The Complete Works of William Shakespeare · William Shakespeare
SCENE III. Alexandria. A Room in Cleopatra’s palace.
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Alexas and Iras. CLEOPATRA. Where is he? CHARMIAN. I did not see him since. CLEOPATRA. See where he is, who’s with him, what he does. I did not send you. If you find him sad, Say I am dancing; if in mirth, report That I am sudden sick. Quick, and return. [_Exit Alexas._] CHARMIAN. Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly, You do not hold the method to enforce The like from him. CLEOPATRA. What should I do I do not? CHARMIAN. In each thing give him way; cross him in nothing. CLEOPATRA. Thou teachest like a fool: the way to lose him. CHARMIAN. Tempt him not so too far; I wish, forbear. In time we hate that which we often fear. But here comes Antony. Enter Antony. CLEOPATRA. I am sick and sullen. ANTONY. I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose— CLEOPATRA. Help me away, dear Charmian! I shall fall. It cannot be thus long; the sides of nature Will not sustain it. ANTONY. Now, my dearest queen— CLEOPATRA. Pray you, stand farther from me. ANTONY. What’s the matter? CLEOPATRA. 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 say ’tis I that keep you here. I have no power upon you; hers you are.
ANTONY. The gods best know— CLEOPATRA. O, never was there queen So mightily betrayed! Yet at the first I saw the treasons planted. ANTONY. Cleopatra— CLEOPATRA. 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 entangled with those mouth-made vows Which break themselves in swearing! ANTONY. Most sweet queen— CLEOPATRA. 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 turned the greatest liar. ANTONY. How now, lady! CLEOPATRA. I would I had thy inches, thou shouldst know There were a heart in Egypt. ANTONY. Hear me, queen: The strong necessity of time commands Our services awhile, 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 Breed scrupulous faction; the hated, grown to strength, Are newly grown to love; the condemned Pompey, Rich in his father’s honour, creeps apace Into the hearts of such as have not thrived 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.
CLEOPATRA. Though age from folly could not give me freedom, It does from childishness. Can Fulvia die? ANTONY. She’s dead, my queen. Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure read The garboils she awaked; at the last, best, See when and where she died. CLEOPATRA. O most false love! Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see, In Fulvia’s death how mine received shall be. ANTONY. Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know The purposes I bear; which are, or cease, As you shall give th’ advice. By the fire That quickens Nilus’ slime, I go from hence Thy soldier, servant, making peace or war As thou affects. CLEOPATRA. Cut my lace, Charmian, come! But let it be; I am quickly ill and well, So Antony loves. ANTONY. My precious queen, forbear, And give true evidence to his love, which stands An honourable trial. CLEOPATRA. So Fulvia told me. I prithee, turn aside and weep for her, Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears Belong to Egypt. Good now, play one scene Of excellent dissembling, and let it look Like perfect honour. ANTONY. You’ll heat my blood. No more. CLEOPATRA. You can do better yet, but this is meetly. ANTONY. Now, by my sword— CLEOPATRA. And target. Still he mends. But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Charmian, How this Herculean Roman does become The carriage of his chafe.
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