Act IIIScene IV
Athens. A Room in Antony’s House
Enter Antony and Octavia.
Antony
Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that—That were excusable, that and thousands moreOf semblable import—but he hath wagedNew wars ’gainst Pompey; made his will, and read itTo public ear;Spoke scantly of me; when perforce he could notBut pay me terms of honour, cold and sicklyHe vented them; most narrow measure lent me;When the best hint was given him, he not took ’t,Or did it from his teeth.
Octavia
O, my good lord,Believe not all, or if you must believe,Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady,If this division chance, ne’er stood between,Praying for both parts.The good gods will mock me presentlyWhen I shall pray “O, bless my lord and husband!”Undo that prayer by crying out as loud“O, bless my brother!” Husband win, win brother,Prays and destroys the prayer; no midway’Twixt these extremes at all.
Antony
Gentle Octavia,Let your best love draw to that point which seeksBest to preserve it. If I lose mine honour,I lose myself; better I were not yoursThan yours so branchless. But, as you requested,Yourself shall go between’s. The meantime, lady,I’ll raise the preparation of a warShall stain your brother. Make your soonest haste,So your desires are yours.
Octavia
Thanks to my lord.The Jove of power make me, most weak, most weak,Your reconciler! Wars ’twixt you twain would beAs if the world should cleave, and that slain menShould solder up the rift.
Antony
When it appears to you where this begins,Turn your displeasure that way, for our faultsCan never be so equal that your loveCan equally move with them. Provide your going;Choose your own company, and command what costYour heart has mind to.
Exeunt.