We see how mortal an unkindness is to them; if they suffer our departure, death's the word.

ANT. I must be gone.

ENO. Under a compelling occasion, let women die. It were pity to cast them away for nothing, though between them and a great cause, they should be esteem'd nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, dies instantly; I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment. I do think there is mettle in death, which commits some loving act upon her, she hath such a celerity in dying.

ANT. She is cunning past man's thought.

ENO. Alack, sir, no, her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love. We cannot call her winds and waters sighs and tears; they are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can report. This cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she makes a show'r of rain as well as Jove.

ANT. Would I had never seen her!

ENO. O, sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work, which not to have been blest withal would have discredited your travel.

ANT. Fulvia is dead.

ENO. Sir?

ANT. Fulvia is dead.

ENO. Fulvia?

ANT. Dead.

ENO. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. When it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a man from him, it shows to man the tailors of the earth; comforting therein, that when old robes are worn out, there are members to make new. If there were no more women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut, and the case to be lamented. This grief is crown'd with consolation: your old smock brings forth a new petticoat, and indeed the tears live in an onion that should water this sorrow.

ANT.

The business she hath broached in the state

Cannot endure my absence.

ENO. And the business you have broach'd here cannot be without you, especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly depends on your abode.

ANT.

No more light answers. Let our officers

Have notice what we purpose. I shall break

The cause of our expedience to the Queen,

And get her [leave] to part. For not alone

The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches,

Do strongly speak to us; but the letters too

Of many our contriving friends in Rome

Petition us at home. Sextus Pompeius

[Hath] given the dare to Caesar, and commands

The empire of the sea. Our slippery people,

Whose love is never link'd to the deserver

Till his deserts are past, begin to throw

Pompey the Great and all his dignities

Upon his son, who, high in name and power,

Higher than both in blood and life, stands up

For the main soldier; whose quality, going on,

The sides o' th' world may danger. Much is breeding,

Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life,

And not a serpent's poison. Say our pleasure,

To such whose places under us require,

Our quick remove from hence.

ENO. I shall do't.

 

[Exeunt.]

 

 

[Scene III]

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Alexas, and Iras.

 

CLEO.

Where is he?

CHAR.

I did not see him since.

CLEO.

See where he is, who's with him, what he does.

I did not send you.