him.

Cleo.

What should I do, I do not?

Char. In each thing give him way, cross him in nothing. Cleo. Thou teachest like a fool: the way to lose him. Char. Tempt him not so too far: I with, forbear;

In time we hate that which we often fear.

Enter ANTONY.

But here comes Antony.
Cleo.

I am fick, and fullen.

Ant. I am forry to give breathing to my purpose,

Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian, I shall fall;

It cannot be thus long, the fides of nature

Will not fustain it.

Ant.

Now, my dearest queen,

Cleo. Pray you, stand further from me.

Ant.

What's the matter?

Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's some good

news.

What says the married woman?-You may go;
'Would, she had never given you leave to come!

Let her not fay, 'tis I that keep you here,

I have no power upon you; hers you are,

Ant. The gods best know,

Gleo.

O, never was there queen

So mightily betray'd! Yet, at the first,

I saw the treasons planted.

Cleo. Why should I think, you can be mine, and true,

Though you in swearing thake the throned gods,

Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness,

To

To be entangled with those mouth-made vows,
Which break themselves in swearing!

Ant.

Most sweet queen,

Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going, But bid farewell, and go: when you sued 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!

Cleo. 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 domestick 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
Into the hearts of such as have not thriv'd

Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten:
And quietness, grown fick of rest, would purge
By any defperate change: My more particular,
And that which most with you should fafe my going,
Is Fulvia's death.

Cleo. Though age from folly could not give me free

dom,

It does from childishness:-Can Fulvia die?
Ant. She's dead, my queen:

Look