[Gives a letter.]
ANTONY.
Forbear me.
[Exit third Messenger.]
There’s a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it.
What our contempts doth often hurl from us,
We wish it ours again. The present pleasure,
By revolution lowering, does become
The opposite of itself. She’s good, being gone.
The hand could pluck her back that shoved her on.
I must from this enchanting queen break off.
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,
My idleness doth hatch. How now, Enobarbus!
Enter Enobarbus.
ENOBARBUS.
What’s your pleasure, sir?
ANTONY.
I must with haste from hence.
ENOBARBUS.
Why then we kill all our women. We see how mortal an unkindness is to them. If they suffer our departure, death’s the word.
ANTONY.
I must be gone.
ENOBARBUS.
Under a compelling occasion, let women die. It were pity to cast them away for nothing, though, between them and a great cause they should be esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, dies instantly. I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment. I do think there is mettle in death which commits some loving act upon her, she hath such a celerity in dying.