Antony and Cleopatra - William Shakespeare (e book reader android txt) 📗
- Author: William Shakespeare
Book online «Antony and Cleopatra - William Shakespeare (e book reader android txt) 📗». Author William Shakespeare
Than drink so much in one. Enobarbas
Ha, my brave emperor! To Antony.
Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals,
And celebrate our drink?
Come, let’s all take hands,
Till that the conquering wine hath steep’d our sense
In soft and delicate Lethe.
All take hands.
Make battery to our ears with the loud music:
The while I’ll place you: then the boy shall sing;
The holding every man shall bear as loud
As his strong sides can volley. Music plays. Enobarbas places them hand in hand.
Come, thou monarch of the vine,
Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne!
In thy fats our cares be drown’d,
With thy grapes our hairs be crown’d:
Cup us, till the world go round,
Cup us, till the world go round!
What would you more? Pompey, good night. Good brother,
Let me request you off: our graver business
Frowns at this levity. Gentle lords, let’s part;
You see we have burnt our cheeks: strong Enobarb
Is weaker than the wine; and mine own tongue
Splits what it speaks: the wild disguise hath almost
Antick’d us all. What needs more words? Good night.
Good Antony, your hand.
O Antony,
You have my father’s house—But, what? we are friends.
Come, down into the boat.
Take heed you fall not. Exeunt all but Enobarbas and Menas.
Menas, I’ll not on shore.
No, to my cabin.
These drums! these trumpets, flutes! what!
Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell
To these great fellows: sound and be hang’d, sound out! Sound a flourish, with drums.
A plain in Syria.
Enter Ventidius as it were in triumph, with Silius, and other Romans, Officers, and Soldiers; the dead body of Pacorus borne before him. VentidiusNow, darting Parthia, art thou struck; and now
Pleased fortune does of Marcus Crassus’ death
Make me revenger. Bear the king’s son’s body
Before our army. Thy Pacorus, Orodes,
Pays this for Marcus Crassus.
Noble Ventidius,
Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm,
The fugitive Parthians follow; spur through Media,
Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither
The routed fly: so thy grand captain Antony
Shall set thee on triumphant chariots and
Put garlands on thy head.
O Silius, Silius,
I have done enough; a lower place, note well,
May make too great an act: for learn this, Silius;
Better to leave undone, than by our deed
Acquire too high a fame when him we serve’s away.
Caesar and Antony have ever won
More in their officer than person: Sossius,
One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant,
For quick accumulation of renown,
Which he achieved by the minute, lost his favour.
Who does i’ the wars more than his captain can
Becomes his captain’s captain: and ambition,
The soldier’s virtue, rather makes choice of loss,
Than gain which darkens him.
I could do more to do Antonius good,
But ’twould offend him; and in his offence
Should my performance perish.
Thou hast, Ventidius, that
Without the which a soldier, and his sword,
Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to Antony?
I’ll humbly signify what in his name,
That magical word of war, we have effected;
How, with his banners and his well-paid ranks,
The ne’er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia
We have jaded out o’ the field.
He purposeth to Athens: whither, with what haste
The weight we must convey with’s will permit,
We shall appear before him. On, there; pass along! Exeunt.
Rome. An ante-chamber in Caesar’s house.
Enter Agrippa at one door, Enobarbas at another. Agrippa What, are the brothers parted? EnobarbasThey have dispatch’d with Pompey, he is gone;
The other three are sealing. Octavia weeps
To part from Rome; Caesar is sad; and Lepidus,
Since Pompey’s feast, as Menas says, is troubled
With the green sickness.
But he loves Caesar best; yet he loves Antony:
Ho! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannot
Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho!
His love to Antony. But as for Caesar,
Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder.
They are his shards, and he their beetle. Trumpets within. So;
This is to horse. Adieu, noble Agrippa.
You take from me a great part of myself;
Use me well in’t. Sister, prove such a wife
As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest band
Shall pass on thy approof. Most noble Antony,
Let not the piece of virtue, which is set
Betwixt us as the cement of our love,
To keep it builded, be the ram to batter
The fortress of it; for better might we
Have loved without this mean, if on both parts
This be not cherish’d.
Make me not offended
In your distrust.
You shall not find,
Though you be therein curious, the least cause
For what you seem to fear: so, the gods keep you,
And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends!
We will here part.
Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well:
The elements be kind to thee, and make
Thy spirits all of comfort! fare thee well.
The April’s in her eyes: it is love’s spring,
And these the showers to bring it on. Be cheerful.
Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can
Her heart inform her tongue—the swan’s down-feather,
That stands upon the swell at full of tide,
And neither way inclines.
Comments (0)