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, Lepidus, and from now on you'll know, that it is not 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, nor is the queen of Ptolemy any more womanly than he is; he barely granted an audience, or condescended to remember that he had partners. You'll find in him a man who is the summary of every fault that all men are subject to.

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 goodness. His faults look like the stars in the sky, all the more fiery 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 grant that it's no great harm to roll about on Ptolemy's bed, to hand over a kingdom for a laugh, to sit and take your turn at drinking with a slave, to stagger through the streets at midday, and to trade blows with lowlifes who stink of sweat. Say all this suits him — and his makeup must be extraordinary indeed if these things can't stain it — still, Antony can in no way excuse his failings when we have to carry such a heavy load because of his frivolity. If he filled his free time with his indulgences, then overeating and the wasting of his bones would be his punishment. But to waste the kind of time that drums him away from his amusements, and calls to him as loudly as his own position and ours, that deserves scolding, just as we scold boys who, old enough to know better, pledge away their experience for the pleasure in front of them, 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 have a report of how things stand abroad. Pompey is strong at sea, and it seems he is loved by those who only ever feared Caesar. The malcontents are heading for the ports, and the word among men is that he has been greatly 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 else. We have been taught since the earliest times that the man in power was only wanted until he had it, and that the man on the ebb, never loved until he was no longer worth loving, becomes precious once he is gone. This common crowd, like a drifting reed on a river, moves back and forth, serving the shifting tide, until it rots itself with all that movement.

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, the famous pirates, have made the sea their servant, which they plough and gash with ships of every kind. They make many fierce raids into Italy — the people on the coasts go pale at the thought of it — and hot-blooded young men are going over to them. No ship can put its nose out but it's captured as soon as it's sighted; for Pompey's mere name does more damage than his army could if it were fought.

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, delicately raised as you were, with more endurance than savages could bear. You drank the urine of horses and the scum-covered puddle that animals would gag at. Your taste then accepted the roughest berry on the coarsest hedge. Yes, like the stag when snow covers the pasture, you fed on the bark of trees. In the Alps it is reported that you ate strange flesh, which some men died just from looking at. And all of this — it damages your honour that I have to mention it now — you bore 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 shames 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 an immediate council. Pompey prospers while we sit idle.

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 give you an accurate account of what forces I can raise by sea and by land to meet the present situation.

Till which encounter It is my business too. Farewell.

Until we meet then, I'll be busy with the same thing. 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 doubt about it, sir. I knew that was my duty.