Give me some music—music, moody food

Of us that trade in love.

The music, ho!

Let it alone. Let’s to billiards. Come, Charmian.

My arm is sore. Best play with Mardian.

As well a woman with an eunuch played

As with a woman. Come, you’ll play with me, sir?

As well as I can, madam.

And when good will is showed, though’t come too short,

The actor may plead pardon. I’ll none now.

Give me mine angle; we’ll to the river. There,

My music playing far off, I will betray

Tawny-finned fishes. My bended hook shall pierce

Their slimy jaws, and as I draw them up

I’ll think them every one an Antony,

And say “Ah, ha! You’re caught.”

’Twas merry when

You wagered on your angling; when your diver

Did hang a salt fish on his hook, which he

With fervency drew up.

That time?—O times!—

I laughed him out of patience; and that night

I laughed him into patience, and next morn,

Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed,

Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst

I wore his sword Philippan.

O! from Italy!

Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears,

That long time have been barren.

Madam, madam—

Antony’s dead! If thou say so, villain,

Thou kill’st thy mistress. But well and free,

If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here

My bluest veins to kiss, a hand that kings

Have lipped, and trembled kissing.

First, madam, he’s well.

Why, there’s more gold.

But sirrah, mark, we use

To say the dead are well. Bring it to that,

The gold I give thee will I melt and pour

Down thy ill-uttering throat.

Good madam, hear me.

Well, go to, I will.

But there’s no goodness in thy face if Antony

Be free and healthful. So tart a favour

To trumpet such good tidings! If not well,

Thou shouldst come like a Fury crowned with snakes,

Not like a formal man.

Will’t please you hear me?

I have a mind to strike thee ere thou speak’st.

Yet if thou say Antony lives, is well,

Or friends with Caesar, or not captive to him,

I’ll set thee in a shower of gold and hail

Rich pearls upon thee.

Madam, he’s well.

Well said.

And friends with Caesar.

Th’ art an honest man.

Caesar and he are greater friends than ever.

Make thee a fortune from me.

But yet, madam—

I do not like “But yet”, it does allay

The good precedence. Fie upon “But yet”!

“But yet” is as a gaoler to bring forth

Some monstrous malefactor. Prithee, friend,

Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear,

The good and bad together: he’s friends with Caesar,

In state of health, thou say’st; and, thou say’st, free.

Free, madam? No. I made no such report.

He’s bound unto Octavia.

For what good turn?

For the best turn i’ th’ bed.

I am pale, Charmian.

Madam, he’s married to Octavia.

The most infectious pestilence upon thee!

Good madam, patience.

What say you?

Hence, horrible villain, or I’ll spurn thine eyes

Like balls before me! I’ll unhair thy head!

Thou shalt be whipped with wire and stewed in brine,

Smarting in ling’ring pickle.

Gracious madam,

I that do bring the news made not the match.

Say ’tis not so, a province I will give thee,

And make thy fortunes proud. The blow thou hadst

Shall make thy peace for moving me to rage,

And I will boot thee with what gift beside

Thy modesty can beg.

He’s married, madam.

Rogue, thou hast lived too long.

Nay then I’ll run.

What mean you, madam? I have made no fault.

Good madam, keep yourself within yourself.

The man is innocent.

Some innocents ’scape not the thunderbolt.

Melt Egypt into Nile, and kindly creatures

Turn all to serpents! Call the slave again.

Though I am mad, I will not bite him. Call!

He is afeard to come.

I will not hurt him.

These hands do lack nobility that they strike

A meaner than myself, since I myself

Have given myself the cause.

Come hither, sir.

Though it be honest, it is never good

To bring bad news. Give to a gracious message

An host of tongues, but let ill tidings tell

Themselves when they be felt.

I have done my duty.

Is he married?

I cannot hate thee worser than I do

If thou again say “Yes.”

He’s married, madam.

The gods confound thee! Dost thou hold there still!

Should I lie, madam?

O, I would thou didst,

So half my Egypt were submerged and made

A cistern for scaled snakes! Go, get thee hence.

Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me

Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married?

I crave your highness’ pardon.

He is married?

Take no offence that I would not offend you.

To punish me for what you make me do

Seems much unequal. He’s married to Octavia.

O, that his fault should make a knave of thee

That art not what thou’rt sure of! Get thee hence!

The merchandise which thou hast brought from Rome

Are all too dear for me. Lie they upon thy hand,

And be undone by ’em!

Good your highness, patience.

In praising Antony I have dispraised Caesar.

Many times, madam.

I am paid for’t now.

Lead me from hence;

I faint. O Iras, Charmian! ’Tis no matter.

Go to the fellow, good Alexas, bid him

Report the feature of Octavia, her years,

Her inclination; let him not leave out

The colour of her hair. Bring me word quickly.

Let him for ever go—let him not, Charmian.

Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon,

The other way ’s a Mars. [_To Mardian_] Bid you Alexas

Bring me word how tall she is. Pity me, Charmian,

But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber.