A hill near Alexandria

Enter ANTONY and SCARUS

    ANTONY.
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.[Exit

    SCARUS.
                                        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 ANTONY

    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 reveng’d 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 Cæsar; 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 gypsy hath at fast and loose
Beguil’d me to the very heart of loss.
What, Eros, Eros!

Enter CLEOPATRA

                        Ah, thou spell! Avaunt!

    CLEOPATRA.
Why is my lord enrag’d against his love?

    ANTONY.
Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving
And blemish Cæsar’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 th’art 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’ th’ 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![Exit