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Part 13

Antony and Cleopatra · William Shakespeare — chapter 13 of 43 · ~386 words · public domain

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Mes. First Madam, he is well

Cleo. Why there's more Gold. But sirrah marke, we vse To say, the dead are well: bring it to that, The Gold I giue thee, will I melt and powr Downe thy ill vttering throate

Mes. Good Madam heare me

Cleo. Well, go too I will: But there's no goodnesse in thy face if Anthony Be free and healthfull; so tart a fauour To trumpet such good tidings. If not well, Thou shouldst come like a Furie crown'd with Snakes, Not like a formall man

Mes. Wilt please you heare me? Cleo. I haue a mind to strike thee ere thou speak'st: Yet if thou say Anthony liues, 'tis well, Or friends with Caesar, or not Captiue to him, Ile set thee in a shower of Gold, and haile Rich Pearles vpon thee

Mes. Madam, he's well

Cleo. Well said

Mes. And Friends with Caesar

Cleo. Th'art an honest man

Mes. Caesar, and he, are greater Friends then euer

Cleo. Make thee a Fortune from me

Mes. But yet Madam

Cleo. I do not like but yet, it does alay The good precedence, fie vpon but yet, But yet is as a Iaylor to bring foorth Some monstrous Malefactor. Prythee Friend, Powre out the packe of matter to mine eare, The good and bad together: he's friends with Caesar, In state of health thou saist, and thou saist, free

Mes. Free Madam, no: I made no such report, He's bound vnto Octauia

Cleo. For what good turne? Mes. For the best turne i'th' bed

Cleo. I am pale Charmian

Mes. Madam, he's married to Octauia

Cleo. The most infectious Pestilence vpon thee.

Strikes him downe.

Mes. Good Madam patience

Cleo. What say you?

Strikes him.

Hence horrible Villaine, or Ile spurne thine eyes Like balls before me: Ile vnhaire thy head,

She hales him vp and downe.

Thou shalt be whipt with Wyer, and stew'd in brine, Smarting in lingring pickle

Mes. Gratious Madam, I that do bring the newes, made not the match

Cleo. Say 'tis not so, a Prouince I will giue thee, And make thy Fortunes proud: the blow thou had'st Shall make thy peace, for mouing me to rage, And I will boot thee with what guift beside Thy modestie can begge

Mes. He's married Madam

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