Antony and Cleopatra, Act 5, Scene 1

Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield. Being so frustrate, tell him, he mocks The pauses that he makes.

Go to him, Dolabella, and tell him to surrender. Tell him that, beaten as he is, he only makes a fool of himself by delaying.

Caesar, I shall.

I will, Caesar.

Wherefore is that? And what art thou that dar’st Appear thus to us?

Why is that here? And who are you, that you dare come before us like this?

I am called Dercetus. Mark Antony I served, who best was worthy Best to be served. Whilst he stood up and spoke, He was my master, and I wore my life To spend upon his haters. If thou please To take me to thee, as I was to him I’ll be to Caesar; if thou pleasest not, I yield thee up my life.

My name is Dercetus. I served Mark Antony, who most deserved to be served the best. As long as he stood upright and spoke, he was my master, and I used up my life spending it against those who hated him. If it pleases you to take me into your service, I will be to Caesar what I was to him; if it does not please you, I hand my life over to you.

What is’t thou say’st?

What is it you are saying?

I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead.

I say, Caesar, that Antony is dead.

The breaking of so great a thing should make A greater crack. The round world Should have shook lions into civil streets, And citizens to their dens. The death of Antony Is not a single doom; in the name lay A moiety of the world.

The breaking apart of so great a thing should have made a louder crash. The round world should have shaken lions out into the city streets and citizens into the lions' dens. The death of Antony is not one man's doom alone; in that name lay half the world.

He is dead, Caesar, Not by a public minister of justice, Nor by a hired knife, but that self hand Which writ his honour in the acts it did Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it, Splitted the heart. This is his sword. I robbed his wound of it. Behold it stained With his most noble blood.

He is dead, Caesar, not by any public officer of justice, nor by a hired knife, but that same hand which wrote his honour in the deeds it did has, with the courage his heart lent it, split that heart open. This is his sword. I stole it out of his wound. Look at it, stained with his most noble blood.

Look you sad, friends? The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings To wash the eyes of kings.

Do you look sad, friends? May the gods punish me, but this is news to wash the eyes of kings with tears.

And strange it is That nature must compel us to lament Our most persisted deeds.

And it is strange that our own nature forces us to mourn deeds we pursued so stubbornly.

His taints and honours Waged equal with him.

His faults and his virtues balanced each other in him.

A rarer spirit never Did steer humanity, but you gods will give us Some faults to make us men. Caesar is touched.

A finer spirit never guided a human being, but you gods will give us some faults to keep us human. Caesar is moved.

When such a spacious mirror’s set before him, He needs must see himself.

When such a wide mirror is held up in front of him, he cannot help seeing himself in it.

O Antony, I have followed thee to this, but we do lance Diseases in our bodies. I must perforce Have shown to thee such a declining day Or look on thine. We could not stall together In the whole world. But yet let me lament With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts, That thou, my brother, my competitor In top of all design, my mate in empire, Friend and companion in the front of war, The arm of mine own body, and the heart Where mine his thoughts did kindle, that our stars, Unreconciliable, should divide Our equalness to this. Hear me, good friends—

Oh, Antony, I have hounded you to this; but we do cut out the diseases in our own bodies. I had no choice but to show you such a day of ruin, or else watch mine. We could not both be stabled together in the whole world. But still let me mourn with tears as precious as heart's blood that you, my brother, my rival at the height of every great enterprise, my partner in empire, my friend and companion in the forefront of war, the arm of my own body, and the heart where mine kindled its thoughts — that our stars, which could never be reconciled, should have driven our equality apart to this. Listen to me, good friends—

But I will tell you at some meeter season. The business of this man looks out of him; We’ll hear him what he says. Whence are you?

But I will tell you at a more suitable time. This man's errand shows in his face; we'll hear what he has to say. Where do you come from?

A poor Egyptian yet. The queen, my mistress, Confined in all she has, her monument, Of thy intents desires instruction, That she preparedly may frame herself To the way she’s forced to.

I am still a poor Egyptian. The queen, my mistress, shut up with all she owns in her monument, asks to be told what you intend, so that she can prepare herself for whatever course she is forced into.

Bid her have good heart. She soon shall know of us, by some of ours, How honourable and how kindly we Determine for her. For Caesar cannot lean To be ungentle.

Tell her to take heart. She shall soon learn from us, through one of our people, how honourably and how kindly we have decided to treat her. For Caesar cannot bring himself to be unkind.

So the gods preserve thee!

May the gods protect you for it!

Come hither, Proculeius. Go and say We purpose her no shame. Give her what comforts The quality of her passion shall require, Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke She do defeat us, for her life in Rome Would be eternal in our triumph. Go, And with your speediest bring us what she says And how you find of her.

Come here, Proculeius. Go and tell her we intend no humiliation for her. Give her whatever comfort the intensity of her grief calls for, in case, being so great a woman, she defeats us by some deadly blow to herself; for her life in Rome would make our triumph last forever. Go, and as fast as you can bring us word of what she says and how you find her.

Caesar, I shall.

I will, Caesar.

Gallus, go you along.

Gallus, you go with him.

Where’s Dolabella, to second Proculeius?

Where is Dolabella, to back up Proculeius?

Dolabella!

Dolabella!

Let him alone, for I remember now How he’s employed. He shall in time be ready. Go with me to my tent, where you shall see How hardly I was drawn into this war, How calm and gentle I proceeded still In all my writings. Go with me and see What I can show in this.

Leave him be, for I remember now what he is busy with. He will be ready in good time. Come with me to my tent, where you will see how unwillingly I was pulled into this war, and how calmly and gently I always proceeded in all my letters. Come with me and see what I can show you about this.