CLOWN. First shall the snow be black,
And pepper lose his smack,
And stripes forsake my back:
First merry drunk with sack,
I will go boast and track,
And all your costards crack,
Before I do the knack
Shall make me sing alack.
Alack, the old man is weary,
For wine hath made him merry.
With a heigh-ho.
1ST SOLDIER. I prythee leave these rhymes, and tell us where thy master is?
CLOWN. Faith, where you shall not be,
Unless ye go with me.
But shall I tell them so?
O, no, sir, no, no, no.
The man hath many a foe,
As far as I do know:
You do not flout me, I hope.
See how this liquor fumes,
And how my force presumes.
You would know where Lord Anthony is? I perceive you.
Shall I say he is in yond farmhouse? I deceive you.
Shall I tell you this wine is for him? The gods forfend,
And so I end. Go, fellow-fighters, there's a bob for ye.
2D SOLDIER. My masters, let us follow this clown, for questionless this grave orator is in yonder farmhouse[144]. But who cometh yonder?
Enter OLD ANTHONY.
ANTHONY. I wonder why my peasant stays so long,
And with my wonder hasteth on my woe,
And with my woe I am assailed with fear,
And with my fear await with faintful breath
The final period of my pains by death.
1ST SOLDIER. Yond's the man we seek for, soldiers. Unsheathe your swords, and make a riddance of Marius' ancient enemy.
CLOWN. Master, fly, fly,
Or else you shall die!
A plague on this wine,
Hath made me so fine!
And will you not be gone?
Then I'll leave you alone,
And sleep upon your woe,
With a lamentable heigh-ho.
[Exit.
ANTHONY. Betrayed at last by witless oversight!
Now, Anthony, prepare thyself to die.
Lo, where the monstrous ministers of wrath
Menace thy murder with their naked swords.
2D SOLDIER. Anthony, well-met: the consul Marius, with other confederate senators, have adjudged thee death, therefore prepare thyself, and think we favour thee in this little protraction.