ANTONY. 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 flattered. MESSENGER. 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— ANTONY. “Antony”, thou wouldst say— MESSENGER. O, my lord! ANTONY. Speak to me home; mince not the general tongue. Name Cleopatra as she is called 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. MESSENGER. At your noble pleasure. [_Exit Messenger._] Enter another Messenger. ANTONY. From Sicyon, ho, the news? Speak there! SECOND MESSENGER. The man from Sicyon— ANTONY. Is there such a one? SECOND MESSENGER. He stays upon your will. ANTONY. Let him appear. [_Exit second Messenger._] These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, Or lose myself in dotage. Enter another Messenger with a letter. What are you? THIRD MESSENGER. Fulvia thy wife is dead. ANTONY. Where died she? THIRD MESSENGER. In Sicyon: Her length of sickness, with what else more serious Importeth thee to know, this bears. [_Gives a letter._] ANTONY. Forbear me. [_Exit third Messenger._] There’s a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it. What our contempts 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! Enter Enobarbus. ENOBARBUS. What’s your pleasure, sir? ANTONY. I must with haste from hence. ENOBARBUS. 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. ANTONY. I must be gone. ENOBARBUS. 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. ANTONY. She is cunning past man’s thought. ENOBARBUS. 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. ANTONY. Would I had never seen her!