memory, poor Enobarbus did Before thy face repent! Enobarbus! Peace! Hark further. O sovereign mistress of true melancholy, The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me, That life, a very rebel to my will, May hang no longer on me: throw my heart Against the flint and hardness of my fault: Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder, And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony, Nobler than my revolt is infamous, Forgive me in thine own particular; But let the world rank me in register A master-leaver and a fugitive: O Antony! O Antony! Let's speak To him. Let's hear him, for the things he speaks May concern Caesar. Let's do so. But he sleeps. Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his Was never yet for sleep. Go we to him. Awake, sir, awake; speak to us. Hear you, sir? The hand of death hath raught him. Hark! the drums Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him To the court of guard; he is of note: our hour Is fully out. Come on, then; He may recover yet. Their preparation is to-day by sea; We please them not by land. For both, my lord. I would they'ld fight i' the fire or i' the air; We'ld fight there too. But this it is; our foot Upon the hills adjoining to the city Shall stay with us: order for sea is given; They have put forth the haven [ ] Where their appointment we may best discover, And look on their endeavour. But being charged, we will be still by land, Which, as I take't, we shall; for his best force Is forth to man his galleys. To the vales, And hold our best advantage. Yet they are not join'd: where yond pine does stand, I shall discover all: I'll bring thee word Straight, how 'tis like to go. 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. All is lost; This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me: My fleet hath yielded to the foe; and yonder They cast their caps up and carouse together Like friends long lost. Triple-turn'd 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