Draw a knife.
Mes. Nay then Ile runne:
What meane you Madam, I haue made no fault.
Enter.
Char. Good Madam keepe your selfe within your selfe,
The man is innocent
Cleo. Some Innocents scape not the thunderbolt:
Melt Egypt into Nyle: and kindly creatures
Turne all to Serpents. Call the slaue againe,
Though I am mad, I will not byte him: Call?
Char. He is afeard to come
Cleo. I will not hurt him,
These hands do lacke Nobility, that they strike
A meaner then my selfe: since I my selfe
Haue giuen my selfe the cause. Come hither Sir.
Enter the Messenger againe.
Though it be honest, it is neuer good
To bring bad newes: giue to a gratious Message
An host of tongues, but let ill tydings tell
Themselues, when they be felt
Mes. I haue done my duty
Cleo. Is he married?
I cannot hate thee worser then I do,
If thou againe say yes
Mes. He's married Madam
Cleo. The Gods confound thee,
Dost thou hold there still?
Mes. Should I lye Madame?
Cleo. Oh, I would thou didst:
So halfe my Egypt were submerg'd and made
A Cesterne for scal'd Snakes. Go get thee hence,
Had'st thou Narcissus in thy face to me,
Thou would'st appeere most vgly: He is married?
Mes. I craue your Highnesse pardon