Ant. What's the matter?

Cleo. I know, by that fame eye, there's fome good

news.

What fays the marry'd woman? you may go;
'Would, fhe had never given you leave to come!
Let her not fay, 'tis I that keep you here,
I have no pow'r upon you: hers you are.
Ant. The Gods best know,-

Cleo. O, never was there Queen
So mightily betray'd; yet at the first
I faw the treafons planted.

Ant. Cleopatra,

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

Though you with fwearing shake the throned Gods,
Who have been falfe to Fulvia? riotous madness
To be entangled with these mouth-made vows,
Which break themselves in fwearing!

Ant. Moft fweet Queen,

Cleo. Nay, pray you, feek no colour for your going,
But bid farewel, and go: when you fued staying,
Then was the time for words; no going, then;
Eternity was in our lips and eyes,

Blifs in our Brows' bent, none our parts fo poor,
But was a race of heav'n. They are fo ftill,

Or thou, the greatest foldier of the world,

Art turn'd the greatest liar.

Ant. How, now, lady?

Cleo. I would I had thy inches, thou fhould't know, There were a heart in Egypt.

Ant. Hear me, Queen;

The ftrong neceffity of time commands

Our fervices a-while; but my full heart

Remains in Ufe with you. Our Italy

Shines o'er with civil fwords; Sextus Pompeius
Makes his approaches to the port of Rome.

Equality of two domeftick Pow'rs

Breeds fcrupulous faction; the hated, grown to ftrength, Are newly grown to love: the condemn'd Pompey,

Rich in his father's Honour, creeps apace

Into the hearts of fuch as have not thriv'n
Upon the present ftate, whofe numbers threaten ;
And quietnefs, grown fick of reft, would purge
By any defperate change. My more particular, (4)
And that which most with you should falve my going,
Is Fulvia's death.

Cleo. Though age from folly could not give me freedom,

It does from childifhnefs. Can Fulvia die?
Ant. She's dead, my Queen.

Look here, and at thy fovereign leisure read
The garboyls fhe awak'd; at the last, best.
See, when, and where fhe died.

Cleo. O moft falfe love!

Where be the facred vials thou should't fill
With forrowful water? now I fee, I fee,
In Fulvia's death, how mine shall be receiv'd.
Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know
The purposes I bear; which are, or ceafe,
As you fhall give th' advices. By the fire,

(4)

My more particular,

And that which most with you should fave my Going,

1s Fulvia's Death.

Thus all the more modern Editions: the 1ft and 2d Folio's read, safe: All corruptedly. Antony is giving several reafons to Cleopatra, which make his Departure from Ægypt absolutely neceffary; most of them, reafons of State; but the Death of Fulvia, his Wife, was a particular and private Call, which demanded his Prefence in Italy. But the printed Copies would rather make us believe, that Fulvia's Death should prevent, of fave him the Trouble of going. The Text, in this respect, I dare engage, runs counter to its Mafter's Meaning. Cleopatra is jealous of Antony's Abfence; and fufpicious that he is fecking Colours for his Going. Antony replies to her Doubts, with the Reasons that obliged him to be abfent for a Time; and tells her, that, as his Wife Fulvia is dead, and fo fhe has no Rival to be jealous of, that Circumftance fhould be his best Plea and Excufe, and have the greatest Weight with her for his Going. Who does not fee now, that it ought to be read as I have reform'd the Text?

That

That quickens Nilus' flime, I go from hence
Thy foldier, fervant, making peace or war,
As thou affect'ft.

Cleo.

Cut my lace, Charmian, come; But let it be, I'm quickly ill, and well,· So, Antony loves.

Ant. My precious Queen, forbear,

And give true evidence to his love, which stands
An honourable trial.

Cleo. So Fulvia told me.

I pry'thee, turn afide, and weep for her;
Then bid adieu to me and fay, the tears
Belong to Egypt. Good now, play one Scene
Of excellent diffembling, and let it look
Like perfect honour.

Ant. You'll heat my blood; no more.

Cleo. You can do better yet; but this is meetly.
Ant. Now by my sword-

Cleo. And target-Still he mends:

But this is not the beft. Look, pry'thee, Charmian, How this Herculean Roman does become

The carriage of his chafe.

Ant. I'll leave you, lady.

Cleo. Courteous lord, one word;

Sir, you and I must part; (but that's not it,)
Sir, you and I have lov'd; (but there's not it;
That you know well;) fomething it is, I would:
Oh, my oblivion is a very Antony,

And I am all forgotten.

Ant. But that your royalty

Holds idleness your fubject, I fhould take you
For idleness itself.

Cleo. 'Tis fweating labour,

To bear fuch idleness fo near the heart;
As Cleopatra, this. But, Sir, forgive me;
Since my becomings kill me, when they do not
Eye well to you. Your honour calls you hence,
Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly,
And all the Gods go with you! On your fword
Sit lawreli'd victory, and fmooth fuccefs

VOL. VII.

E

Be

Be ftrew'd before your feet!

Ant. Let us go: come,

Our feparation fo abides and flies,

That thou, refiding here, goeft yet with me,
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee.
Away.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Cæfar's Palace in Rome.

Enter Octavius Cæfar reading a letter, Lepidus, and attendants.

Caf. You may fee, Lepidus, and henceforth know,

It is not Cæfar's natural vice to hate
One great competitor. From Alexandria
This is the news; he fishes, drinks, and waftes
The lamps of night in revel; is not more manly
Than Cleopatra; nor the Queen of Ptolemy
More womanly than he. Hardly gave audience,
Or did vouchfafe to think that he had partners.
You shall there find a man, who is the abstract
Of all faults all men follow.

Lep. I must not think,

They're evils enough to darken all his goodness;
His faults in him feem (as the fpots of heav'n,
More fiery by night's blacknefs;) hereditary,
Rather than purchaft; what he cannot change,
Than what he chufes.

Caf. You're too indulgent. Let us grant, it is not Amifs to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy,

To give a kingdom for a mirth, to fit

And keep the turn of tipling with a slave,

To reel the streets at noon; and ftand the buffet

With knaves that fmell of fweat; fay, this becomes him;

(As his compofure muft be rare, indeed,

Whom these things cannot blemish;) yet muft Antony
No way excufe his foils, when we do bear
So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd
His vacancy with his voluptuoufnefs;
Full furfeits, and the drinefs of his bones,
Call on him for't. But to confound fuch time,

That

That drums him from his fport, and speaks as loud
As his own ftate, and ours; 'tis to be chid,

As we rate boys, who, being mature in knowledge,
Pawn their experience to their prefent pleasure,
And fo rebel to judgment.

Enter a Meffenger.

Lep. Here's more news.

Mef. Thy biddings have been done; and every hour, Moft noble Cafar, thalt thou have report How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at Sea, And, it appears, he is belov'd of those That only have fear'd Cafar: to the ports The Difcontents repair, and mens' reports Give him much wrong'd.

Caf. I fhould have known no lefs;

It hath been taught us from the primal State, (5)
That he, which is, was wifh'd, until he were:
And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd till ne'er worth love,
Comes dear'd, by being lack'd. This common body,
Like to a vagabond flag upon the ftream,

Goes to, and back, lacquying the varying tide, (6)
To rot itself with motion.

(5) It hath been taught us from the primal State,

That He, which is, was wish'd until he were:

And the ebb'd Man, ne'er lov'd till ne'er worth Love,
Comes fear'd, by being lack'd.]

Mef

Let us examine the Sense of this in plain Profe. "The earliest "Hiftories inform us, that the Man in fupreme Command was always wish'd to gain that Command, till he had obtain❜d it. "And he, whom the multitude has contentedly feen in a low “Condition, when he begins to be wanted by them, becomes "to be fear'd by them". But do the Multitude fear a Man, because they want him? Certainly, we must read ;

Comes dear'd, by being tack'd.

i. c. endear'd, a Favourite to them. Befides, the Context requites this Reading; for it was not Fear, but Love, that made the People flock to Young Pompey, and that occafion'd this Reflection. Mr. Warburton.

(6) Goes to, and back, lashing the varying Tide, To rot itfelf with Motion.]

E &

How