What are you?

        SECOND MESSENGER. Fulvia thy wife is dead.

        ANTONY. Where died she?

        SECOND MESSENGER. In Sicyon.

          Her length of sickness, with what else more serious

          Importeth thee to know, this bears. [Gives the letter]

        ANTONY. Forbear me. Exit MESSENGER

          There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it.

          What our contempts doth often hurl from us

          We wish it ours again; the present pleasure,

          By revolution low'ring, does become

          The opposite of itself. She's good, being gone;

          The hand could pluck her back that shov'd her on.

          I must from this enchanting queen break off.

          Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,

          My idleness doth hatch. How now, Enobarbus!

        ENOBARBUS. What's your pleasure, sir?

        ANTONY. I must with haste from hence.

        ENOBARBUS. Why, then we kill all our women. We see how mortal

      an

          unkindness is to them; if they suffer our departure, death's

      the

          word.

        ANTONY. I must be gone.

        ENOBARBUS. Under a compelling occasion, let women die. It were

      pity

          to cast them away for nothing, though between them and a

      great

          cause they should be esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching

      but

          the least noise of this, dies instantly; I have seen her die

          twenty times upon far poorer moment. I do think there is

      mettle

          in death, which commits some loving act upon her, she hath

      such a

          celerity in dying.

        ANTONY. She is cunning past man's thought.

        ENOBARBUS. Alack, sir, no! Her passions are made of nothing but

      the

          finest part of pure love. We cannot call her winds and waters

          sighs and tears; they are greater storms and tempests than

          almanacs can report. This cannot be cunning in her; if it be,

      she

          makes a show'r of rain as well as Jove.

        ANTONY. Would I had never seen her!

        ENOBARBUS. O Sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of

          work, which not to have been blest withal would have

      discredited

          your travel.

        ANTONY. Fulvia is dead.

        ENOBARBUS. Sir?

        ANTONY. Fulvia is dead.

        ENOBARBUS. Fulvia?

        ANTONY. Dead.

        ENOBARBUS. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. When

      it

          pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a man from him, it

          shows to man the tailors of the earth; comforting therein

      that

          when old robes are worn out there are members to make new. If

          there were no more women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a

      cut,

          and the case to be lamented. This grief is crown'd with

          consolation: your old smock brings forth a new petticoat; and

          indeed the tears live in an onion that should water this

      sorrow.

        ANTONY. The business she hath broached in the state

          Cannot endure my absence.

        ENOBARBUS. And the business you have broach'd here cannot be

          without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly

      depends

          on your abode.

        ANTONY. No more light answers. Let our officers

          Have notice what we purpose. I shall break

          The cause of our expedience to the Queen,

          And get her leave to part. For not alone

          The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches,

          Do strongly speak to us; but the letters to

          Of many our contriving friends in Rome

          Petition us at home. Sextus Pompeius

          Hath given the dare to Caesar, and commands

          The empire of the sea; our slippery people,

          Whose love is never link'd to the deserver

          Till his deserts are past, begin to throw

          Pompey the Great and all his dignities

          Upon his son; who, high in name and power,

          Higher than both in blood and life, stands up

          For the main soldier; whose quality, going on,

          The sides o' th' world may danger. Much is breeding

          Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life

          And not a serpent's poison. Say our pleasure,

          To such whose place is under us, requires

          Our quick remove from hence.

        ENOBARBUS. I shall do't. Exeunt

        CLEOPATRA. Where is he?

        CHARMIAN. I did not see him since.

        CLEOPATRA. See where he is, who's