PlayShakespeare.com: The Ultimate Free Shakespeare Resource
PlayShakespeare.com: The Ultimate Free Shakespeare Resource
PlayShakespeare.com: The Ultimate Free Shakespeare Resource
PlayShakespeare.com: The Ultimate Free Shakespeare Resource

Antony and Cleopatra Scenes


Scene 8

Under the walls of Alexandria.

(Antony; Scarus; Cleopatra)


Antony reports his victory to Cleopatra. (44 lines)

Alarum. Enter Antony again, in a march, Scarus, with others.

ANT.

We have beat him to his camp. Run one before,

And let the Queen know of our gests. Tomorrow,

Before the sun shall see ’s, we’ll spill the blood

That has today escap’d. I thank you all,

For doughty-handed are you, and have fought

Not as you serv’d the cause, but as’t had been

Each man’s like mine; you have shown all Hectors.

Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends,

Tell them your feats, whilst they with joyful tears

Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss

The honor’d gashes whole.

Enter Cleopatra attended.

To Scarus.

Give me thy hand;

To this great fairy I’ll commend thy acts,

Make her thanks bless thee.

To Cleopatra.

O thou day o’ th’ world,

Chain mine arm’d neck, leap thou, attire and all,

Through proof of harness to my heart, and there

Ride on the pants triumphing!

CLEO.

Lord of lords!

O infinite virtue, com’st thou smiling from

The world’s great snare uncaught?

ANT.

Mine nightingale,

We have beat them to their beds. What, girl, though grey

Do something mingle with our younger brown, yet ha’ we

A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can

Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man,

Commend unto his lips thy favoring hand.

Kiss it, my warrior; he hath fought today

As if a god, in hate of mankind, had

Destroyed in such a shape.

CLEO.

I’ll give thee, friend,

An armor all of gold; it was a king’s.

ANT.

He has deserv’d it, were it carbuncled

Like holy Phoebus’ car. Give me thy hand.

Through Alexandria make a jolly march,

Bear our hack’d targets like the men that owe them.

Had our great palace the capacity

To camp this host, we all would sup together,

And drink carouses to the next day’s fate,

Which promises royal peril. Trumpeters,

With brazen din blast you the city’s ear,

Make mingle with our rattling taborines,

That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together,

Applauding our approach.

Exeunt.

 

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