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Cleo.

For what good lurn? Mess. For the best turn i' the bed. Cleo.

I am pale, Charmian. Mess. Madam, he's married to Octavia. Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon thee !

(Strikes him down. Mess, Good madam, patience. Cleo.

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 ling’ring pickle. Mess.

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

Cleo. 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 gist beside Thy modesty can beg. Mess.

He's married, madam. Cleo. Rogue, thou hast liv'd too long.

(Draws a dagger. Mess.

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

(Erit. Char. Good madam, keep yourself within your.

self;

The man is innocent.
Cleo. Some innocents 'scape not the thunder.

bolt.
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.

Char. He is afeard to come.
Cleo.

I will not hurt him: These hands do lack nobility, that they strike

• Recompense.

A meaner than myself; since I myself
Have giveu myself the cause.-Come hither, sir.

Re-enter Messenger.
Though it he 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.
Mess,

I have done my duty.
Cleo. Is he married ?
I cannot hate thee worser than I do,
If thou again say, Yes.
Mess.

He is married, madam. Cleo. The gods confound thee! dost thou hold

there still ?
Mess. Should I lie, madam ?
Cleo.

0, I would, thou didst;
So half my Egypt were submerg'd*, and made
A cistern for scal'd snakes ! Go, get thee hence;
Hadst thon Narcissus in thy face, to me
Thou would'st appear most ugly. He is married ?

Mess. I crave your highness' pardon.
Cleo.

He is married ?
Mess. Take no offence, that I would not offend

you: To punish ne for what you make me do, Seems much unequal : He is married to Octavia. Cleo. O, that his faults should make a knave of

thee, That art not !- What? thou'rt sure of 't ?- Get thee

hence : The merchandise which thou hast brought from

Rome, Are all too dear for me; Lie they upou thy hand, And be undone by 'em!

[Exit Messenger. Char.

Good your highness, patieuce. Cleo. In praising Antony, I have disprais'd Cæsar.

• Whelmed under water.

Char. Many times, madam.
Cleo.

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, T'other way lie's a Mars :- Bid you Alexas

[ To Mardian. Bring me word, low tall she is.. Pity me, Charnian, But do not speak to me.-Lead me to my chamber.

(Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Near Misenum.

Enter Pompey and Mepas, at one side, with drum and trumpet : at another, Cæsar, Lepidus, Antony, Enobarbus, Mæcenas, with Soldiers march

ing.

Pom. Your hostages I have, so have you mine; And we shall talk before we fight. Cæs.

Most meet, That first we come to words; and therefore have we Our written purposes before us sent; Which if thou hast considered, let us know If'twill tie up thy discontented sword; And carry back to Sicily much tallt youth That else must perish liere. Pom.

To you all three, The senators alone of this great world,

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Chief factors for the gods,- I do not know,
Wherefore my father should revengers want,
Having a son, and friends; since Julius Cæsar,
Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted*,
There saw you labouring for him. What was it,
That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire ? And what
Made the all-Ironour'd, honest, Roman Brutus,
With the arm'd rest, courtiers of beauteous freedom,
To drench the Capitol ; but that they would
Have one man but a man? And that is it,
Hath made me rig my navy; at whose burden
The anger'd ocean foams; with which I meant
To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome
Cast on my noble father.
Ces.

Take your time.
Ant. Thou can'st not feartus, Pompey, with thy

sails, We'll speak with thee at sea: at land, thou know'st How much we do o'er-count thee. Pom.

At land, indeed, Thou dost o'er-count me of

my

father's liouse :
But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself,
Remain in't as thou may'st.
Lep.

Be pleas'd to tell us,
(For this is from the preseutt), how you take
The offers we have sent you.
Caz.

There's the point. Ant. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh What it is worth embrac'd. Cæs.

And what may follow, To try a larger fortune. Pom.

You have made me offer Of Sicily, Sardinia; and I must Rid all the sea of pirates; then, to send Measures of wheat to Rome: This 'greed upon, To part with unhack'd edges, and bear back Our targe sundinted.

# Haunted.
Present subject.

+ Affright.

Target, shield.

Cæs. Ant. Lep. That's our offer.
Pom.

Know then,
I came before you here, a man prepar'd
To take this offer: But Mark Antony
Put me to some impatience:Though I lose
The praise of it by telling, You must know,
When Cæsar and your brothers were at blows,
Your mother came to Sicily, and did find
Her welcome friendly.
Ant.

I have heard it, Pompey; And am well studied for a liberal thanks, Which I do owe you. Pom.

Let me have your hand : I did not think, sir, to have met you here. Ant. The beds i'the east are soft; and thanks to

you,
That call'd nie, timelier than my purpose, hither;
For I have gain'd by it.
Cæs.

Since I saw you last,
There is a change upon you.
Pom.

Well, I know not
What counts* harsh fortune casts upon my face;
But in my bosom shall she never come,
To make my heart her vassal.
Lep.

Well met here.
Pom. I hope so, Lepidus.--Thus we are agreed:
I crave, our coniposition may be written,
And seal'd between us.
Cæs.

Tbat's the next to do. Pom. We'll feast each other, ere we part; and let

us

Draw lots who shall begin.
Ant.

That will i, Pompey.
Pom. No, Antony, take the lot: but, first,
Or last, your fine Egyptian cookery
Shall have the faine. I have heard, that Julius

Cæsar
Grew fat with feasting there.

• Scores, marks.

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