SECOND MESSENGER.
Fulvia thy wife is dead.

ANTONY.
Where died she?

SECOND MESSENGER.
In Sicyon:
Her length of sickness, with what else more serious
Importeth thee to know, this bears. [Gives a letter.]

ANTONY.
Forbear me.

[Exit MESSENGER.]

There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it:
What our contempts doth often hurl from us,
We wish it ours again; the present pleasure,
By revolution lowering, does become
The opposite of itself: she's good, being gone;
The hand could pluck her back that shov'd her on.
I must from this enchanting queen break off:
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,
My idleness doth hatch--ho, Enobarbus!

[Re-enter ENOBARBUS.]

ENOBARBUS.
What's your pleasure, sir?