ANTONY.
I must with haste from hence.

ENOBARBUS.
Why, then we kill all our women: we see how mortal an unkindness
is to them; if they suffer our departure, death's the word.

ANTONY.
I must be gone.

ENOBARBUS.
Under a compelling occasion, let women die: it were pity to cast
them away for nothing; though, between them and a great cause
they should be esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the
least noise of this, dies instantly; I have seen her die twenty
times upon far poorer moment: I do think there is mettle in
death, which commits some loving act upon her, she hath such a
celerity in dying.

ANTONY.
She is cunning past man's thought.

ENOBARBUS.
Alack, sir, no: her passions are made of nothing but the finest
part of pure love: we cannot call her winds and waters, sighs and
tears; they are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can
report: this cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she makes a
shower of rain as well as Jove.