He calls me boy; and chides, as he had power
To beat me out of Egypt; my messenger
He hath whipp’d with rods; dares me to personal combat,
Caesar to Antony: let the old ruffian know
I have many other ways to die; meantime
Laugh at his challenge.

Caesar must think,
When one so great begins to rage, he’s hunted
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now
Make boot of his distraction: never anger
Made good guard for itself.

He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune,
He is twenty men to one.

To-morrow, soldier,
By sea and land I’ll fight: or I will live,
Or bathe my dying honour in the blood
Shall make it live again. Woo’t thou fight well?

Well said; come on.
Call forth my household servants: let’s to-night
Be bounteous at our meal.

Give me thy hand,
Thou hast been rightly honest;—so hast thou;—
Thou—and thou—and thou:—you have served me well,
And kings have been your fellows.

Aside to Cleopatra. ’Tis one of those odd tricks which sorrow shoots
Out of the mind.

And thou art honest too.
I wish I could be made so many men,
And all of you clapp’d up together in
An Antony, that I might do you service
So good as you have done.

Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night:
Scant not my cups; and make as much of me
As when mine empire was your fellow too,
And suffer’d my command.

Tend me to-night;
May be it is the period of your duty:
Haply you shall not see me more; or if,
A mangled shadow: perchance to-morrow
You’ll serve another master. I look on you
As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends,
I turn you not away; but, like a master
Married to your good service, stay till death:
Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more,
And the gods yield you for’t!

What mean you, sir,
To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep;
And I, an ass, am onion-eyed: for shame,
Transform us not to women.

It will determine one way: fare you well.
Heard you of nothing strange about the streets?

Here we: and if to-morrow
Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope
Our landmen will stand up.

’Tis a brave army,
And full of purpose. Music of the hautboys as under the stage.

Peace, I say!
What should this mean?

’Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony loved,
Now leaves him.

Walk; let’s see if other watchmen
Do hear what we do? They advance to another post.

Speaking together. How now!
How now! do you hear this?

Follow the noise so far as we have quarter;
Let’s see how it will give off.

Come good fellow, put mine iron on:
If fortune be not ours to-day, it is
Because we brave her: come.

Nay, I’ll help too.
What’s this for?

Ah, let be, let be! thou art
The armourer of my heart: false, false; this, this.

Well, well;
We shall thrive now. Seest thou, my good fellow?
Go put on thy defences.

Rarely, rarely:
He that unbuckles this, till we do please
To daff’t for our repose, shall hear a storm.
Thou fumblest, Eros; and my queen’s a squire
More tight at this than thou: dispatch. O love,
That thou couldst see my wars to-day, and knew’st
The royal occupation! thou shouldst see
A workman in’t.

Good morrow to thee; welcome:
Thou look’st like him that knows a warlike charge:
To business that we love we rise betime,
And go to’t with delight.

A thousand, sir,
Early though’t be, have on their riveted trim,
And at the port expect you. Shout. Trumpets flourish.

’Tis well blown, lads:
This morning, like the spirit of a youth
That means to be of note, begins betimes.
So, so; come, give me that: this way; well said.
Fare thee well, dame, whate’er becomes of me:
This is a soldier’s kiss: rebukeable Kisses her.
And worthy shameful check it were, to stand
On more mechanic compliment; I’ll leave thee
Now, like a man of steel. You that will fight,
Follow me close; I’ll bring you to’t. Adieu. Exeunt Antony, Eros, Captains, and Soldiers.

Would thou and those thy scars had once prevail’d
To make me fight at land!

Hadst thou done so,
The kings that have revolted, and the soldier
That has this morning left thee, would have still
Follow’d thy heels.

Who!
One ever near thee: call for Enobarbus,
He shall not hear thee; or from Caesar’s camp
Say “I am none of thine.”

Sir,
He is with Caesar.

Sir, his chests and treasure
He has not with him.

Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight:
Our will is Antony be took alive;
Make it so known.

The time of universal peace is near:
Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook’d world
Shall bear the olive freely.

Antony
Is come into the field.

Go charge Agrippa
Plant those that have revolted in the van,
That Antony may seem to spend his fury
Upon himself. Exeunt all but Enobarbas.

Alexas did revolt; and went to Jewry on
Affairs of Antony; there did persuade
Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar,
And leave his master Antony: for this pains
Caesar hath hang’d him. Canidius and the rest
That fell away have entertainment, but
No honourable trust. I have done ill;
Of which I do accuse myself so sorely,
That I will joy no more.

Enobarbus, Antony
Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with
His bounty overplus: the messenger
Came on my guard; and at thy tent is now
Unloading of his mules.

Mock not, Enobarbus.
I tell you true: best you safed the bringer
Out of the host; I must attend mine office,
Or would have done’t myself. Your emperor
Continues still a Jove. Exit.

Retire, we have engaged ourselves too far:
Caesar himself has work, and our oppression
Exceeds what we expected. Exeunt.

O my brave emperor, this is fought indeed!
Had we done so at first, we had droven them home
With clouts about their heads.

I had a wound here that was like a T,
But now ’tis made an H.

We’ll beat ’em into bench-holes: I have yet
Room for six scotches more.

They are beaten, sir; and our advantage serves
For a fair victory.

Let us score their backs,
And snatch ’em up, as we take hares, behind:
’Tis sport to maul a runner.

I will reward thee
Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold
For thy good valour. Come thee on.

We have beat him to his camp: run one before,
And let the queen know of our gests. To-morrow,
Before the sun shall see’s, we’ll spill the blood
That has to-day escaped. I thank you all;
For doughty-handed are you, and have fought
Not as you served the cause, but as’t had been
Each man’s like mine; you have shown all Hectors.
Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends,
Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful tears
Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss
The honour’d gashes whole. To Scarus. Give me thy hand;

To this great fairy I’ll commend thy acts,
Make her thanks bless thee. To Cleopatra. O thou day o’ the world,
Chain mine arm’d neck; leap thou, attire and all,
Through proof of harness to my heart, and there
Ride on the pants triumphing!

Lord of lords!
O infinite virtue, comest thou smiling from
The world’s great snare uncaught?

My nightingale,
We have beat them to their beds. What, girl! though grey
Do something mingle with our younger brown, yet ha’ we
A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can
Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man;
Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand:
Kiss it, my warrior: he hath fought to-day
As if a god, in hate of mankind, had
Destroy’d in such a shape.

I’ll give thee, friend,
An armour all of gold; it was a king’s.

If we be not relieved within this hour,
We must return to the court of guard: the night
Is shiny; and they say we shall embattle
By the second hour i’ the morn.

This last day was
A shrewd one to’s.

Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon,
When men revolted shall upon record
Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did
Before thy face repent!

Peace!
Hark further.

O sovereign mistress of true melancholy,
The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me,
That life, a very rebel to my will,
May hang no longer on me: throw my heart
Against the flint and hardness of my fault;
Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder,
And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony,
Nobler than my revolt is infamous,
Forgive me in thine own particular;
But let the world rank me in register
A master-leaver and a fugitive:
O Antony! O Antony! Dies.

Let’s speak
To him.

Let’s hear him, for the things he speaks
May concern Caesar.

Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his
Was never yet for sleep.

The hand of death hath raught him. Drums afar off. Hark! the drums
Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him
To the court of guard; he is of note: our hour
Is fully out.

Their preparation is to-day by sea;
We please them not by land.

Yet they are not join’d: where yond pine does stand,
I shall discover all: I’ll bring thee word
Straight, how ’tis like to go. Exit.

Swallows have built
In Cleopatra’s sails their nests: the augurers
Say they know not, they cannot tell; look grimly,
And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony
Is valiant, and dejected; and, by starts,
His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear,
Of what he has, and has not. Alarum afar off, as at a sea-fight.

All is lost;
This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me:
My fleet hath yielded to the foe; and yonder
They cast their caps up and carouse together
Like friends long lost. Triple-turn’d whore! ’tis thou
Hast sold me to this novice; and my heart
Makes only wars on thee. Bid them all fly;
For when I am revenged upon my charm,
I have done all. Bid them all fly; begone. Exit Scarus.
O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more:
Fortune and Antony part here; even here
Do we shake hands. All come to this? The hearts
That spaniel’d me at heels, to whom I gave
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets
On blossoming Caesar; and this pine is bark’d,
That overtopp’d them all. Betray’d I am:
O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm—
Whose eye beck’d forth my wars, and call’d them home;
Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end—
Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose,
Beguiled me to the very heart of loss.
What, Eros, Eros!

Help me, my women! O, he is more mad
Than Telamon for his shield; the boar of Thessaly
Was never so emboss’d.

To the monument!
There lock yourself, and send him word you are dead.
The soul and body rive not more in parting
Than greatness going off.

Sometimes we see a cloud that’s dragonish;
A vapour sometime like a bear or lion,
A tower’d citadel, a pendent rock,
A forked mountain, or blue promontory
With trees upon’t, that nod unto the world,
And mock our eyes with air: thou hast seen these signs;
They are black vesper’s pageants.

That which is now a horse, even with a thought
The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct,
As water is in water.

My good knave Eros, now thy captain is
Even such a body: here I am Antony;
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.
I made these wars for Egypt: and the queen—
Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine;
Which whilst it was mine had annex’d unto’t
A million more, now lost—she, Eros, has
Pack’d cards with Caesar, and false-play’d my glory
Unto an enemy’s triumph.
Nay, weep not, gentle Eros; there is left us
Ourselves to end ourselves.

O! thy vile lady!
She has robb’d me of my sword.

No, Antony;
My mistress loved thee, and her fortunes mingled
With thine entirely.

Hence, saucy eunuch; peace
She hath betray’d me and shall die the death.

Death of one person can be paid but once,
And that she has discharged: what thou wouldst do
Is done unto thy hand: the last she spake
Was “Antony! most noble Antony!”
Then in the midst a tearing groan did break
The name of Antony; it was divided
Between her heart and lips: she render’d life,
Thy name so buried in her.

Unarm, Eros; the long day’s task is done,
And we must sleep. To Mardian. That thou depart’st hence safe,
Does pay thy labour richly; go. Exit Mardian. Off, pluck off:
The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep
The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides!
Heart, once be stronger than thy continent,
Crack thy frail case! Apace, Eros, apace.
No more a soldier: bruised pieces, go;
You have been nobly borne. From me awhile. Exit Eros.
I will o’ertake thee, Cleopatra, and
Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now
All length is torture: since the torch is out,
Lie down, and stray no farther: now all labour
Mars what it does; yea, very force entangles
Itself with strength: seal then, and all is done.
Eros!—I come, my queen:—Eros!—Stay for me:
Where souls do couch on flowers, we’ll hand in hand,
And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze:
Dido and her Aeneas shall want troops,
And all the haunt be ours. Come, Eros, Eros!

Since Cleopatra died,
I have lived in such dishonour, that the gods
Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword
Quarter’d the world, and o’er green Neptune’s back
With ships made cities, condemn myself to lack
The courage of a woman; less noble mind
Than she which by her death our Caesar tells
“I am conqueror of myself.” Thou art sworn, Eros,
That, when the exigent should come, which now
Is come indeed, when I should see behind me
The inevitable prosecution of
Disgrace and horror, that, on my command,
Thou then wouldst kill me: do’t; the time is come:
Thou strikest not me, ’tis Caesar thou defeat’st.
Put colour in thy cheek.

The gods withhold me!
Shall I do that which all the Parthian darts,
Though enemy, lost aim, and could not?

Eros,
Wouldst thou be window’d in great Rome and see
Thy master thus with pleach’d arms, bending down
His corrigible neck, his face subdued
To penetrative shame, whilst the wheel’d seat
Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded
His baseness that ensued?

Come, then; for with a wound I must be cured.
Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn
Most useful for thy country.

When I did make thee free, sworest thou not then
To do this when I bade thee? Do it at once;
Or thy precedent services are all
But accidents unpurposed. Draw, and come.

Turn from me, then, that noble countenance,
Wherein the worship of the whole world lies.

Then let it do at once
The thing why thou hast drawn it.

My dear master,
My captain, and my emperor, let me say,
Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell.

Why, there then: thus I do escape the sorrow
Of Antony’s death. Kills himself.

Thrice-nobler than myself!
Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what
I should, and thou couldst not. My queen and Eros
Have by their brave instruction got upon me
A nobleness in record: but I will be
A bridegroom in my death, and run into’t
As to a lover’s bed. Come, then; and, Eros,
Thy master dies thy scholar: to do thus Falling on his sword.
I learn’d of thee. How! not dead? not dead?
The guard, ho! O, dispatch me!

I have done my work ill, friends: O, make an end
Of what I have begun.

Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly.
This sword but shown to Caesar, with this tidings,
Shall enter me with him.

Lives he?
Wilt thou not answer, man? Exit Dercetas.

Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy sword, and give me
Sufficing strokes for death.

Most absolute lord,
My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee.

Lock’d in her monument. She had a prophesying fear
Of what hath come to pass: for when she saw—
Which never shall be found—you did suspect
She had disposed with Caesar, and that your rage
Would not be purged, she sent you word she was dead;
But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent
Me to proclaim the truth; and I am come,
I dread, too late.

What, ho, the emperor’s guard! The guard, what, ho!
Come, your lord calls!

Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides;
’Tis the last service that I shall command you.

Woe, woe are we, sir, you may not live to wear
All your true followers out.

No, I will not:
All strange and terrible events are welcome,
But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow,
Proportion’d to our cause, must be as great
As that which makes it.

His death’s upon him, but not dead.
Look out o’ the other side your monument;
His guard have brought him thither.

O sun,
Burn the great sphere thou movest in! darkling stand
The varying shore o’ the world. O Antony,
Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian, help, Iras, help;
Help, friends below; let’s draw him hither.

Peace!
Not Caesar’s valour hath o’erthrown Antony,
But Antony’s hath triumph’d on itself.

So it should be, that none but Antony
Should conquer Antony; but woe ’tis so!

I am dying, Egypt, dying; only
I here importune death awhile, until
Of many thousand kisses the poor last
I lay upon thy lips.

I dare not, dear—
Dear my lord, pardon—I dare not,
Lest I be taken: not the imperious show
Of the full-fortuned Caesar ever shall
Be brooch’d with me; if knife, drugs, serpents, have
Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe:
Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes
And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour
Demuring upon me. But come, come, Antony—
Help me, my women—we must draw thee up:
Assist, good friends.

Here’s sport indeed! How heavy weighs my lord!
Our strength is all gone into heaviness,
That makes the weight: had I great Juno’s power,
The strong-wing’d Mercury should fetch thee up,
And set thee by Jove’s side. Yet come a little—
Wishes were ever fools—O, come, come, come; They heave Antony aloft to Cleopatra.
And welcome, welcome! die where thou hast lived:
Quicken with kissing: had my lips that power,
Thus would I wear them out.

I am dying, Egypt, dying:
Give me some wine, and let me speak a little.

No, let me speak; and let me rail so high,
That the false housewife Fortune break her wheel,
Provoked by my offence.

One word, sweet queen:
Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. O!

Gentle, hear me:
None about Caesar trust but Proculeius.

My resolution and my hands I’ll trust;
None about Caesar.

The miserable change now at my end
Lament nor sorrow at; but please your thoughts
In feeding them with those my former fortunes
Wherein I lived, the greatest prince o’ the world,
The noblest; and do now not basely die,
Not cowardly put off my helmet to
My countryman—a Roman by a Roman
Valiantly vanquish’d. Now my spirit is going;
I can no more.

Noblest of men, woo’t die?
Hast thou no care of me? shall I abide
In this dull world, which in thy absence is
No better than a sty? O, see, my women, Antony dies.
The crown o’ the earth doth melt. My lord!
O, wither’d is the garland of the war,
The soldier’s pole is fall’n: young boys and girls
Are level now with men; the odds is gone,
And there is nothing left remarkable
Beneath the visiting moon. Faints.

Royal Egypt,
Empress!