Antony and Cleopatra, Act 4, Scene 12

Yet they are not joined. Where yond pine does stand I shall discover all. I’ll bring thee word Straight how ’tis like to go.

They still have not engaged. From where that pine tree stands over there I will be able to see everything. I will bring you word at once about how it is likely to go.

Swallows have built In Cleopatra’s sails their nests. The augurs Say they know not, they cannot tell; look grimly, And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony Is valiant and dejected, and by starts His fretted fortunes give him hope and fear Of what he has and has not.

Swallows have built their nests in Cleopatra's sails. The fortune-tellers say they do not know, they cannot tell; they look grim, and do not dare to say what they know. Antony is brave and downcast at once, and by fits his damaged fortunes give him hope and fear of what he has and does not have.

All is lost! This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me. My fleet hath yielded to the foe, and yonder They cast their caps up and carouse together Like friends long lost. Triple-turned whore! ’Tis thou Hast sold me to this novice, and my heart Makes only wars on thee. Bid them all fly; For when I am revenged upon my charm, I have done all. Bid them all fly! Be gone!

Everything is lost! This vile Egyptian woman has betrayed me. My fleet has surrendered to the enemy, and over there they are throwing their caps in the air and drinking together like friends reunited after a long parting. You three-times-turncoat whore! It is you who have sold me to this beginner, and my heart makes war on you alone. Tell them all to flee; for once I have taken revenge on my charm, I have finished everything. Tell them all to flee! Get out!

O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more. Fortune and Antony part here; even here Do we shake hands. All come to this! The hearts That spanieled me at heels, to whom I gave Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets On blossoming Caesar, and this pine is barked That overtopped them all. Betray’d I am: O this false soul of Egypt! This grave charm, Whose eye becked forth my wars and called them home, Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end, Like a right gypsy hath at fast and loose Beguiled me to the very heart of loss. What, Eros, Eros!

Sun, I will never see you rise again. Fortune and Antony separate here; right here we shake hands. Everything comes to this! The men who fawned at my heels like spaniels, whose wishes I granted, are melting away, dripping their sweetness on the flowering Caesar, and this pine that towered above them all has had its bark stripped off. I am betrayed. This false soul of Egypt! This deadly charm, whose eye beckoned my wars out and called them home again, whose breast was my crown, my highest goal, has like a true gypsy cheated me with her fast and loose trickery into the very heart of ruin. Hey, Eros, Eros!

Ah, thou spell! Avaunt!

Ah, you spell! Get away from me!

Why is my lord enraged against his love?

Why is my lord furious with the woman who loves him?

Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving And blemish Caesar’s triumph. Let him take thee And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians! Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot Of all thy sex; most monster-like be shown For poor’st diminutives, for dolts, and let Patient Octavia plough thy visage up With her prepared nails.

Disappear, or I will give you what you deserve and spoil Caesar's triumph. Let him take you and hold you up before the shouting common people! Walk behind his chariot, like the foulest stain of all your sex; be displayed like a monster to the meanest little creatures, to idiots, and let patient Octavia rake your face open with her nails made ready for it.

’Tis well thou’rt gone, If it be well to live; but better ’twere Thou fell’st into my fury, for one death Might have prevented many.—Eros, ho!— The shirt of Nessus is upon me. Teach me, Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage. Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o’ th’ moon, And with those hands that grasped the heaviest club Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die. To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall Under this plot. She dies for’t.—Eros, ho!

It is good that you have gone, if it is good to be alive; but it would have been better for you to fall to my rage, since one death might have prevented many. — Eros, hello! — The shirt of Nessus is on me. Teach me your fury, Alcides, my ancestor. Let me throw Lichas onto the horns of the moon, and with those hands that gripped the heaviest club let me destroy my own noblest self. The witch shall die. She has sold me to the young Roman boy, and I am brought down by this scheme. She dies for it. — Eros, hello!