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Enter Antony, Cleopatra, Enobarbas, Charmian, Iras, Alexas, with others.
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| Antony |
He will not fight with me, Domitius. |
| Enobarbas |
No. |
| Antony |
Why should he not? |
| Enobarbas |
He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune,
He is twenty men to one.
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| Antony |
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?
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| Enobarbas |
I’ll strike, and cry “Take all.” |
| Antony |
Well said; come on.
Call forth my household servants: let’s to-night
Be bounteous at our meal.
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Enter three or four Servitors.
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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.
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| Cleopatra |
Aside to Enobarbas. What means this? |
| Enobarbas |
Aside to Cleopatra. ’Tis one of those odd tricks which sorrow shoots
Out of the mind.
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| Antony |
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.
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| All |
The gods forbid! |
| Antony |
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.
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| Cleopatra |
Aside to Enobarbas. What does he mean? |
| Enobarbas |
Aside to Cleopatra. To make his followers weep. |
| Antony |
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!
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| Enobarbas |
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.
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| Antony |
Ho, ho, ho!
Now the witch take me, if I meant it thus!
Grace grow where those drops fall! My hearty friends,
You take me in too dolorous a sense;
For I spake to you for your comfort; did desire you
To burn this night with torches: know, my hearts,
I hope well of to-morrow; and will lead you
Where rather I’ll expect victorious life
Than death and honour. Let’s to supper, come,
And drown consideration. Exeunt.
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