ACT II - Scene V Antony and Cleopatra

Give me some music; music, moody food
Of us that trade in love.

As well a woman with an eunuch play’d
As with a woman. Come, you’ll play with me, sir?

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,
My music playing far off, I will betray
Tawny-finn’d fishes; my bended hook shall pierce
Their slimy jaws; and, as I draw them up,
I’ll think them every one an Antony,
And say “Ah, ha! you’re caught.”

’Twas merry when
You wager’d on your angling; when your diver
Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, which he
With fervency drew up.

That time⁠—O times!⁠—
I laugh’d him out of patience; and that night
I laugh’d him into patience: and next morn,
Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed;
Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst
I wore his sword Philippan.

O, from Italy!
Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears,
That long time have been barren.

Antonius dead!⁠—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
Have lipp’d, and trembled kissing.

Why, there’s more gold.
But, sirrah, mark, we use
To say the dead are well: bring it to that,
The gold I give thee will I melt and pour
Down thy ill-uttering throat.

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 shouldst come like a Fury crown’d with snakes,
Not like a formal man.

I have a mind to strike thee ere thou speak’st:
Yet if thou say Antony lives, is well,
Or friends with Caesar, or not captive to him,
I’ll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail
Rich pearls upon thee.

I do not like “But yet,” it does allay
The good precedence; fie upon “But yet”!
“But yet” is as a gaoler to bring forth
Some monstrous malefactor. Prithee, friend,
Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear,
The good and bad together: he’s friends with Caesar;
In state of health thou say’st; and thou say’st free.

Free, madam! no; I made no such report:
He’s bound unto Octavia.

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.

Gracious madam,
I that do bring the news made not the match.

Say ’tis not so, a province I will give thee,
And make thy fortunes proud: the blow thou hadst
Shall make thy peace for moving me to rage;
And I will boot thee with what gift beside
Thy modesty can beg.

Nay, then I’ll run.
What mean you, madam? I have made no fault. Exit.

Good madam, keep yourself within yourself:
The man is innocent.

Some innocents ’scape not the thunderbolt.
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.

I will not hurt him. Exit Charmian.
These hands do lack nobility, that they strike
A meaner than myself; since I myself
Have given myself the cause.

Come hither, sir.
Though it be honest, it is never good
To bring bad news: give to a gracious message.
An host of tongues; but let ill tidings tell
Themselves when they be felt.

Is he married?
I cannot hate thee worser than I do,
If thou again say “Yes.”

O, I would thou didst,
So half my Egypt were submerged and made
A cistern for scaled snakes! Go, get thee hence:
Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me
Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married?

Take no offence that I would not offend you:
To punish me for what you make me do
Seems much unequal: he’s married to Octavia.

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.

I am paid for’t now.
Lead me from hence;
I faint: O Iras, Charmian! ’tis no matter.
Go to the fellow, good Alexas; bid him
Report the feature of Octavia, her years,
Her inclination, let him not leave out
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,
The other way’s a Mars. Bid you Alexas To Mardian.
Bring me word how tall she is. Pity me, Charmian,
But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber. Exeunt.