Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian
Not now to hear thee sing; I take no pleasure In aught an eunuch has: 'tis well for thee, That, being unseminar'd, thy freer thoughts May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections?
Not in deed, madam; for I can do nothing But what indeed is honest to be done: Yet have I fierce affections, and think What Venus did with Mars.
O Charmian, Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he, or sits he? Or does he walk? or is he on his horse? O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony! Do bravely, horse! for wot'st thou whom thou movest? The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm And burgonet of men. He's speaking now, Or murmuring “Where's my serpent of old Nile?” For so he calls me: now I feed myself With most delicious poison. Think on me, That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black, And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Caesar, When thou wast here above the ground, I was A morsel for a monarch: and great Pompey Would stand and make his eyes grow in my brow; There would he anchor his aspect and die With looking on his life.
Enter Alexas, from Octavius Caesar
How much unlike art thou Mark Antony! Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath With his tinct gilded thee. How goes it with my brave Mark Antony?
Last thing he did, dear queen, He kiss'd,—the last of many doubled kisses,— This orient pearl. His speech sticks in my heart.
“Good friend,” quoth he, “Say, the firm Roman to great Egypt sends This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot, To mend the petty present, I will piece Her opulent throne with kingdoms; all the east, Say thou, shall call her mistress.” So he nodded, And soberly did mount an arm-gaunt steed, Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke Was beastly dumb'd by him.
O well-divided disposition! Note him, Note him good Charmian, 'tis the man; but note him: He was not sad, for he would shine on those That make their looks by his; he was not merry, Which seem'd to tell them his remembrance lay In Egypt with his joy; but between both: O heavenly mingle! Be'st thou sad or merry, The violence of either thee becomes, So does it no man else. Met'st thou my posts?
Who's born that day When I forget to send to Antony, Shall die a beggar. Ink and paper, Charmian. Welcome, my good Alexas. Did I, Charmian, Ever love Caesar so?
My salad days, When I was green in judgment: cold in blood, To say as I said then! But, come, away; Get me ink and paper: He shall have every day a several greeting, Or I'll unpeople Egypt.