——‘Antony, Leave thy lascivious wassels. When thou once Wert beaten from Mutina, where thou slew’st Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel Did famine follow, whom thou fought’st against, Though daintily brought up, with patience more Than savages could suffer. Thou did’st drink The stale of horses, and the gilded puddle Which beast would cough at. Thy palate then did deign The roughest berry on the rudest hedge, Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets, The barks of trees thou browsed’st. On the Alps, It is reported, thou didst eat strange flesh, Which some did die to look on: and all this, It wounds thine honour, that I speak it now, Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek So much as lank’d not.’ The passage after Antony’s defeat by Augustus, where he is made to say— ‘Yes, yes; he at Philippi kept His sword e’en like a dancer; while I struck The lean and wrinkled Cassius, and ’twas I That the mad Brutus ended’— is one of those fine retrospections which show us the winding and eventful march of human life. The jealous attention which has been paid to the unities both of time and place has taken away the principle of perspective in the drama, and all the interest which objects derive from distance, from contrast, from privation, from change of fortune, from long-cherished passion; and contrasts our view of life from a strange and romantic dream, long, obscure, and infinite, into a smartly contested, three hours’ inaugural disputation on its merits by the different candidates for theatrical applause. The latter scenes of ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA are full of the changes of accident and passion. Success and defeat follow one another with startling rapidity. Fortune sits upon her wheel more blind and giddy than usual. This precarious state and the approaching dissolution of his greatness are strikingly displayed in the dialogue of Antony with Eros. ‘_Antony._ Eros, thou yet behold’st me? _Eros._ Ay, noble lord. _Antony._ Sometime we see a cloud that’s dragonish, A vapour sometime, like a bear or lion, A towered citadel, a pendant rock, A forked mountain, or blue promontory With trees upon’t, that nod unto the world And mock our eyes with air. Thou hast seen these signs, They are black vesper’s pageants. _Eros._ Ay, my lord. _Antony._ That which is now a horse, even with a thought The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct As water is in water. _Eros._ It does, my lord. _Antony._ My good knave, Eros, now thy captain is Even such a body,’ etc.