and note
The qualities of people. Come, my queen;
Last night you did desire it: speak not to us.
Is Caesar with Antonius prized so slight?
Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony,
He comes too short of that great property
Which still should go with Antony.
I am full sorry
That he approves the common liar, who
Thus speaks of him at Rome: but I will hope
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy!
Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any thing Alexas,
almost most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer
that you praised so to the queen? O, that I knew
this husband, which, you say, must charge his horns
with garlands!
Soothsayer!
Your will?
Is this the man? Is't you, sir, that know things?
In nature's infinite book of secrecy
A little I can read.
Show him your hand.
Bring in the banquet quickly; wine enough
Cleopatra's health to drink.
Good sir, give me good fortune.
I make not, but foresee.
Pray, then, foresee me one.
You shall be yet far fairer than you are.
He means in flesh.
No, you shall paint when you are old.
Wrinkles forbid!
Vex not his prescience; be attentive.
Hush!
You shall be more beloving than beloved.
I had rather heat my liver with drinking.
Nay, hear him.
Good now, some excellent fortune! Let me be married
to three kings in a forenoon, and widow them all:
let me have a child at fifty, to whom Herod of Jewry
may do homage: find me to marry me with Octavius
Caesar, and companion me with my mistress.
You shall outlive the lady whom you serve.
O excellent! I love long life better than figs.
You have seen and proved a fairer former fortune
Than that which is to approach.
Then belike my children shall have no names:
prithee, how many boys and wenches must I have?
If every of your wishes had a womb.
And fertile every wish, a million.
Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch.
You think none but your sheets are privy to your wishes.
Nay, come, tell Iras hers.
We'll know all our fortunes.
Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, shall
be--drunk to bed.
There's a palm presages chastity, if nothing else.
E'en as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth famine.
Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay.
Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful
prognostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. Prithee,
tell her but a worky-day fortune.
Your fortunes are alike.
But how, but how? give me