The doom of Egypt. 'Tis your noblest course. Wisdom and fortune combating together, If that the former dare but what it can, No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay My duty on your hand. Your Caesar's father oft, When he hath mused of taking kingdoms in, Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, As it rain'd kisses. Favours, by Jove that thunders! What art thou, fellow? One that but performs The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest To have command obey'd. You will be whipp'd. Approach, there! Ah, you kite! Now, gods and devils! Authority melts from me: of late, when I cried 'Ho!' Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth, And cry 'Your will?' Have you no ears? I am Antony yet. Take hence this Jack, and whip him. 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp Than with an old one dying. Moon and stars! Whip him. Were't twenty of the greatest tributaries That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them So saucy with the hand of she here,--what's her name, Since she was Cleopatra? Whip him, fellows, Till, like a boy, you see him cringe his face, And whine aloud for mercy: take him hence. Mark Antony! Tug him away: being whipp'd, Bring him again: this Jack of Caesar's shall Bear us an errand to him. You were half blasted ere I knew you: ha! Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome, Forborne the getting of a lawful race, And by a gem of women, to be abused By one that looks on feeders? Good my lord,-- You have been a boggler ever: But when we in our viciousness grow hard-- O misery on't!--the wise gods seel our eyes; In our own filth drop our clear judgments; make us Adore our errors; laugh at's, while we strut To our confusion. O, is't come to this? I found you as a morsel cold upon Dead Caesar's trencher; nay, you were a fragment Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter hours, Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have Luxuriously pick'd out: for, I am sure, Though you can guess what temperance should be, You know not what it is. Wherefore is this? To let a fellow that will take rewards And say 'God quit you!' be familiar with My playfellow, your hand; this kingly seal And plighter of high hearts! O, that I were Upon the hill of Basan, to outroar The horned herd! for I have savage cause; And to proclaim