Omnes. Content: 'Tis strange.
Exeunt.
Enter Anthony and Cleopatra, with others.
Ant. Eros, mine Armour Eros
Cleo. Sleepe a little
Ant. No my Chucke. Eros, come mine Armor Eros.
Enter Eros.
Come good Fellow, put thine Iron on,
If Fortune be not ours to day, it is
Because we braue her. Come
Cleo. Nay, Ile helpe too, Anthony.
What's this for? Ah let be, let be, thou art
The Armourer of my heart: False, false: This, this,
Sooth-law Ile helpe: Thus it must bee
Ant. Well, well, we shall thriue now.
Seest thou my good Fellow. Go, put on thy defences
Eros. Briefely Sir