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Charmian!
Charmian!
Madam?
Yes, madam?
Ha, ha! Give me to drink mandragora.
Ha, ha! Give me mandrake root to drink.
Why, madam?
Why, madam?
That I might sleep out this great gap of time My Antony is away.
I wish I could sleep through this long time While my Antony is gone.
You think of him too much.
You think about him too much.
O, ’tis treason!
Oh, that’s treason!
Madam, I trust, not so.
Madam, I don’t believe that’s true.
Thou, eunuch Mardian!
You, eunuch Mardian!
What’s your highness’ pleasure?
What would your highness have me do?
Not now to hear thee sing; I take no pleasure In aught an eunuch has: ’tis well for thee, That, being unseminar’d, thy freer thoughts May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections?
Not now to hear you sing; I take no pleasure In anything a eunuch has to offer: it’s a good thing for you, That since you can’t have children, your thoughts Are free to roam without restriction in Egypt. Do you have feelings?
Yes, gracious madam.
Yes, gracious madam.
Indeed!
Really?
Not in deed, madam; for I can do nothing But what indeed is honest to be done: Yet have I fierce affections, and think What Venus did with Mars.
Not really, madam; I can’t do anything Except what is right to do: But I do have strong emotions, and sometimes think About what Venus did with Mars.
O Charmian, Where think’st thou he is now? Stands he, or sits he? Or does he walk? or is he on his horse? O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony! Do bravely, horse! for wot’st thou whom thou movest? The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm And burgonet of men. He’s speaking now, Or murmuring ’Where’s my serpent of old Nile?’ For so he calls me: now I feed myself With most delicious poison. Think on me, That am with Phoebus’ amorous pinches black, And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Caesar, When thou wast here above the ground, I was A morsel for a monarch: and great Pompey Would stand and make his eyes grow in my brow; There would he anchor his aspect and die With looking on his life.
Oh Charmian, Where do you think he is now? Is he standing, or sitting? Or is he walking? Or is he on his horse? Oh happy horse, to carry the weight of Antony! Be brave, horse! Do you know whom you’re carrying? The half-man, half-god of this earth, the strength And protection of men. He’s speaking now, Or murmuring, ‘Where’s my serpent of old Nile?’ That’s what he calls me: now I feed myself On the most delicious poison. Think of me, As I am, burned by the sun, aging and marked by time. Broad-fronted Caesar, When you were here, I was A mere snack for a king: and great Pompey Would stand and look at me, his gaze fixed on my brow; And there, he’d anchor his vision and die Just by looking at his own life.
Sovereign of Egypt, hail!
Hail, Sovereign of Egypt!
How much unlike art thou Mark Antony! Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath With his tinct gilded thee. How goes it with my brave Mark Antony?
How unlike you are to Mark Antony! Yet, coming from him, that powerful medicine Has, with its touch, made you shine. How is my brave Mark Antony?
Last thing he did, dear queen, He kiss’d,--the last of many doubled kisses,-- This orient pearl. His speech sticks in my heart.
The last thing he did, dear queen, Was kiss,—the last of many double kisses,— This precious pearl. His words stay with me.
Mine ear must pluck it thence.
My ear must take them away.
’Good friend,’ quoth he, ’Say, the firm Roman to great Egypt sends This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot, To mend the petty present, I will piece Her opulent throne with kingdoms; all the east, Say thou, shall call her mistress.’ So he nodded, And soberly did mount an arm-gaunt steed, Who neigh’d so high, that what I would have spoke Was beastly dumb’d by him.
’Good friend,’ he said, ’Tell them that the powerful Roman sends to great Egypt This gift of an oyster; at whose feet, To make up for the small gift, I will add Her rich throne with kingdoms; all of the East, Tell them, will call her their ruler.’ Then he nodded, And seriously got on a tired horse, Who neighed so loudly that what I was about to say Was completely drowned out by him.
What, was he sad or merry?
Was he sad or happy?
Like to the time o’ the year between the extremes Of hot and cold, he was nor sad nor merry.
Like the weather between extreme heat and cold, He was neither sad nor happy.
O well-divided disposition! Note him, Note him good Charmian, ’tis the man; but note him: He was not sad, for he would shine on those That make their looks by his; he was not merry, Which seem’d to tell them his remembrance lay In Egypt with his joy; but between both: O heavenly mingle! Be’st thou sad or merry, The violence of either thee becomes, So does it no man else. Met’st thou my posts?
Oh, what a well-balanced character! Watch him, Watch him closely, good Charmian, he’s the one; but watch him: He wasn’t sad, because he would smile at those Who reflected his mood; he wasn’t happy, Which seemed to suggest his thoughts were With his happiness in Egypt; but between both: Oh, what a divine mixture! Whether you are sad or happy, Either extreme suits you, like it does no one else. Did you meet my messengers?
Ay, madam, twenty several messengers: Why do you send so thick?
Yes, madam, twenty different messengers: Why are you sending so many?
Who’s born that day When I forget to send to Antony, Shall die a beggar. Ink and paper, Charmian. Welcome, my good Alexas. Did I, Charmian, Ever love Caesar so?
Whoever is born on the day That I forget to send to Antony, Shall die a beggar. Ink and paper, Charmian. Welcome, my good Alexas. Did I, Charmian, Ever love Caesar this much?
O that brave Caesar!
Oh, that great Caesar!
Be choked with such another emphasis! Say, the brave Antony.
Be quiet with that kind of praise! Say, the great Antony.
The valiant Caesar!
The brave Caesar!
By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth, If thou with Caesar paragon again My man of men.
By Isis, I’ll make you regret that, If you compare him to Caesar again Over my man of men.
By your most gracious pardon, I sing but after you.
With your gracious permission, I’m just repeating what you said.
My salad days, When I was green in judgment: cold in blood, To say as I said then! But, come, away; Get me ink and paper: He shall have every day a several greeting, Or I’ll unpeople Egypt.
My young, carefree days, When I was naive in judgment, cold in passion, If I only had said what I said then! But, come on, let’s go; Get me ink and paper: He’ll get a personal greeting every day, Or I’ll depopulate Egypt.