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's with him, what he's doing. I didn't send you. If you find him serious, say I'm dancing; if he's cheerful, report that I've 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 deeply, you're not using the method that would draw the same love from him.

What should I do I do not?

What should I be doing that I'm not?

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

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

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

You're teaching like 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 provoke 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'm sorry to have 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 for long; 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. Well, does your wife say you may go? I wish she had never allowed you to come! Don't let her say that it's I who keep you here. I have no power over you; you are 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! Yet from the very start I saw the treachery 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 think you can be mine and faithful — even if your swearing shakes the gods on their thrones — when you have been false to Fulvia? It's wild madness to be caught up in vows made only with the mouth, which break themselves in the very act of being 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, but 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, bliss in the curve of our brows; no part of us was so lowly that it wasn't of heavenly stock. They still are, 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 would learn that there is a brave 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 pressing demands of the present moment claim my service for a while, but my whole heart stays here, in your keeping. Our Italy is flashing all over with the swords of civil war; Sextus Pompeius is moving up against the harbour of Rome; the equal strength of two powers at home breeds uneasy factions; those who were hated, now that they've grown strong, have newly grown popular; the condemned Pompey, rich in his father's reputation, is creeping quickly into the hearts of those who haven't prospered under the present government, and their numbers are a threat; and peace, grown sick of quiet, would gladly cleanse itself by any desperate change. My more private reason, and the one that should most make you content to let me go, is Fulvia's death.

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

Though age couldn't free me from foolishness, 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's dead, my queen. Look here, and read at your royal leisure about the troubles she stirred up; and at the end, the best part, 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 holy jars you ought to be filling with tears of grief? Now I see, I see, from the way 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 get ready to hear the plans I have; which will go forward or stop, depending on the advice you give. By the sun's 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! But never mind; I turn ill and well again quickly, just as Antony's love does.

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

My precious queen, stop, and bear honest witness to his love, which is standing 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 too. Please, turn away and weep for her, then say goodbye to me and say the tears are meant 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. No more.

You can do better yet, but this is meetly.

You can do better than that, but that was 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 still isn't his best. Look, please, Charmian, how well this Hercules-like Roman carries off his fit of temper.

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's something I wanted to say — 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 state keeps idle trifling as its subject, I'd 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's sweating labour to carry such idleness so close to the heart as Cleopatra carries this. But, sir, forgive me, since the graces I have kill me when they don't look good in your eyes. Your honour calls you away from here; so be deaf to my folly that nobody pities, and may all the gods go with you! May victory's laurel 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!