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Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep To take the one the other, by some chance,
Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends, And interjoin their issues.
Let me twine
Mine arms about that body, where against
My grained ash a hundred times hath broke,
And scared the moon with splinters! Here I clip*
As hotly and as nobly with thy love,
A Favourable Time should be chosen to ask a Favour.
He was not taken well; he had not dined: The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then We pout upon the morning, are unapt To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd These pipes and these conveyances of our blood With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls Than in our priest-like fasts: therefore I'll watch him, Till he be dieted to my request,
And then I'll set upon him.
Inflexibility of Coriolanus to the Appeal of his Wife and Mother.
My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd mould Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand
The grandchild to her blood. But, out affection!
Great nature cries, "Deny not."—Let the Volces
Coriolanus' rekindled Love for his Wife
Like a dull actor now,
I have forgot my part, and I am out,
Coriolanus's Prayer for his Son.
The god of soldiers,
With the consent of supreme Jove, inform
Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou mayst prove
Peace after a Siege.
Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide, As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you, The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes, Tabors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, Make the sun dance.
Aufidius's Jealousy of Coriolanus.
Being banish'd for 't, he came unto my hearth;
Coriolanus's furious Denunciation of Aufidius. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave !— Repaid me merely with good looks.
Pardon me, lords, 't is the first time that ever
I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave
Must give this cur the lie: and his own notion
(Who wears my stripes impress'd on him that must bear My beating to his grave), shall join to thrust. The lie unto him.
Cut me to pieces, Volces: men and lads,
Contrition of Aufidius after the Assassination of
My rage is gone,
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Mark Antony, joined in the Roman triumvirate with Octavius Cæsar and Lepidus, is passing his time in luxurious indolence in Egypt, when intelligence is brought to him of the death of his wife Fulvia, on which he repairs to Rome, where an altercation
takes place between him and Cæsar; Lepidus interposes between the disputants, and their wranglings are healed by the marriage of Antony with Octavia, Cæsar's sister. The amity between the rival triumvirs is, however, but of brief duration, and war being declared between them, Antony is defeated at the battle of Actium. After this fatal engagement, through his ambassador Euphronius, he sues to Cæsar to be permitted to remain in Egypt, or, this not being granted, that he may reside as a private man at Athens. The conqueror refuses both petitions, and the strife is renewed. In a battle by land Antony is victorious, but his forces in a sea-fight are completely vanquished, and he ends his life by falling on his own sword. Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, at whose court Antony has been residing, is taken prisoner by Cæsar; whilst a captive she obtains possession of an asp, a small venomous serpent, the bite of which, when applied to her breast, kills her, and the play concludes with an eloquent harangue from Cæsar. Speaking of this play, Dr. Johnson says it "keeps curiosity always busy and the passions always interested. The continual hurry of the action, the variety of incidents, and the quick succession of one passage to another, call the mind forwards without intermission, from the first act to the last."
Antony's luxurious mode of Living.
You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know, It is not Cæsar's natural vice to hate One great competitor. From Alexandria This is the news: he fishes, drinks, and wastes The lamps of night in revel; is not more manlike Than Cleopatra; nor the queen of Ptolemy More womanly than he hardly gave audience, or Vouchsaf'd to think he had partners. You shall find
there A man, who is the abstract of all faults That all men follow.