AGRIPPA.
Royal wench!
She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed.
He ploughed her, and she cropped.
ENOBARBUS.
I saw her once
Hop forty paces through the public street
And, having lost her breath, she spoke and panted,
That she did make defect perfection,
And, breathless, pour breath forth.
MAECENAS.
Now Antony must leave her utterly.
ENOBARBUS.
Never. He will not.
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety. Other women cloy
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
Where most she satisfies. For vilest things
Become themselves in her, that the holy priests
Bless her when she is riggish.
MAECENAS.
If beauty, wisdom, modesty can settle
The heart of Antony, Octavia is
A blessed lottery to him.
AGRIPPA.
Let us go.
Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest
Whilst you abide here.
ENOBARBUS.
Humbly, sir, I thank you.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE III. Rome. A Room in Caesar’s House.
Enter Antony, Caesar, Octavia between them.