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  • Enter MARK ANTONY and SCARUS

  • Yet they are not join'd: where yond pine
    does stand,
    I shall discover all: I'll bring thee word
    Straight, how 'tis like to go.

  • Swallows have built
    In Cleopatra's sails their nests: the augurers
    Say they know not, they cannot tell; look grimly,
    And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony
    Is valiant, and dejected; and, by starts,
    His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear,
    Of what he has, and has not.

  • Alarum afar off, as at a sea-fight

  • Re-enter MARK ANTONY

  • All is lost;
    This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me:
    My fleet hath yielded to the foe; and yonder
    They cast their caps up and carouse together
    Like friends long lost. Triple-turn'd whore!
    'tis thou
    Hast sold me to this novice; and my heart
    Makes only wars on thee. Bid them all fly;
    For when I am revenged upon my charm,
    I have done all. Bid them all fly; begone.
    Exit SCARUS
    O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more:
    Fortune and Antony part here; even here
    Do we shake hands. All come to this? The hearts
    That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave
    Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets
    On blossoming Caesar; and this pine is bark'd,
    That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am:
    O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm,--
    Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them home;
    Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end,--
    Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose,
    Beguiled me to the very heart of loss.
    What, Eros, Eros!
    Enter CLEOPATRA
    Ah, thou spell! Avaunt!

  • Why is my lord enraged against his love?

  • Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving,
    And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee,
    And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians:
    Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot
    Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shown
    For poor'st diminutives, for doits; and let
    Patient Octavia plough thy visage up
    With her prepared nails.
    Exit CLEOPATRA
    'Tis well thou'rt gone,
    If it be well to live; but better 'twere
    Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death
    Might have prevented many. Eros, ho!
    The shirt of Nessus is upon me: teach me,
    Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage:
    Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o' the moon;
    And with those hands, that grasp'd the heaviest club,
    Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die:
    To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall
    Under this plot; she dies for't. Eros, ho!