ANTONY.
Gentle Octavia,
Let your best love draw to that point which seeks
Best to preserve it. If I lose mine honour,
I lose myself; better I were not yours
Than yours so branchless. But, as you requested,
Yourself shall go between’s. The meantime, lady,
I’ll raise the preparation of a war
Shall stain your brother. Make your soonest haste,
So your desires are yours.
OCTAVIA.
Thanks to my lord.
The Jove of power make me, most weak, most weak,
Your reconciler! Wars ’twixt you twain would be
As if the world should cleave, and that slain men
Should solder up the rift.
ANTONY.
When it appears to you where this begins,
Turn your displeasure that way, for our faults
Can never be so equal that your love
Can equally move with them. Provide your going;
Choose your own company, and command what cost
Your heart has mind to.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE V. Athens. Another Room in Antony’s House.
Enter Enobarbus and Eros meeting.
ENOBARBUS.
How now, friend Eros?
EROS.
There’s strange news come, sir.
ENOBARBUS.
What, man?
EROS.
Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon Pompey.