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.
Mark Antony · Act 3, Scene 13
After the naval defeat, Antony returns and brutally catalogs Cleopatra's past lovers, reducing her to scraps left by dead men. His rage is partly wounded pride and partly the rage of a man who has just watched his empire dissolve for someone he now calls a whore. The line shows how quickly love can curdle into contempt when fortune shifts.