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 haven't engaged yet. From where that pine tree stands over there I'll be able to see everything. I'll bring you word at once about how it's 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 don't know, they can't tell; they look grim, and don't dare say what they know. Antony is brave one moment and sunk in gloom the next, and by fits his tattered fortunes give him hope and fear about what he has and hasn't got.

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're throwing their caps in the air and drinking together like friends who had lost each other long ago. Three-times-turncoat whore! It's you who have sold me to this beginner, and my heart wages war on you alone. Tell them all to run; because once I have taken my revenge on my enchantress, I have finished everything. Tell them all to run! 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 shall never see you rise again. Fortune and Antony separate here; right here we shake hands. Everything comes to this! The men who followed at my heels like spaniels, whose wishes I granted, are melting away, pouring their sweetness on Caesar as he flowers, and this pine tree that towered above them all has had its bark stripped off. I am betrayed. Oh, this false soul of Egypt! This deadly enchantress, whose eye beckoned my armies out to war and called them home again, whose breast was my crown, my chief purpose — like a true cheat she has tricked me with a con game and lured me to the very heart of ruin. Hello, Eros, Eros!

Ah, thou spell! Avaunt!

Ah, you charm! Get away!

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'll give you what you deserve and spoil Caesar's victory parade. Let him take you and hold you up high for the shouting common people! Walk behind his chariot, the foulest stain of all your sex; be displayed like a freak to the meanest little nobodies, to idiots, and let long-suffering Octavia rake up your face with her nails, sharpened 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's good that you've gone, if it is good to stay alive; but it would have been better if you had fallen beneath my rage, for one death might have forestalled many. — Eros, come here! — Nessus' shirt is on me. Alcides, my ancestor, teach me your fury. Let me fling Lichas onto the horns of the moon, and with these hands that gripped the heaviest club kill my own best self. The witch shall die. She has sold me to the young Roman boy, and I fall victim to this scheme. She dies for it. — Eros, come here!