Act IV, Scene xi:
Another part of the Ground.

[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 Caesar; 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 Caesar'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 thou'rt 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' the 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.]