Antony and Cleopatra, Act 1, Scene 4

You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know, It is not Caesar’s natural vice to hate Our great competitor. From Alexandria This is the news: he fishes, drinks, and wastes The lamps of night in revel: is not more manlike Than Cleopatra, nor the queen of Ptolemy More womanly than he; hardly gave audience, or Vouchsafed to think he had partners. You shall find there A man who is the abstract of all faults That all men follow.

You can see now, Lepidus, and from now on you'll know, that it isn't a natural fault in Caesar to hate our great rival. This is the news from Alexandria: he fishes, drinks, and burns up the lamps of the night in partying; he is no more manly than Cleopatra, and Ptolemy's queen is no more womanly than he is; he barely granted me a meeting, or condescended to remember that he had partners. There you will find a man who is the summary of every fault that all men commit.

I must not think there are Evils enough to darken all his goodness. His faults in him seem as the spots of heaven, More fiery by night’s blackness; hereditary Rather than purchased; what he cannot change Than what he chooses.

I can't believe there are faults enough in him to blot out all his good qualities. His faults in him look like the stars in the sky, brighter because the night is black; they are inherited rather than acquired — things he cannot change rather than things he chooses.

You are too indulgent. Let’s grant it is not Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy, To give a kingdom for a mirth, to sit And keep the turn of tippling with a slave, To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet With knaves that smell of sweat. Say this becomes him— As his composure must be rare indeed Whom these things cannot blemish—yet must Antony No way excuse his foils when we do bear So great weight in his lightness. If he filled His vacancy with his voluptuousness, Full surfeits and the dryness of his bones Call on him for’t. But to confound such time That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud As his own state and ours, ’tis to be chid As we rate boys who, being mature in knowledge, Pawn their experience to their present pleasure And so rebel to judgment.

You are too forgiving. Let's admit it's no great harm to roll about on Ptolemy's bed, to hand over a kingdom in exchange for a laugh, to sit and take your turn at the drinking with a slave, to stagger through the streets at midday and trade blows with scoundrels who stink of sweat. Say all this suits him — and his makeup would have to be extraordinary indeed for such things not to stain it — still Antony can in no way be excused for his disgraceful behaviour when we have to carry so heavy a load because of his frivolity. If he filled up his free time with his self-indulgence, then let excess and the disease that dries up his bones bill him for it. But to squander a time like this, which drums him away from his amusements and calls out as loudly as his own position and ours do — that deserves a scolding, the way we tell off boys who, old enough to know better, throw away what they've learned for the pleasure of the moment and so rebel against good sense.

Here’s more news.

Here's more news.

Thy biddings have been done, and every hour, Most noble Caesar, shalt thou have report How ’tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea, And it appears he is beloved of those That only have feared Caesar. To the ports The discontents repair, and men’s reports Give him much wronged.

Your orders have been carried out, and every hour, most noble Caesar, you will get a report of how things stand abroad. Pompey is strong at sea, and it seems he is loved by those who have only feared Caesar. The malcontents are flocking to the ports, and people are saying he has been badly wronged.

I should have known no less. It hath been taught us from the primal state That he which is was wished until he were, And the ebbed man, ne’er loved till ne’er worth love, Comes deared by being lacked. This common body, Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, To rot itself with motion.

I should have expected nothing less. History has taught us from the earliest times that the man in power was wanted until he had it, and the man on the way down, never loved until he was no longer worth loving, becomes precious once he is gone. This mass of common people, like a drifting reed on the river, moves back and forth, running after the shifting tide, until it rots itself away with all that motion.

Caesar, I bring thee word Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates, Make the sea serve them, which they ear and wound With keels of every kind. Many hot inroads They make in Italy—the borders maritime Lack blood to think on’t—and flush youth revolt. No vessel can peep forth but ’tis as soon Taken as seen; for Pompey’s name strikes more Than could his war resisted.

Caesar, I bring you word that Menecrates and Menas, notorious pirates, have made the sea their servant, which they plough and cut open with ships of every kind. They make many fierce raids into Italy — the people on the coast turn pale at the thought of it — and the hot-blooded young men are going over to them. No ship can put its nose out but it is captured as soon as it's spotted; for Pompey's name does more damage than his forces would if they were met in battle.

Antony, Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once Was beaten from Modena, 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 didst drink The stale of horses and the gilded puddle Which beasts 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. 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 lanked not.

Antony, leave your lustful drinking parties. Once, when you were driven back from Modena, where you killed the consuls Hirtius and Pansa, famine followed at your heels, and you fought against it, though you had been delicately raised, with more endurance than savages could have stood. You drank horses' urine and the slimy, scummy water that animals would have gagged at. Your mouth then accepted the sourest berry on the roughest hedge. Yes, like the deer when snow covers the pasture, you fed on the bark of trees. On the Alps it is reported that you ate strange flesh that some men died just from looking at. And all of this — it damages your honour that I have to mention it now — you endured so much like a soldier that your cheek didn't even grow thin.

’Tis pity of him.

It's a shame about him.

Let his shames quickly Drive him to Rome. ’Tis time we twain Did show ourselves i’ th’ field, and to that end Assemble we immediate council. Pompey Thrives in our idleness.

Let his sense of shame drive him quickly back to Rome. It's time the two of us showed ourselves in the field, and to that end let's call a council immediately. Pompey prospers while we do nothing.

Tomorrow, Caesar, I shall be furnished to inform you rightly Both what by sea and land I can be able To front this present time.

Tomorrow, Caesar, I'll be ready to tell you exactly what forces I can raise by sea and land to meet this present crisis.

Till which encounter It is my business too. Farewell.

Until we meet then, I have the same work to do. Goodbye.

Farewell, my lord. What you shall know meantime Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir, To let me be partaker.

Goodbye, my lord. Whatever you learn in the meantime about disturbances abroad, I beg you, sir, to let me share in it.

Doubt not, sir. I knew it for my bond.

Have no fear, sir. I knew that was my duty.