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Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have
Luxuriously pick'd out:-For I am sure,
Though you can guess what temperance should be,
You know not what it is.

Cleo. Wherefore is this?

Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards,
And say, God quit you! be familiar with
My playfellow, your hand; this kingly feal,
And plighter of high hearts !- that I were
Upon the hill of Basan, to out-roar
+ The horned herd, for I have savage cause !
And to proclaim it civilly, were like
A halter'd neck, which does the hangman thank
For being yare about him.-

about him.-Is he whipp'd ?

Re-enter Attendants with Thyreus.
Attend. Soundly, my lord,
Ant. Cry'd he? and begg'd he pardon ?
Aitend. He did ask favour.

Ant. If that thy father live, let him repent
Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorry
To follow Cæsar in his triumph, since
Thou hast been whipp'd for following bim. Hence-

forth, The white hand of a lady fever thee, Shake thou to look on't. -Get thee back to Cæsar, Tell him thy entertainment : look, thou say, He makes me angry with him : For he seems Proud and disdainful; harping on what I am, Not what he knew I was He makes me angry; And, at this time, most easy 'tis to do't ; When my good stars, that were my former guides,

* The horned berd,] It is not without pity and indignation that the reader of this great poet meets so often with this low jest, which is too much a favourite to be left out of either mirth or fury.


Have empty left their orbs, and for their fires
Into the abism of hell. If he millike
My speech, and what is done ; tell him he has
Hipparchus, my enfranchis’d bondman, whom
He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture,
As he shall like, s to quit me :-Urge it thou.
Hence with thy stripes, begone. [Exit Thyreus.

Cleo. Have you done yet?

Ant. Alack, our terrene moon is now eclips'd, And it portends alone the fall of Antony.

Cleo. I must stay his time.

Ant. To flatter Cæsar, would you mingle eyes
With one that ties his points ?"

Cleo. Not know me yet?
Ant. Cold-hearted toward me!

Cleo. Ah, dear, if I be so,
From my cold heart, let heaven ingender hail,
And poison it in the source; and the first stone
Drop in my neck; as it determines, fo
Diffolve my life! the next Caesarion smite !
'Till by degrees the memory of my womb,
Together with my brave Ægyptians all,
? By the discandying of this pelleted storm,
Lie graveless, till the flies and gnats of Nile
Have buried them for prey !

Ant. I am satisfied :
Cæsar sits down in Alexandria, where
I will oppose his fate. Our force by land

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-10 quit me : -] To repay me this insult; to require me.

JOHNSON 6 —the next Cafario smite!] Cæsario was Cleopatra's fon by Julius Cæsar.

STEEVENS. ? By the discattering of this pellented storm,] This reading we owe first, I presume, to Mr. Rowe : and Mr Pope has very faithfully fallen into it. The old folio's read, ciscandering: from which corruption both Dr. Thirlby and I saw, we must retriei e the word with which I have reform'd the text. THEOBALD.


Hath nobly held; our sever'd navy too
Have knit again, $ and float, threatning most sea-like.
Where hast chou been, my heart ? Dost thou hear,

If from the field I should return once more
To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood;
I and my sword will earn my chronicle ;
There's hope in’t yet.

Cleo. That's my brave lord.

Ant. I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd,
And fight maliciously: for when mine hours
· Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives
Of me for jefts ; but now I'll set my teeth,
And send to darkness all that stop me. Come,
Let's have one other gaudy night: call to me
All my fad captains, ill our bowls; once more
Let's mock the midnight bell.

Cleo. It is my birth-day :
I had thought to have held it poor; but since my lord
Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.

Ant. We will yet do well.
Cleo. Call all his noble captains to my lord.
Ant. Do so, we'll speak to them; and to-night I'll

force The wine peep through their scars.-Come on, my

queen; There's sap in’t yet. The next time I do fight, I'll make death love me ; for I will contend


in peace.

and float,-) This is a modern emendation, perhaps right. The old reading is, and fleet,

JOHNSON. Were nice and lucky,—-) Nice, for delicate, courtly, flowing

WARBURTON. Nice rather seems to be, just fit for my purpose, agreeable to my wib. So we vulgarly say of any thing that is done better than was expected, it is nice.




Even with his peftilent fcythe.

[Exeunt. Eno. Now he'll out-stare the lightning. To be

furious, Is to be frighted out of fear : and, in that mood,

The dove will peck the eftridge; and, I see still, A diminution in our captain's brain Restores his heart :- When valour preys on reason, It eats the sword it fights with.--I will seek Some way to leave him.



Enter Cæfar, reading a letter, Agrippa, Mecenas, &c.

E calls me boy ; and chides, as he had power

To beat me out of Ægypt. My messenger
He hath whipt with rods ; dares me to personal combat,
Cæsar to Antony. Let the old ruffian know,
'I have many other ways to die : mean time,
Laugh at his challenge.


! I have many

ways to die :-

-] What a reply is this to Antony's challenge ? 'tis acknowledging that he should die under the unequal combat; but if we read, He hath


10 die : mean time, I laugb at bis cballenge. In this reading we have poignancy, and the very repartee of Cæfar. Let's hear Plutarch. After rhis, Antony jent a challenge se Cæfar, 10 fight him hand to band, and received for anfwer, that he might find several other ways to end his life. UPTON,

I think

Mec. Cæsar must think,
When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now
Make boot of his distraction : never anger
Made good guard for itself.

Cef. Let our best heads
Know, that to-morrow the last of many battles
We mean to fight.— Within our files there are
Of those that serv'd Mark Antony but late,
Enough to fetch him in. See it done ;
And feast the army: we have store to do't,
And they have earn’d the waste. Poor Antony !

[Exeunt. SCENE II.

A L E X A N D R I A.

Enter Antony and Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, Iras,

Alexas, with others. Ant. He will not fight with me, Domitius. Eno. No. Ant. Why should he not? Eno. He thinks, being twenty times of better for

He is twenty men to one.

Ant. To inorrow, soldier,
By fea and land I'll fight: or I will live,
Or bathe my dying honour in the blood
Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well?

I think this emendation deserves to be received. It had, before Mr. Upton's book appeared, been inade by Sir T. Hanmer.

Johnson, Most indisputably this is the sense of Plutarch, and given so in the modern translations ; but Shakespeare was mifled by the ambiguity of the old one. • Antonius sent again to challenge Cæ" far to fight him: Cæsar answered, that he had many other ways to die, than fo

FARMER. · Meke boot of–) Take advantage of.



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