CLEOPATRA. Let it alone. Let’s to billiards. Come, Charmian. 

 CHARMIAN. My arm is sore. Best play with Mardian. 

 CLEOPATRA. As well a woman with an eunuch played As with a woman. Come, you’ll play with me, sir? 

 MARDIAN. As well as I can, madam. 

 CLEOPATRA. And when good will is showed, though’t come too short, The actor may plead pardon. I’ll none now. Give me mine angle; we’ll to the river. There, My music playing far off, I will betray Tawny-finned fishes. My bended hook shall pierce Their slimy jaws, and as I draw them up I’ll think them every one an Antony, And say “Ah, ha! You’re caught.” 

 CHARMIAN. ’Twas merry when You wagered on your angling; when your diver Did hang a salt fish on his hook, which he With fervency drew up. 

 CLEOPATRA. That time?—O times!— I laughed him out of patience; and that night I laughed him into patience, and next morn, Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed, Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst I wore his sword Philippan. 

 Enter Messenger. 

Messenger

 O! from Italy! Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, That long time have been barren. 

 MESSENGER. Madam, madam— 

 CLEOPATRA. Antony’s dead! If thou say so, villain, Thou kill’st thy mistress. But well and free, If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here My bluest veins to kiss, a hand that kings Have lipped, and trembled kissing. 

 MESSENGER. First, madam, he’s well. 

 CLEOPATRA. Why, there’s more gold. But sirrah, mark, we use To say the dead are well. Bring it to that, The gold I give thee will I melt and pour Down thy ill-uttering throat. 

 MESSENGER. Good madam, hear me. 

 CLEOPATRA. Well, go to, I will. But there’s no goodness in thy face if Antony Be free and healthful. So tart a favour To trumpet such good tidings! If not well, Thou shouldst come like a Fury crowned with snakes, Not like a formal man. 

 MESSENGER. Will’t please you hear me? 

 CLEOPATRA. I have a mind to strike thee ere thou speak’st. Yet if thou say Antony lives, is 

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