Antony and Cleopatra: Act III

Spake you of Caesar? How, the nonpareil!

Indeed, he plied them both with excellent praises.

But he loves Caesar best, yet he loves Antony.
Hoo, hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannot
Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number—hoo!—
His love to Antony.

Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well.

That year indeed he was troubled with a rheum.

What majesty is in her gait? Remember,
If e’er thou looked’st on majesty.

I repent me much
That so I harried him.

Wars ’twixt you twain would be
As if the world should cleave, and that slain men
Should solder up the rift.

Wars ’twixt you twain would be
As if the world should cleave, and that slain men
Should solder up the rift.

Who, queasy with his insolence already,
Will their good thoughts call from him.

Lastly, he frets
That Lepidus of the triumvirate
Should be deposed and, being, that we detain
All his revenue.

Lastly, he frets
That Lepidus of the triumvirate
Should be deposed and, being, that we detain
All his revenue.

But you are come
A market-maid to Rome, and have prevented
The ostentation of our love, which, left unshown,
Is often left unloved.

We should have met you
By sea and land, supplying every stage
With an augmented greeting.

But these offers,
Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off,
And so should you.

Most worthy sir, you therein throw away
The absolute soldiership you have by land,
Distract your army, which doth most consist
Of war-marked footmen, leave unexecuted
Your own renownèd knowledge, quite forgo
The way which promises assurance, and
Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard
From firm security.

The news is true, my lord; he is descried.

Our fortune on the sea is out of breath
And sinks most lamentably.

To Caesar will I render
My legions and my horse.

Now I must
To the young man send humble treaties, dodge
And palter in the shifts of lowness, who
With half the bulk o’ th’ world played as I pleased,
Making and marring fortunes.

Now I must
To the young man send humble treaties, dodge
And palter in the shifts of lowness, who
With half the bulk o’ th’ world played as I pleased,
Making and marring fortunes.

Love, I am full of lead.—Some wine
Within there, and our viands!

Caesar, ’tis his schoolmaster—
An argument that he is plucked, when hither
He sends so poor a pinion of his wing,
Which had superfluous kings for messengers
Not many moons gone by.

Caesar, ’tis his schoolmaster—
An argument that he is plucked, when hither
He sends so poor a pinion of his wing,
Which had superfluous kings for messengers
Not many moons gone by.

To try thy eloquence now ’tis time.

Women are not
In their best fortunes strong, but want will perjure
The ne’er-touched vestal.

Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we
Will answer as a law.

To the boy Caesar send this grizzled head,
And he will fill thy wishes to the brim
With principalities.

But it would warm his spirits
To hear from me you had left Antony
And put yourself under his shroud,
The universal landlord.

Your Caesar’s father oft,
When he hath mused of taking kingdoms in,
Bestowed his lips on that unworthy place
As it rained kisses.

’Tis better playing with a lion’s whelp
Than with an old one dying.

Were ’t twenty of the greatest tributaries
That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them
So saucy with the hand of she here—what’s her name
Since she was Cleopatra?

Were ’t twenty of the greatest tributaries
That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them
So saucy with the hand of she here—what’s her
name
Since she was Cleopatra?

I found you as a morsel cold upon
Dead Caesar’s trencher; nay, you were a fragment
Of Gneius Pompey’s, besides what hotter hours,
Unregistered in vulgar fame, you have
Luxuriously picked out.

For I am sure,
Though you can guess what temperance should be,
You know not what it is.

For I have savage cause,
And to proclaim it civilly were like
A haltered neck which does the hangman thank
For being yare about him.

Alack, our terrene moon is now eclipsed,
And it portends alone the fall of Antony.

Ah, dear, if I be so,
From my cold heart let heaven engender hail
And poison it in the source, and the first stone
Drop in my neck; as it determines, so
Dissolve my life!

Come,
Let’s have one other gaudy night. Call to me
All my sad captains. Fill our bowls once more.
Let’s mock the midnight bell.

The next time I do fight
I’ll make Death love me, for I will contend
Even with his pestilent scythe.