SERAPION. My lord, I saw you not,
Nor meant my words should reach you ears; but what
I uttered was most true.

ALEXAS. A foolish dream,
Bred from the fumes of indigested feasts,
And holy luxury.

SERAPION. I know my duty:
This goes no further.

ALEXAS. 'Tis not fit it should;
Nor would the times now bear it, were it true.
All southern, from yon hills, the Roman camp
Hangs o'er us black and threatening like a storm
Just breaking on our heads.

SERAPION. Our faint Egyptians pray for Antony;
But in their servile hearts they own Octavius.

MYRIS. Why then does Antony dream out his hours,
And tempts not fortune for a noble day,
Which might redeem what Actium lost?

ALEXAS. He thinks 'tis past recovery.

SERAPION. Yet the foe
Seems not to press the siege.

ALEXAS. Oh, there's the wonder.