Enob. When she first met Marke Anthony, she purst vp his heart vpon the Riuer of Sidnis
Agri. There she appear'd indeed: or my reporter deuis'd well for her
Eno. I will tell you, The Barge she sat in, like a burnisht Throne Burnt on the water: the Poope was beaten Gold, Purple the Sailes: and so perfumed that The Windes were Loue-sicke. With them the Owers were Siluer, Which to the tune of Flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beate, to follow faster; As amorous of their strokes. For her owne person, It beggerd all discription, she did lye In her Pauillion, cloth of Gold, of Tissue, O're-picturing that Venus, where we see The fancie out-worke Nature. On each side her, Stood pretty Dimpled Boyes, like smiling Cupids, With diuers coulour'd Fannes whose winde did seeme, To gloue the delicate cheekes which they did coole, And what they vndid did
Agrip. Oh rare for Anthony
Eno. Her Gentlewoman, like the Nereides, So many Mer-maides tended her i'th' eyes, And made their bends adornings. At the Helme, A seeming Mer-maide steeres: The Silken Tackle, Swell with the touches of those Flower-soft hands, That yarely frame the office. From the Barge A strange inuisible perfume hits the sense Of the adiacent Wharfes. The Citty cast Her people out vpon her: and Anthony Enthron'd i'th' Market-place, did sit alone, Whisling to'th' ayre: which but for vacancie, Had gone to gaze on Cleopater too, And made a gap in Nature
Agri. Rare Egiptian
Eno. Vpon her landing, Anthony sent to her, Inuited her to Supper: she replyed, It should be better, he became her guest: Which she entreated, our Courteous Anthony, Whom nere the word of no woman hard speake, Being barber'd ten times o're, goes to the Feast; And for his ordinary, paies his heart, For what his eyes eate onely
Agri. Royall Wench: She made great Caesar lay his Sword to bed, He ploughed her, and she cropt
Eno. I saw her once Hop forty Paces through the publicke streete, And hauing lost her breath, she spoke, and panted, That she did make defect, perfection, And breathlesse powre breath forth
Mece. Now Anthony, must leaue her vtterly
Eno. Neuer he will not: Age cannot wither her, nor custome stale Her infinite variety: other women cloy The appetites they feede, but she makes hungry, Where most she satisfies. For vildest things Become themselues in her, that the holy Priests Blesse her, when she is Riggish
Mece. If Beauty, Wisedome, Modesty, can settle The heart of Anthony: Octauia is A blessed Lottery to him
Agrip. Let vs go. Good Enobarbus, make your selfe my guest, whilst you abide heere
Eno. Humbly Sir I thanke you.
Enter Anthony, Caesar, Octauia betweene them.
Anth. The world, and my great office, will Sometimes deuide me from your bosome
Octa. All which time, before the Gods my knee shall bowe my prayers to them for you
Anth. Goodnight Sir. My Octauia Read not my blemishes in the worlds report: I haue not kept my square, but that to come Shall all be done byth' Rule: good night deere Lady: Good night Sir
Caesar. Goodnight. Enter.
Anth. Now sirrah: you do wish your selfe in Egypt? Sooth. Would I had neuer come from thence, nor you thither
Ant. If you can, your reason? Sooth. I see it in my motion: haue it not in my tongue, But yet hie you to Egypt againe