| ACT IV SCENE VIII | Under the walls of Alexandria. | |
| | Alarum. Enter MARK ANTONY, in a march; SCARUS,with others | |
| MARK ANTONY | We have beat him to his camp: run one before, | |
| | And let the queen know of our gests. To-morrow, | |
| | Before the sun shall see 's, we'll spill the blood | |
| | That has to-day escaped. I thank you all; | 5 |
| | For doughty-handed are you, and have fought | |
| | Not as you served the cause, but as 't had been | |
| | Each man's like mine; you have shown all Hectors. | |
| | Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends, | |
| | Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful tears | 10 |
| | Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss | |
| | The honour'd gashes whole. | |
| | To SCARUS | |
| | Give me thy hand | |
| | Enter CLEOPATRA, attended | |
| | To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts, | |
| | Make her thanks bless thee. | 15 |
| | To CLEOPATRA | |
| | O thou day o' the world, | |
| | Chain mine arm'd neck; leap thou, attire and all, | |
| | Through proof of harness to my heart, and there | |
| | Ride on the pants triumphing! | |
| CLEOPATRA | Lord of lords! | 20 |
| | O infinite virtue, comest thou smiling from | |
| | The world's great snare uncaught? | |
| MARK ANTONY | My nightingale, | |
| | We have beat them to their beds. What, girl! | |
| | though grey | 25 |
| | Do something mingle with our younger brown, yet ha' we | |
| | A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can | |
| | Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man; | |
| | Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand: | |
| | Kiss it, my warrior: he hath fought to-day | 30 |
| | As if a god, in hate of mankind, had | |
| | Destroy'd in such a shape. | |
| CLEOPATRA | I'll give thee, friend, | |
| | An armour all of gold; it was a king's. | |
| MARK ANTONY | He has deserved it, were it carbuncled | 35 |
| | Like holy Phoebus' car. Give me thy hand: | |
| | Through Alexandria make a jolly march; | |
| | Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe them: | |
| | Had our great palace the capacity | |
| | To camp this host, we all would sup together, | 40 |
| | And drink carouses to the next day's fate, | |
| | Which promises royal peril. Trumpeters, | |
| | With brazen din blast you the city's ear; | |
| | Make mingle with rattling tabourines; | |
| | That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together, | 45 |
| | Applauding our approach. | |
| | Exeunt | |