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- $Unique_ID{SSP01483}
- $Title{Antony and Cleopatra: Act IV, Scene VIII}
- $Author{Shakespeare, William}
- $Subject{}
- $Log{Dramatis Personae*01450.txt}
-
- Portions copyright (c) CMC ReSearch, Inc., 1989
-
- The Complete Works of William Shakespeare
-
- ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA
-
-
- ACT IV
- ................................................................................
-
-
- SCENE VIII: Under the walls of Alexandria.
- . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
-
- {Alarum. Enter MARK ANTONY, in a march; SCARUS,
- with others.}
-
- MARK ANTONY: We have beat him to his camp: run one before,
- And let the queen know of our gests. To-morrow,
- Before the sun shall see 's, we'll spill the blood
- That has to-day escaped. I thank you all;
- For doughty-handed are you, and have fought
- Not as you served the cause, but as 't had been
- Each man's like mine; you have shown all Hectors.
- Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends,
- Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful tears
- Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss 10
- The honor'd gashes whole.
-
- [To SCARUS.]
-
- Give me thy hand
-
- {Enter CLEOPATRA, attended.}
-
- To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts,
- Make her thanks bless thee.
-
- [To CLEOPATRA.]
-
- O thou day o' the world,
- Chain mine arm'd neck; leap thou, attire and all,
- Through proof of harness to my heart, and there
- Ride on the pants triumphing!
-
- CLEOPATRA: Lord of lords!
- O infinite virtue, comest thou smiling from
- The world's great snare uncaught?
-
- MARK ANTONY: My nightingale,
- We have beat them to their beds. What, girl!
- though grey
- Do something mingle with our younger brown,
- yet ha' we 20
- A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can
- Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man;
- Commend unto his lips thy favoring hand:
- Kiss it, my warrior: he hath fought to-day
- As if a god, in hate of mankind, had
- Destroy'd in such a shape.
-
- CLEOPATRA: I'll give thee, friend,
- An armor all of gold; it was a king's.
-
- MARK ANTONY: He has deserved it, were it carbuncled
- Like holy Phoebus' car. Give me thy hand:
- Through Alexandria make a jolly march; 30
- Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe them:
- Had our great palace the capacity
- To camp this host, we all would sup together,
- And drink carouses to the next day's fate,
- Which promises royal peril. Trumpeters,
- With brazen din blast you the city's ear;
- Make mingle with rattling tabourines;
- That heaven and earth may strike their sounds
- together,
- Applauding our approach.
-
- [Exeunt.]
-