Cleo. And Target. Still he mends.
But this is not the best. Looke prythee Charmian,
How this Herculean Roman do's become
The carriage of his chafe

Ant. Ile leaue you Lady

Cleo. Courteous Lord, one word:
Sir, you and I must part, but that's not it:
Sir, you and I haue lou'd, but there's not it:
That you know well, something it is I would:
Oh, my Obliuion is a very Anthony,
And I am all forgotten

Ant. But that your Royalty
Holds Idlenesse your subiect, I should take you
For Idlenesse it selfe

Cleo. 'Tis sweating Labour,
To beare such Idlenesse so neere the heart
As Cleopatra this. But Sir, forgiue me,
Since my becommings kill me, when they do not
Eye well to you. Your Honor calles you hence,
Therefore be deafe to my vnpittied Folly,
And all the Gods go with you. Vpon your Sword
Sit Lawrell victory, and smooth successe
Be strew'd before your feete

Ant. Let vs go.