Come, let’s all take hands
Come, let's all take hands
Till that the conquering wine hath steeped our sense
In soft and delicate Lethe.
All take hands.
Make battery to our ears with the loud music,
The while I'll place you; then the boy shall sing.
The holding every man shall beat as loud
As his strong sides can volley.
Music plays. Enobarbus places them hand in hand.
Come, thou monarch of the vine,
Plumpy Bacchus, with pink eyne.
In thy vats our cares be drowned.
With thy grapes our hairs be crowned.
Cup us till the world go round,
Cup us till the world go round.
What would you more?—Pompey, goodnight.—
Let me request you off. Our graver business
Frowns at this levity.—Gentle lords, let's part.
You see we have burnt our cheeks. Strong Enobarb
Is weaker than the wine, and mine own tongue
Splits what it speaks. The wild disguise hath almost
Anticked us all. What needs more words?
Good Antony, your hand.