Where be the Sacred Violles thou should'st fill
With sorrowfull water? Now I see, I see,
In Fuluias death, how mine receiu'd shall be

Ant. Quarrell no more, but bee prepar'd to know
The purposes I beare: which are, or cease,
As you shall giue th' aduice. By the fire
That quickens Nylus slime, I go from hence
Thy Souldier, Seruant, making Peace or Warre,
As thou affects

Cleo. Cut my Lace, Charmian come,
But let it be, I am quickly ill, and well,
So Anthony loues

Ant. My precious Queene forbeare,
And giue true euidence to his Loue, which stands
An honourable Triall

Cleo. So Fuluia told me.
I prythee turne aside, and weepe for her,
Then bid adiew to me, and say the teares
Belong to Egypt. Good now, play one Scene
Of excellent dissembling, and let it looke
Like perfect Honor

Ant. You'l heat my blood no more?
Cleo. You can do better yet: but this is meetly

Ant. Now by Sword