lamented: this grief is crowned with consolation; your old smock brings forth a new petticoat: and indeed the tears live in an onion that should water this sorrow. The business she hath broached in the state Cannot endure my absence. And the business you have broached here cannot be without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly depends on your abode. No more light answers. Let our officers Have notice what we purpose. I shall break The cause of our expedience to the queen, And get her leave to part. For not alone The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, Do strongly speak to us; but the letters too Of many our contriving friends in Rome Petition us at home: Sextus Pompeius Hath given the dare to Caesar, and commands The empire of the sea: our slippery people, Whose love is never link'd to the deserver Till his deserts are past, begin to throw Pompey the Great and all his dignities Upon his son; who, high in name and power, Higher than both in blood and life, stands up For the main soldier: whose quality, going on, The sides o' the world may danger: much is breeding, Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life, And not a serpent's poison. Say, our pleasure, To such whose place is under us, requires Our quick remove from hence. I shall do't. Where is he? I did not see him since. See where he is, who's with him, what he does: I did not send you: if you find him sad, Say I am dancing; if in mirth, report That I am sudden sick: quick, and return. Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly, You do not hold the method to enforce The like from him. What should I do, I do not? In each thing give him way, cross him nothing. Thou teachest like a fool; the way to lose him. Tempt him not so too far; I wish, forbear: In time we hate that which we often fear. But here comes Antony. I am sick and sullen. I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose,-- Help me away, dear Charmian; I shall fall: It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature Will not sustain it. Now, my dearest queen,-- Pray you, stand further from me. What's the matter? I know, by that same eye, there's some good news. What says the married woman? You may go: Would she had never given you leave to come! Let her not say 'tis I that keep