Between the two Camps.
 Alarum afar off, as at a sea-fight.
 Enter ANTONY and SCARUS.

Antony	Yet they are not joined. Where yond pine does stand,
	I shall discover all; I'll bring thee word
	Straight how 'tis like to go.
													[Exit.
Scarus									Swallows have built
	In Cleopatra's sails their nests. The augurers
	Say they know not, they cannot tell, look grimly,
	And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony
	Is valiant, and dejected; and by starts
	His fretted fortunes give him hope and fear
	Of what he has and has not.

                             Re-enter ANTONY.

Antony									All is lost!
	This foul Egyptian hath betrayd me;
	My fleet hath yielded to the foe, and yonder
	They cast their caps up, and carouse together
	Like friends long lost. Triple-turned whore, 'tis thou
	Hast sold me to this novice, and my heart
	Makes only wars on thee! Bid them all fly;
	For when I am revenged upon my charm,
	I have done all. Bid them all fly, be gone!
													[Exit SCARUS.
	O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more!
	Fortune and Antony part here, even here
	Do we shake hands. All come to this? The hearts
	That spanieled me at heels, to whom I gave
	Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets
	On blossoming Caesar; and this pine is barked
	That overtopped them all. Betrayed I am.
	O this false soul of Egypt! This grave charm,
	Whose eye becked forth my wars, and called them home;
	Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end,
	Like a right gipsy hath at fast and loose
	Beguiled me to the very heart of loss.
	What, Eros, Eros!

                             Enter CLEOPATRA.

						Ah, thou spell! Avaunt!

Cleopatra	Why is my lord enraged against his love?

Antony	Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving,
	And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee
	And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians;
	Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot
	Of all thy sex. Most monster-like be shown
	For poor'st diminutives, for doits, and let
	Patient Octavia plough thy visage up
	With her prepard nails.
													[Exit CLEOPATRA.
							'Tis well th'art gone,
	If it be well to live; but better 'twere
	Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death
	Might have prevented many. Eros, ho!
	The shirt of Nessus is upon me. Teach me,
	Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage;
	Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o'th' moon,
	And with those hands that grasped the heaviest club
	Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die.
	To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall
	Under this plot. She dies for't. Eros, ho!
													[Exit.

