SCENE VIII. Under the walls of Alexandria. Antony and Cleopatra  Shakespeare homepage  |  Antony and Cleopatra  | Act 4, Scene 8 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  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; 

 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 

 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. 



 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! 

 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 

 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 

 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 

 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, 

 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, 

 Applauding our approach. 



 Exeunt  Shakespeare homepage  |  Antony and Cleopatra  | Act 4, Scene 8 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene 