Hail, Caesar, and my lord!
Hail, Caesar, and my lord! Hail, most dear Caesar.
That ever I should call thee castaway!
You have not called me so, nor have you cause.
Why have you stol'n upon us thus? You come not
Like Caesar's sister. The wife of Antony
Should have an army for an usher and
The neighs of horse to tell of her approach
Long ere she did appear. The trees by th' way
Should have borne men, and expectation fainted,
Longing for what it had not. Nay, the dust
Should have ascended to the roof of heaven,
Raised by your populous troops. But you are come
A market-maid to Rome, and have prevented
The ostentation of our love, which, left unshown,
Is often left unloved. We should have met you
By sea and land, supplying every stage
With an augmented greeting.
Good my lord,
To come thus was I not constrained, but did it
On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony,
Hearing that you prepared for war, acquainted
My grievèd ear withal, whereon I begged
His pardon for return.
Which soon he granted,
Being an abstract ‘tween his lust and him.
Do not say so, my lord.
I have eyes upon him,
And his affairs come to me on the wind.
Where is he now?
My lord, in Athens.
No, my most wrongèd sister. Cleopatra
Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his empire
Up to a whore, who now are levying
The kings o' th' Earth for war.