Before you, Lepidus. Lep. Your way is shorter; My purposes do draw me much about: You'll win two days upon me. Mec. Agr. Sir, good success! [Exeunt. SCENE V. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS. Cleo. Give me some music; music, moody food Of us that trade in love. Attend. The music, ho! Enter MARDIAN. Cleo. Let it alone; let 's to billiards: come, Charmian. Char. My arm is sore, best play with Mardian. As with a woman.—Come, you'll play with me, sir? Cleo. And when good will is show'd, though 't come too short, The actor may plead pardon. I'll none now. Give me mine angle,-we'll to the river: there, Tawny-finn'd' fishes; my bended hook shall pierce 7 Tawney-FINN'D-] Theobald altered Tawney-fine, of all the folios, into Tawney-finn'd," aud the change seems required. Char. 'Twas merry, when You wager'd on your angling; when your diver Cleo. That time,-O times!- Enter a Messenger. Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, That long time have been barren. Mess. Cleo. Antony's dead?— O! from Italy?— Madam, madam,— If thou say so, villain, thou kill'st thy mistress: But well and free, If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here My bluest veins to kiss; a hand, that kings Mess. First, madam, he is well. But, sirrah, mark, we use Το Why, there's more gold. say, the dead are well: bring it to that, The gold I give thee will I melt, and pour Down thy ill-uttering throat. Mess. Good madam, hear me. Cleo. Well, go to, I will; But there's no goodness in thy face. If Antony Be free, and healthful,-so tart a favour To trumpet such good tidings! if not well, Thou should'st come like a fury crown'd with snakes, Not like a formal man. Mess. Will't please you hear me? Cleo. I have a mind to strike thee, ere thou speak'st: Yet, if thou say, Antony lives, 'tis well; Mess. Cleo. Madam, he's well. Well said. Thou'rt an honest man. Mess. And friends with Cæsar. Cleo. Mess. Cæsar and he are greater friends than ever. Mess. But yet, madam,— Some monstrous malefactor. Pr'ythee, friend, The good and bad together. He's friends with Cæsar; Cleo. Mess. For the best turn i' the bed. Cleo. For what good turn? I am pale, Charmian. Mess. Madam, he's married to Octavia. Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon thee! Mess. Good madam, patience. Cleo. [Strikes him down. What say you?—Hence, [Strikes him again. Horrible villain! or I'll spurn thine eyes Like balls before me: I'll unhair thy head. [She hales him up and down. Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in brine, Smarting in lingering pickle. Mess. Gracious madam, I, that do bring the news, made not the match. Cleo. Say, 'tis not so, a province I will give thee, And make thy fortunes proud: the blow thou hadst Mess. Cleo. Rogue! thou hast liv'd too long. Mess. He's married, madam. [Draws a Dagger. Nay, then I'll run.— What mean you, madam? I have made no fault. [Exit. Char. Good madam, keep yourself within yourself: The man is innocent. Cleo. Some innocents 'scape not the thunder-bolt.— Melt Egypt into Nile! and kindly creatures Turn all to serpents!-Call the slave again: Though I am mad, I will not bite him.-Call. Char. He is afeard to come. I will not hurt him. Cleo. Have given myself the cause.-Come hither, sir. Re-enter Messenger. Though it be honest, it is never good To bring bad news: give to a gracious message Mess. I have done my duty. Cleo. Is he married? I cannot hate thee worser than I do, If thou again say, Yes. Mess. He 's married, madam. 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 submerg'd, and made Thou would'st appear most ugly. He is married? Cleo. He is married? Mess. Take no offence, that I would not offend you : To punish me for what you make me do, Seems much unequal. He is married to Octavia. Cleo. O! that his fault should make a knave of thee, That art not! What! thou'rt sure of?-Get thee hence: The merchandise which thou hast brought from Rome, Are all too dear for me: lie they upon thy hand, And be undone by 'em! [Exit Messenger. Char. Good your highness, patience. Cleo. In praising Antony, I have disprais'd Cæsar. Char. Many times, madam. Cleo. Lead me from hence; I am paid for't now. I faint. O Iras! Charmian!-Tis no matter.- Report the feature of Octavia, her years, The colour of her hair: bring me word quickly.— [Exit ALEXAS. Let him for ever go:—let him not—Charmian, Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, 8 O! that his fault should make a knave of thee, That art not! What! thou'rt sure of?] Our punctuation of this disputed passage is that of Monck Mason; but he wished also to read, "What! thou'rt sure of 't?"—a slight change, indeed, but as it is not absolutely necessary, we do not carry our variation from the old copies farther than changing the pointing in the folio, 1623, it stands, "O that his fault should make a knave of thee, That art not what thou'rt sure of." This, it must be admitted, is far from intelligible. By the words "What! thou'rt sure of?" Cleopatra intends to inquire of the messenger once more, whether he is certain of the tidings he has brought. The meaning of the first part of the passage, as we have given it, is very evident. |