What are you?
3.Mes. Fuluia thy wife is dead

Ant. Where dyed she

Mes. In Scicion, her length of sicknesse,
With what else more serious,
Importeth thee to know, this beares

Antho. Forbeare me
There's a great Spirit gone, thus did I desire it:
What our contempts doth often hurle from vs,
We wish it ours againe. The present pleasure,
By reuolution lowring, does become
The opposite of it selfe: she's good being gon,
The hand could plucke her backe, that shou'd her on.
I must from this enchanting Queene breake off,
Ten thousand harmes, more then the illes I know
My idlenesse doth hatch.
Enter Enobarbus.

How now Enobarbus

Eno. What's your pleasure, Sir?
Anth. I must with haste from hence

Eno. Why then we kill all our Women. We see how
mortall an vnkindnesse is to them, if they suffer our departure
death's the word