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THE TRAGEDIE OF

Anthonie, and Cleopatra.

Actus Primus. Scœna Prima.

Philo.

Enter Demetrius and Philo.

Ay, but this dotage of our Generals

Ore-flowes the measure: those his goodly eyes
That or'e the Files and Musters of the Warre,
Have glow'd like plated Mars:

Now bend, now turne

The Office and Devotion of their view
Upon a Tawny Front. His Captaines heart,
Which in the scuffles of great Fights hath burst
The Buckles on his brest, reneages all temper,
And is become the Bellowes and the Fan
To coole a Gypsies Lust.

Flourish. Enter Anthony, Cleopatra, her Ladies, the
Traine, with Eunuchs fanning her.

Looke where they come :

Take but good note, and you shall see in him (The Triple Pillar of the world) transform'd Into a Strumpets Foole. Behold and see.

Cleo. If it be Love indeed, tell me how much,

Ant. There's beggery in the love that can be reckon'd.

Cleo. Ile set a bourne how farre to be belov'd.

Ant. Then must thou needes finde out new Heaven, new Earth.

Enter a Messenger.

Mes. Newes (my good Lord) from Rome.

Ant.

Cleo. Nay heare them Anthony.

Grates me, the summe.

Fulvia perchance is angry: Or who knowes,

If the scarse-bearded Casar have not sent

His powrefull Mandate to you, Do this, or this;
Take in that Kingdome, and Infranchise that:
Perform't, or else we damne thee.

Ant.

How, my love? Cleo. Perchance? Nay, and most like :

You must not stay heere longer, your dismission

Is come from Casar, therefore heare it Anthony.
Where's Fulvias Processe? (Casars I would say) both?
Call in the Messengers: As I am Egypts Queene,
Thou blushest Anthony, and that blood of thine
Is Casars homager: else so thy cheeke payes shame,
When shrill-tongu'd Fulvia scolds. The Messengers.

Ant. Let Rome in Tyber melt, and the wide Arch
Of the raing'd Empire fall: Heere is my space,
Kingdomes are clay: Our dungie earth alike
Feeds Beast as Man; the Noblenesse of life
Is to do thus: when such a mutuall paire,
And such a twaine can doo't, in which I binde
One paine of punishment, the world to weete
We stand up Peerelesse.

Cleo.

Excellent falshood:

Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her?

Ile seeme the Foole I am not. Anthony will be himselfe.

Ant. But stirr'd by Cleopatra.

Now for the love of Love, and her soft houres,

Let's not confound the time with Conference harsh;
There's not a minute of our lives should stretch

Without some pleasure now. What sport to night?

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