Antony and Cleopatra, Act 1, Scene 3

Where is he?

Where is he?

I did not see him since.

I haven't seen him since.

See where he is, who’s with him, what he does. I did not send you. If you find him sad, Say I am dancing; if in mirth, report That I am sudden sick. Quick, and return.

Go and see where he is, who is with him, what he is doing. I didn't send you. If you find him gloomy, say I am dancing; if he's cheerful, report that I have suddenly fallen ill. Be quick, and come back.

Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly, You do not hold the method to enforce The like from him.

Madam, it seems to me that if you loved him truly, you are not using the right method to draw the same love from him.

What should I do I do not?

What should I be doing that I'm not doing?

In each thing give him way; cross him in nothing.

Give in to him in everything; contradict him in nothing.

Thou teachest like a fool: the way to lose him.

You give the advice of a fool: that's the way to lose him.

Tempt him not so too far; I wish, forbear. In time we hate that which we often fear. But here comes Antony.

Don't push him so far; please, hold back. In time we come to hate what we often fear. But here comes Antony.

I am sick and sullen.

I am ill and out of sorts.

I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose—

I am sorry to put my intention into words—

Help me away, dear Charmian! I shall fall. It cannot be thus long; the sides of nature Will not sustain it.

Help me away, dear Charmian! I'm going to fall. It can't go on like this much longer; my body's frame won't bear it.

Now, my dearest queen—

Now, my dearest queen—

Pray you, stand farther from me.

Please, stand further away from me.

What’s the matter?

What's wrong?

I know by that same eye there’s some good news. What, says the married woman you may go? Would she had never given you leave to come! Let her not say ’tis I that keep you here. I have no power upon you; hers you are.

I can tell by that look in your eye that there's some good news. What, does your married wife say you may go? I wish she had never given you permission to come! Don't let her say it's me who keeps you here. I have no power over you; you're hers.

The gods best know—

The gods know best—

O, never was there queen So mightily betrayed! Yet at the first I saw the treasons planted.

Oh, no queen was ever so mightily betrayed! And yet from the very beginning I saw the treacheries being planted.

Cleopatra—

Cleopatra—

Why should I think you can be mine and true, Though you in swearing shake the throned gods, Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness, To be entangled with those mouth-made vows Which break themselves in swearing!

Why should I believe you can be mine and faithful — even though your oaths make the enthroned gods tremble — when you have been false to Fulvia? It's wild madness to be caught up in vows made only with the mouth, vows that break themselves even as they're sworn!

Most sweet queen—

Sweetest queen—

Nay, pray you seek no colour for your going, But bid farewell and go. When you sued staying, Then was the time for words. No going then, Eternity was in our lips and eyes, Bliss in our brows’ bent; none our parts so poor But was a race of heaven. They are so still, Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world, Art turned the greatest liar.

No, please don't look for an excuse for your going; just say goodbye and go. When you were begging to stay, that was the time for words. There was no talk of going then. Eternity was in our lips and eyes, happiness in the arch of our brows; not one part of us was so lowly that it wasn't of heavenly stock. They are still so, or else you, the greatest soldier in the world, have become the greatest liar.

How now, lady!

What's this, lady!

I would I had thy inches, thou shouldst know There were a heart in Egypt.

I wish I had your height and strength; then you'd know that there is a heart in Egypt.

Hear me, queen: The strong necessity of time commands Our services awhile, but my full heart Remains in use with you. Our Italy Shines o’er with civil swords; Sextus Pompeius Makes his approaches to the port of Rome; Equality of two domestic powers Breed scrupulous faction; the hated, grown to strength, Are newly grown to love; the condemned Pompey, Rich in his father’s honour, creeps apace Into the hearts of such as have not thrived Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten; And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge By any desperate change. My more particular, And that which most with you should safe my going, Is Fulvia’s death.

Listen to me, queen: the hard demands of the times require my services for a while, but my whole heart stays here in your keeping. Our Italy glitters all over with civil war; Sextus Pompeius is advancing towards the port of Rome; the balance between two powers at home breeds anxious factions; those who were hated, now that they've grown strong, have newly grown to be loved; the condemned Pompey, rich in his father's reputation, creeps quickly into the hearts of those who have not prospered under the present government, and their numbers are a threat; and the peace, grown sick of resting, would purge itself by any desperate change. My more personal reason, the one that should most make you feel safe about my going, is Fulvia's death.

Though age from folly could not give me freedom, It does from childishness. Can Fulvia die?

Though age could not free me from folly, it does free me from childishness. Can Fulvia die?

She’s dead, my queen. Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure read The garboils she awaked; at the last, best, See when and where she died.

She is dead, my queen. Look here, and read at your royal leisure about the troubles she stirred up; and at the end, best of all, see when and where she died.

O most false love! Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see, In Fulvia’s death how mine received shall be.

Oh, most false love! Where are the sacred jars you ought to be filling with tears of grief? Now I see, I see, in how you take Fulvia's death, how my own will be received.

Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know The purposes I bear; which are, or cease, As you shall give th’ advice. By the fire That quickens Nilus’ slime, I go from hence Thy soldier, servant, making peace or war As thou affects.

Stop quarrelling, and be ready to hear the plans I have; they will either go ahead or be dropped, according to the advice you give. By the fire that brings the mud of the Nile to life, I leave here as your soldier and servant, making peace or war as you choose.

Cut my lace, Charmian, come! But let it be; I am quickly ill and well, So Antony loves.

Cut my laces, Charmian, come! No, leave it; I fall ill and get well again quickly — just as Antony loves.

My precious queen, forbear, And give true evidence to his love, which stands An honourable trial.

My precious queen, stop this, and bear fair witness to his love, which can stand an honourable test.

So Fulvia told me. I prithee, turn aside and weep for her, Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears Belong to Egypt. Good now, play one scene Of excellent dissembling, and let it look Like perfect honour.

That's what Fulvia told me. Please, turn aside and weep for her, then say goodbye to me and say the tears are for Egypt. Come now, act one scene of excellent pretending, and make it look like perfect sincerity.

You’ll heat my blood. No more.

You'll make my blood boil. Enough.

You can do better yet, but this is meetly.

You can do better than that, but this is fairly good.

Now, by my sword—

Now, by my sword—

And target. Still he mends. But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Charmian, How this Herculean Roman does become The carriage of his chafe.

And shield. He keeps improving. But this isn't his best. Look, please, Charmian, how well this Roman descendant of Hercules carries off his rage.

I’ll leave you, lady.

I'll leave you, lady.

Courteous lord, one word. Sir, you and I must part, but that’s not it; Sir, you and I have loved, but there’s not it; That you know well. Something it is I would— O, my oblivion is a very Antony, And I am all forgotten.

Courteous lord, one word. Sir, you and I must part — but that's not it; sir, you and I have loved — but that's not it either; you know that well enough. There is something I meant to — oh, my forgetfulness is a perfect Antony, and I am completely forgotten.

But that your royalty Holds idleness your subject, I should take you For idleness itself.

If it weren't that your royal power keeps idleness as your subject, I would take you for idleness itself.

’Tis sweating labour To bear such idleness so near the heart As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me, Since my becomings kill me when they do not Eye well to you. Your honour calls you hence; Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly, And all the gods go with you! Upon your sword Sit laurel victory, and smooth success Be strewed before your feet!

It is sweating labour to carry such idleness so close to the heart as Cleopatra carries this. But, sir, forgive me, since the things that suit me kill me when they don't look well to you. Your honour calls you away; so be deaf to my folly, which deserves no pity, and may all the gods go with you! May laurelled victory sit on your sword, and easy success be scattered before your feet!

Let us go. Come. Our separation so abides and flies That thou, residing here, goes yet with me, And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. Away!

Let's go. Come. Our parting both stays and flies, so that you, staying here, still go with me, and I, hurrying away from here, still remain here with you. Away!