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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!
Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, almost anything Alexas, nearly perfect Alexas, where’s the fortune teller that you praised so much to the queen? Oh, I wish I knew this husband, who, you say, must decorate his horns with garlands!
Soothsayer!
Soothsayer!
Your will?
What do you want?
Is this the man? Is’t you, sir, that know things?
Is this the man? Are you the one, sir, who knows things?
In nature’s infinite book of secrecy A little I can read.
In nature’s endless book of secrets I can read a little.
Show him your hand.
Show him your hand.
Bring in the banquet quickly; wine enough Cleopatra’s health to drink.
Bring in the food quickly; enough wine to drink to Cleopatra’s health.
Good sir, give me good fortune.
Good sir, wish me good luck.
I make not, but foresee.
I don’t make things happen, I just foresee them.
Pray, then, foresee me one.
Then, please, predict something for me.
You shall be yet far fairer than you are.
You will be even more beautiful than you are now.
He means in flesh.
He means in body.
No, you shall paint when you are old.
No, you’ll just use makeup when you’re older.
Wrinkles forbid!
Wrinkles won’t allow it!
Vex not his prescience; be attentive.
Don’t upset his foresight; pay attention.
Hush!
Quiet!
You shall be more beloving than beloved.
You will be more loved than you love.
I had rather heat my liver with drinking.
I’d rather heat my liver with drinking.
Nay, hear him.
No, listen to 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.
Well, I hope for some great luck! Let me marry three kings in a morning, and then be widowed by them: let me have a child at fifty, to whom Herod of Judea will pay tribute: find me a way to marry Octavius Caesar, and be with my mistress.
You shall outlive the lady whom you serve.
You will outlive the woman you serve.
O excellent! I love long life better than figs.
Oh, wonderful! I’d prefer a long life over figs.
You have seen and proved a fairer former fortune Than that which is to approach.
You’ve experienced a better past fortune than the one that’s coming.
Then belike my children shall have no names: prithee, how many boys and wenches must I have?
Then I suppose my children won’t have names: please, how many boys and girls will I have?
If every of your wishes had a womb. And fertile every wish, a million.
If every one of your wishes had a womb, and each wish were fertile, you’d have a million.
Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch.
Out, fool! I’ll forgive you for being a witch.
You think none but your sheets are privy to your wishes.
You think no one but your bed is privy to your wishes.
Nay, come, tell Iras hers.
No, come on, tell Iras hers.
We’ll know all our fortunes.
We’ll find out all our fates.
Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, shall be--drunk to bed.
Mine, and most of our fates, tonight, will be--drunk to sleep.
There’s a palm presages chastity, if nothing else.
A palm means purity, if nothing else.
E’en as the o’erflowing Nilus presageth famine.
Just like the overflowing Nile means famine.
Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay.
Go on, you wild girl, you can’t predict the future.
Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prognostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. Prithee, tell her but a worky-day fortune.
No, if an oily palm isn’t a good sign, then I can’t even scratch my ear. Please, just tell her a simple fortune.
Your fortunes are alike.
Your futures are the same.
But how, but how? give me particulars.
But how? How? Give me more details.
I have said.
I’ve already said it.
Am I not an inch of fortune better than she?
Am I not even a little bit luckier than she is?
Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than I, where would you choose it?
Well, if you were just a tiny bit luckier than me, where would you want it?
Not in my husband’s nose.
Not in my husband’s nose.
Our worser thoughts heavens mend! Alexas,--come, his fortune, his fortune! O, let him marry a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis, I beseech thee! and let her die too, and give him a worse! and let worst follow worse, till the worst of all follow him laughing to his grave, fifty-fold a cuckold! Good Isis, hear me this prayer, though thou deny me a matter of more weight; good Isis, I beseech thee!
May the heavens fix our worst thoughts! Alexas,--come, his future, his future! Oh, let him marry a woman who can’t walk, sweet Isis, I beg you! And let her die too, and give him a worse one! And let the worst things happen, until the worst of all follows him laughing to his grave, a hundred times a cuckold! Good Isis, hear this prayer, even if you deny me something more important; good Isis, I beg you!
Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the people! for, as it is a heartbreaking to see a handsome man loose-wived, so it is a deadly sorrow to behold a foul knave uncuckolded: therefore, dear Isis, keep decorum, and fortune him accordingly!
Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the people! Because, just like it breaks your heart to see a handsome man with a loose wife, it’s just as tragic to see a wicked man untouched by such shame: so, dear Isis, keep balance, and make sure his fortune matches!
Amen.
Amen.
Lo, now, if it lay in their hands to make me a cuckold, they would make themselves whores, but they’ld do’t!
Look, now, if it were in their power to make me a cuckold, they would make themselves prostitutes, but they’d still do it!
Hush! here comes Antony.
Quiet! Here comes Antony.
Not he; the queen.
Not him; the queen.
Saw you my lord?
Did you see my husband?
No, lady.
No, madam.
Was he not here?
Was he not here?
No, madam.
No, your highness.
He was disposed to mirth; but on the sudden A Roman thought hath struck him. Enobarbus!
He seemed happy, but suddenly A Roman thought has struck him. Enobarbus!
Madam?
Yes, madam?
Seek him, and bring him hither. Where’s Alexas?
Find him, and bring him here. Where’s Alexas?
Here, at your service. My lord approaches.
Here, at your service. My lord is coming.
We will not look upon him: go with us.
We won’t look at him yet: come with us.
Fulvia thy wife first came into the field.
Fulvia, your wife, first went into battle.
Against my brother Lucius?
Against my brother Lucius?
Ay: But soon that war had end, and the time’s state Made friends of them, joining their force ’gainst Caesar; Whose better issue in the war, from Italy, Upon the first encounter, drave them.
Yes: But soon the war ended, and the situation Forced them to become allies against Caesar; Whose superior forces from Italy, In their first battle, drove them back.
Well, what worst?
Well, what happened next?
The nature of bad news infects the teller.
Bad news affects the person who delivers it.
When it concerns the fool or coward. On: Things that are past are done with me. ’Tis thus: Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death, I hear him as he flatter’d.
Only when it involves a fool or a coward. Go on: What’s past is done with for me. It’s like this: Whoever tells me the truth, even if their story brings death, I hear them as if they’re flattering me.
Labienus-- This is stiff news--hath, with his Parthian force, Extended Asia from Euphrates; His conquering banner shook from Syria To Lydia and to Ionia; Whilst--
Labienus-- This is serious news--has, with his Parthian army, Expanded his control over Asia from the Euphrates; His victorious banner flew from Syria To Lydia and Ionia; While--
Antony, thou wouldst say,--
Antony, you would say,--
O, my lord!
Oh, my lord!
Speak to me home, mince not the general tongue: Name Cleopatra as she is call’d in Rome; Rail thou in Fulvia’s phrase; and taunt my faults With such full licence as both truth and malice Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds, When our quick minds lie still; and our ills told us Is as our earing. Fare thee well awhile.
Speak plainly to me, don’t soften it: Call Cleopatra by her name as she’s known in Rome; Insult me with Fulvia’s language; and mock my mistakes With all the freedom that both truth and hatred Allow you to express. Oh, then we bring out our flaws, When our minds are numb; and hearing our faults Feels like tilling the soil. Farewell for now.
At your noble pleasure.
As you wish, my lord.
From Sicyon, ho, the news! Speak there!
From Sicyon, hey, what’s the news? Speak up!
The man from Sicyon,--is there such an one?
The man from Sicyon--is there such a person?
He stays upon your will.
He’s waiting for your orders.
Let him appear. These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, Or lose myself in dotage.
Let him come forward. These heavy Egyptian chains I must break, Or lose myself in weakness.
What are you?
What news do you bring?
Fulvia thy wife is dead.
Fulvia, your wife, is dead.
Where died she?
Where did she die?
In Sicyon: Her length of sickness, with what else more serious Importeth thee to know, this bears.
In Sicyon: She has been sick for a long time, and there’s something even more serious that you need to know about. This letter will explain everything.
Forbear me.
Leave me alone.
There’s a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it: What our contempt doth often hurl from us, We wish it ours again; the present pleasure, By revolution lowering, does become The opposite of itself: she’s good, being gone; The hand could pluck her back that shoved her on. I must from this enchanting queen break off: Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know, My idleness doth hatch. How now! Enobarbus!
A great spirit has gone! This is exactly what I wanted: What we often push away with contempt, we end up wishing we could have back; the pleasure we feel now, by the change of time, becomes the opposite of what it once was: she seems better now that she’s gone; the hand that pushed her away could just as easily pull her back. I have to break away from this enchanting queen: My laziness creates more problems, worse than the ones I already know. How now! Enobarbus!
What’s your pleasure, sir?
What’s your wish, sir?
I must with haste from hence.
I need to leave here quickly.
Why, then, we kill all our women: we see how mortal an unkindness is to them; if they suffer our departure, death’s the word.
Well then, we’re killing all our women: We can see how deadly it is to be unkind to them; if they can handle us leaving, then death is the only answer.
I must be gone.
I must go.
Under a compelling occasion, let women die; it were pity to cast them away for nothing; though, between them and a great cause, they should be esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, dies instantly; I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment: I do think there is mettle in death, which commits some loving act upon her, she hath such a celerity in dying.
If the situation is urgent, let women die; it would be a waste to throw them away for no reason; though, when compared to a major cause, they should be considered as nothing. Cleopatra, just hearing the slightest hint of this, would die instantly; I’ve seen her die twenty times over much less serious things: I do believe there’s something powerful in death that makes her do this, she has such a quickness in dying.
She is cunning past man’s thought.
She’s more clever than any man could imagine.
Alack, sir, no; her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love: we cannot call her winds and waters sighs and tears; they are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can report: this cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she makes a shower of rain as well as Jove.
Oh no, sir, that’s not it; her feelings are nothing but pure love at its finest: we can’t just call her tears and sighs like winds and water; they’re more like terrible storms and tempests that no weather report could capture: this can’t be called cleverness on her part; if it is, she creates storms as powerful as Jupiter himself.
Would I had never seen her.
I wish I’d never seen her.
O, sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work; which not to have been blest withal would have discredited your travel.
Oh, sir, if you hadn’t seen her, you would have missed out on something truly extraordinary; to never have experienced it would have made your journey less meaningful.
Fulvia is dead.
Fulvia is dead.
Sir?
What? (or, "Excuse me?")
Fulvia is dead.
Fulvia is dead.
Fulvia!
Fulvia!?
Dead.
She’s dead.
Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. When it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a man from him, it shows to man the tailors of the earth; comforting therein, that when old robes are worn out, there are members to make new. If there were no more women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut, and the case to be 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.
Well, sir, you should thank the gods. When they decide to take a man’s wife away, it reminds us that the world keeps turning; and it’s comforting to know that when old things wear out, new things will come. If there were no other women but Fulvia, then you’d really have something to mourn. But this grief is balanced by the fact that your old wife is replaced by a new one. And honestly, this sadness is like the tears that come from chopping onions.
The business she hath broached in the state Cannot endure my absence.
The things she was involved with in the state Can’t wait for me to return.
And the business you have broached here cannot be without you; especially that of Cleopatra’s, which wholly depends on your abode.
And the things you’re dealing with here can’t go on without you either, especially Cleopatra’s affairs, which depend entirely on you being here.
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.
No more sarcastic remarks. Let’s tell our officers what we plan to do. I’ll explain the situation to the queen, and ask for her permission to leave. Because it’s not just Fulvia’s death, with all its pressing issues, that demands my attention; but also the letters from our many plotting friends in Rome urging us to act. Sextus Pompeius has challenged Caesar and now controls the seas. Our fickle people, whose loyalty only shows when it’s too late, are now backing Pompey the Great and his son. This son, powerful in name, wealth, and blood, stands up as the true soldier. His rise in power could shake the whole world: there’s a lot going on, still just beginning, like the hair of a young horse, without yet being dangerous like a serpent’s venom. So, our decision, which needs to be carried out by those under us, requires us to leave quickly.
I shall do’t.
I’ll do it.