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Modern English
What shall we do, Enobarbus?
What should we do, Enobarbus?
Think, and die.
Think about it, and die.
Is Antony or we in fault for this?
Is it Antony’s fault or ours?
Antony only, that would make his will Lord of his reason. What though you fled From that great face of war, whose several ranges Frighted each other? why should he follow? The itch of his affection should not then Have nick’d his captainship; at such a point, When half to half the world opposed, he being The meered question: ’twas a shame no less Than was his loss, to course your flying flags, And leave his navy gazing.
Only Antony, who let his desires Control his reason. So what if you ran From that massive war, where each side Was terrified of the other? Why should he chase you? His emotional obsession shouldn’t have Undermined his leadership. At a moment like this, When half the world was against him, and he was The key issue: it was a disgrace, no less Than his defeat, to follow your retreating flags, And leave his navy just watching.
Prithee, peace.
Please, be quiet.
Is that his answer?
Is that his response?
Ay, my lord.
Yes, my lord.
The queen shall then have courtesy, so she Will yield us up.
Then the queen will have some respect, if she Agrees to surrender.
He says so.
He says so.
Let her know’t. To the boy Caesar send this grizzled head, And he will fill thy wishes to the brim With principalities.
Let her know this. Send this grizzled head to the boy Caesar, And he will grant all your wishes, Filling them with power and riches.
That head, my lord?
That head, my lord?
To him again: tell him he wears the rose Of youth upon him; from which the world should note Something particular: his coin, ships, legions, May be a coward’s; whose ministers would prevail Under the service of a child as soon As i’ the command of Caesar: I dare him therefore To lay his gay comparisons apart, And answer me declined, sword against sword, Ourselves alone. I’ll write it: follow me.
Yes, send it to him again: tell him he still has the youth And promise of greatness, which the world should notice As something special: his money, ships, and armies Could be those of a coward; whose servants would thrive Under a child’s command just as well as Caesar’s: I dare him, To leave behind his flashy comparisons, And face me, sword against sword, alone. I’ll write the message: follow me.
[Aside] Yes, like enough, high-battled Caesar will Unstate his happiness, and be staged to the show, Against a sworder! I see men’s judgments are A parcel of their fortunes; and things outward Do draw the inward quality after them, To suffer all alike. That he should dream, Knowing all measures, the full Caesar will Answer his emptiness! Caesar, thou hast subdued His judgment too.
[Aside] Yes, it’s likely that mighty Caesar will Throw away his happiness, and make a spectacle of it, Against a swordsman! I see that people’s judgments Are tied to their fortunes; and outward appearances Influence what’s inside, making everyone suffer the same. That he should think, Knowing all the facts, that the full Caesar will Respond to his weakness! Caesar, you’ve conquered His judgment too.
A messenger from CAESAR.
A messenger from CAESAR.
What, no more ceremony? See, my women! Against the blown rose may they stop their nose That kneel’d unto the buds. Admit him, sir.
What, no more ceremony? Look, my women! May they hold their noses against the strong scent of the rose That kneeled to the flower buds. Let him in, sir.
[Aside] Mine honesty and I begin to square. The loyalty well held to fools does make Our faith mere folly: yet he that can endure To follow with allegiance a fall’n lord Does conquer him that did his master conquer And earns a place i’ the story.
[Aside] My sense of honesty and I are starting to disagree. The loyalty we show to fools just makes Our faith seem like foolishness: but the one who can endure Following a fallen lord with loyalty Conquers the one who conquered his master And earns a place in history.
Caesar’s will?
Caesar’s message?
Hear it apart.
Hear it privately.
None but friends: say boldly.
Only friends here: speak openly.
So, haply, are they friends to Antony.
Well, perhaps they are friends to Antony.
He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has; Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our master Will leap to be his friend: for us, you know, Whose he is we are, and that is, Caesar’s.
He needs as many as Caesar has, sir, Or he doesn’t need us. If Caesar wants, our master Will eagerly become his friend: as for us, you know, We belong to whoever owns us, and that’s Caesar.
So. Thus then, thou most renown’d: Caesar entreats, Not to consider in what case thou stand’st, Further than he is Caesar.
I see. So then, you most honored one: Caesar asks, Not that you think about your position, More than that he is Caesar.
Go on: right royal.
Go on: you speak truly.
He knows that you embrace not Antony As you did love, but as you fear’d him.
He knows that you don’t embrace Antony As you once loved him, but as you now fear him.
O!
Oh!
The scars upon your honour, therefore, he Does pity, as constrained blemishes, Not as deserved.
The scars on your honor, then, he Pities, as forced flaws, Not as something you deserved.
He is a god, and knows What is most right: mine honour was not yielded, But conquer’d merely.
He is a god, and knows What is most right: my honor was not given up, But conquered completely.
[Aside] To be sure of that, I will ask Antony. Sir, sir, thou art so leaky, That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for Thy dearest quit thee.
[Aside] To be sure of that, I will ask Antony. Sir, sir, you’re so unreliable, That we must leave you to your downfall, for You’ll pay the price for it.
Shall I say to Caesar What you require of him? for he partly begs To be desired to give. It much would please him, That of his fortunes you should make a staff To lean upon: but it would warm his spirits, To hear from me you had left Antony, And put yourself under his shrowd, The universal landlord.
Should I tell Caesar What you want from him? He kind of asks To be asked to give. It would please him greatly, If you would use his fortune as a support To lean on: but it would lift his spirits, To hear from me that you left Antony, And placed yourself under his protection, The universal ruler.
What’s your name?
What’s your name?
My name is Thyreus.
My name is Thyreus.
Most kind messenger, Say to great Caesar this: in deputation I kiss his conquering hand: tell him, I am prompt To lay my crown at ’s feet, and there to kneel: Tell him from his all-obeying breath I hear The doom of Egypt.
Most kind messenger, Tell great Caesar this: on his behalf I kiss his conquering hand: tell him, I am ready To lay my crown at his feet, and kneel there: Tell him that from his all-powerful breath I hear The fate 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.
It’s your noblest course. Wisdom and fortune fighting together, If the former dares to do what it can, No chance can shake it. Allow me to place My duty in your hands.
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.
Your Caesar’s father often, When he thought about conquering kingdoms, Would kiss that unworthy place, As if it were raining kisses.
Favours, by Jove that thunders! What art thou, fellow?
Favors, by Jove that thunders! Who are you, man?
One that but performs The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest To have command obey’d.
One who only follows The orders of the greatest man, and most deserving To have his commands obeyed.
[Aside] You will be whipp’d.
[Aside] You’re going to get whipped.
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.
Come here, you! Ah, you scoundrel! Now, gods and devils! My authority slips away: just recently, when I shouted ’Ho!’ Like kids to a fight, kings would rush out, And ask, ’What do you want?’ Have you no ears? I am still Antony.
Take hence this Jack, and whip him.
Take this fool away, and whip him.
[Aside] ’Tis better playing with a lion’s whelp Than with an old one dying.
[Aside] It’s easier playing with a lion’s cub Than with an old one that’s 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.
Moon and stars! Whip him. If it were twenty of the greatest kings Who acknowledge Caesar, I should still find them So disrespectful to her—what’s her name, Since she became Cleopatra? Whip him, guys, Until, like a child, you see him cringe his face, And beg loudly for mercy: take him away.
Mark Antony!
Mark Antony!
Tug him away: being whipp’d, Bring him again: this Jack of Caesar’s shall Bear us an errand to him.
Drag him away: after he’s been whipped, Bring him back: this lackey of Caesar’s will Deliver a message 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?
You were almost ruined before I even met you: ha! Have I left my bed unoccupied in Rome, Avoided having legitimate children, And been misused By a woman who’s nothing but a prize for men?
Good my lord,--
Please, 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.
You’ve always been deceitful: But when we become hardened in our sins— Oh, how miserable it is!—the wise gods blind us; In our own filth, they cloud our judgment; they make us Worship our mistakes; laugh at them, while we swagger To our own downfall.
O, is’t come to this?
Oh, is it really 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.
I found you, like a cold scrap of food, Left on dead Caesar’s plate; no, you were a leftover From Cneius Pompey’s meal; besides, in more passionate moments, Unspoken in common gossip, you have Indulged yourself in pleasures: for, I’m sure, Though you know what moderation should be, You don’t know what it actually means.
Wherefore is this?
Why are you saying 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 it civilly, were like A halter’d neck which does the hangman thank For being yare about him.
To let a man who takes rewards And says "God bless you!" be so familiar with My companion, your hand; this royal seal And sworn friend of great hearts! Oh, that I were On the hill of Basan, shouting louder Than a herd of cattle! For I have savage reasons; And to express it politely would be like A man with a noose around his neck thanking The executioner for making his job easy.
Is he whipp’d?
Is he whipped?
Soundly, my lord.
Yes, my lord, thoroughly.
Cried he? and begg’d a’ pardon?
Did he cry out? And beg for forgiveness?
He did ask favour.
He did ask for a favor.
If that thy father live, let him repent Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorry To follow Caesar in his triumph, since Thou hast been whipp’d for following him: henceforth The white hand of a lady fever thee, Shake thou to look on ’t. Get thee back to Caesar, Tell him thy entertainment: look, thou say He makes me angry with him; for he seems Proud and disdainful, harping on what I am, Not what he knew I was: he makes me angry; And at this time most easy ’tis to do’t, When my good stars, that were my former guides, Have empty left their orbs, and shot their fires Into the abysm of hell. If he mislike My speech and what is done, tell him he has Hipparchus, my enfranched bondman, whom He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture, As he shall like, to quit me: urge it thou: Hence with thy stripes, begone!
If your father is still alive, let him regret That you were not his daughter; and let it make you sad To follow Caesar in his victory, since You’ve been beaten for following him: from now on The gentle touch of a lady will make you feverish, You’ll tremble just looking at it. Go back to Caesar, Tell him how you’ve been treated: tell him He’s made me angry with him; because he acts Proud and disrespectful, focusing on what I am, Not on what he knew I was: he makes me angry; And right now, it’s easy to make me angry, When my good fortune, which used to guide me, Has deserted me, leaving me in a pit of despair. If he doesn’t like What I’ve said and what’s been done, tell him he has Hipparchus, my freed slave, whom He can whip, hang, or torture at his will, To take revenge on me: urge it, do it: Now get out of here with your stripes, go!
Have you done yet?
Are you done yet?
Alack, our terrene moon Is now eclipsed; and it portends alone The fall of Antony!
Alas, our earthly moon Is now eclipsed; and it only predicts The fall of Antony!
I must stay his time.
I must wait for his time.
To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes With one that ties his points?
To flatter Caesar, would you really lower yourself To someone who only plays tricks?
Not know me yet?
Don’t you recognize me yet?
Cold-hearted toward me?
You’re cold-hearted toward me?
Ah, dear, if I be so, From my cold heart let heaven engender hail, And poison it in the source; and the first stone Drop in my neck: as it determines, so Dissolve my life! The next Caesarion smite! Till by degrees the memory of my womb, Together with my brave Egyptians all, By the discandying of this pelleted storm, Lie graveless, till the flies and gnats of Nile Have buried them for prey!
Oh, if I am so, Then let heaven bring hail from my cold heart, And poison it at the source; let the first stone Fall on my neck: and as it decides, let My life dissolve! Let the next Caesarion be struck down! Until slowly, the memory of my womb, Along with all my brave Egyptians, Is washed away by this storm, And they lie unburied, until the flies and gnats of the Nile Bury them for food!
I am satisfied. Caesar sits down in Alexandria; where I will oppose his fate. Our force by land Hath nobly held; our sever’d navy too Have knit again, and fleet, threatening most sea-like. Where hast thou been, my heart? Dost thou hear, lady? If from the field I shall return once more To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood; I and my sword will earn our chronicle: There’s hope in’t yet.
I’m satisfied. Caesar is in Alexandria; where I will fight against his fate. Our army on land Has fought nobly; our separated navy too Has reunited and is now a strong force at sea. Where have you been, my love? Do you hear me, lady? If I return from the battlefield again To kiss these lips, I will return covered in blood; I and my sword will write our story: There’s still hope for that.
That’s my brave lord!
That’s my brave lord!
I will be treble-sinew’d, hearted, breathed, And fight maliciously: for when mine hours Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives Of me for jests; but now I’ll set my teeth, And send to darkness all that stop me. Come, Let’s have one other gaudy night: call to me All my sad captains; fill our bowls once more; Let’s mock the midnight bell.
I will be strong, determined, and full of life, And fight with hatred: because when my moments Were fortunate, men would pay for the privilege Of laughing at me; but now I’ll grit my teeth, And send everything that gets in my way into darkness. Come, Let’s have one more grand night: call all my Sad captains to me; fill our cups again; Let’s mock the midnight bell.
It is my birth-day: I had thought to have held it poor: but, since my lord Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.
It’s my birthday: I thought it would be a poor one, but now that my lord Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.
We will yet do well.
We will do well yet.
Call all his noble captains to my lord.
Call all his noble captains to my lord.
Do so, we’ll speak to them; and to-night I’ll force The wine peep through their scars. Come on, my queen; There’s sap in’t yet. The next time I do fight, I’ll make death love me; for I will contend Even with his pestilent scythe.
Do it, we’ll talk to them; and tonight I’ll make The wine spill over their wounds. Come on, my queen; There’s still life in them. The next time I fight, I’ll make death love me; because I’ll challenge Even his deadly scythe.
Now he’ll outstare the lightning. To be furious, Is to be frighted out of fear; and in that mood The dove will peck the estridge; and I see still, A diminution in our captain’s brain Restores his heart: when valour preys on reason, It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek Some way to leave him.
Now he’ll outstare the lightning. To be angry, Is to be scared out of being afraid; and in that state The dove will attack the ostrich; and I still see, A weakening in our captain’s mind Strengthens his heart: when courage feeds on reason, It destroys the sword it fights with. I’ll find A way to leave him.