Front Page Titles (by Subject) Scene VIII.—: Under the Walls of Alexandria. - Anthony and Cleopatra
The Online Library of Liberty
A project of Liberty Fund, Inc.
Search this Title:
Also in the Library:
Scene VIII.—: Under the Walls of Alexandria. - William Shakespeare, Anthony and Cleopatra 
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (The Oxford Shakespeare), ed. with a glossary by W.J. Craig M.A. (Oxford University Press, 1916).
About Liberty Fund:
Liberty Fund, Inc. is a private, educational foundation established to encourage the study of the ideal of a society of free and responsible individuals.
The text is in the public domain.
Fair use statement:
This material is put online to further the educational goals of Liberty Fund, Inc. Unless otherwise stated in the Copyright Information section above, this material may be used freely for educational and academic purposes. It may not be used in any way for profit.
Under the Walls of Alexandria.
Alarum. EnterAntony,marching;Scarus,and Forces.
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 escap’d. I thank you all;
For doughty-handed are you, and have fought
Not as you serv’d 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. [ToScarus.] Give me thy hand:
To this great fairy I’ll commend thy acts,
Make her thanks bless thee. 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.
Lord of lords!
O infinite virtue! com’st thou smiling from
The world’s great snare uncaught?
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.
I’ll give thee, friend,
An armour all of gold; it was a king’s.
He has deserv’d it, were it carbuncled
Like holy Phœbus’ 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 our rattling tabourines,
That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together,
Applauding our approach.