He is a god, and knows
What is most right: mine honour was not yielded,
But conquer'd merely.
[Aside.] To be sure of that,
I will ask Antony. — Sir, sir, thou art so leaky
That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for
Thy dearest quit thee.
Shall I say to Caesar
What you require of him? for he partly begs
To be desir'd to give. It much would please him
That of his fortunes you should make a staff
To lean upon: but it would warm his spirits
To hear from me you had left Antony,
And put yourself under his shroud, who is
The universal landlord.
What's your name?
My name is Thyreus.
Most kind messenger,
Say to great Caesar this: — in deputation
I kiss his conquring hand: tell him I am prompt
To lay my crown at's feet, and there to kneel:
Tell him, from his all-obeying breath I hear
The doom of Egypt.
'Tis your noblest course.
Wisdom and fortune combating together,
If that the former dare but what it can,
No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay
My duty on your hand.
Your Caesar's father
Oft, when he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in,
Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place,
As it rain'd kisses.
[Re-enter ANTONY and ENOBARBUS.]
Favours, by Jove that thunders! —
What art thou, fellow?
One that but performs
The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest
To have command obey'd.
[Aside.] You will be whipp'd.
Approach there. — Ah, you kite! — Now, gods and devils!
Authority melts from me: of late, when I cried 'Ho!'
Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth
And cry 'Your will?' Have you no ears? I am
Take hence this Jack and whip him.
'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp
Than with an old one dying.
Moon and stars!
Whip him. — Were't twenty of the greatest tributaries
That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them
So saucy with the hand of she here, — what's her name
Since she was Cleopatra? — Whip him, fellows,
Till like a boy you see him cringe his face,
And whine aloud for mercy: take him hence.
Mark Antony, —
Tug him away: being whipp'd,
Bring him again. — This Jack of Caesar's shall
Bear us an errand to him. —
[Exeunt Attendants with THYREUS.]
You were half blasted ere I knew you. — Ha!
Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome,
Forborne the getting of a lawful race,
And by a gem of women, to be abus'd
By one that looks on feeders?
Good my lord, —
You have been a boggler ever: —
But when we in our viciousness grow hard, —
O misery on't! — the wise gods seal our eyes;
In our own filth drop our clear judgments: make us
Adore our errors; laugh at's while we strut
To our confusion.
O, is't come to this?
I found you as a morsel cold upon
Dead Caesar's trencher; nay, you were a fragment
Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter hours,
Unregist'red in vulgar fame, you have
Luxuriously pick'd out: — for I am sure,
Though you can guess what temperance should be,
You know not what it is.
Wherefore is this?
To let a fellow that will take rewards,
And say 'God quit you!' be familiar with
My playfellow, your hand; this kingly seal
And plighter of high hearts! — O that I were
Upon the hill of Basan, to outroar
The horned herd! for I have savage cause;
And to proclaim it civilly were like
A halter'd neck which does the hangman thank
For being yare about him.
[Re-enter Attendants with THYREUS.]
Is he whipp'd?