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Of what he taught; and dying was penitent

       For glory, even as Brutus was penitent

       For virtue later. And so Antony

       Spoke Theophrastus’ dying words, and told

       How Theophrastus by a follower

       Asked for a last commandment, spoke these words:

       “There is none. But ’tis folly to cast away

       Pleasure for glory! And no love is worse

       Than love of glory. Look upon my life:—

       Its toil and hard denial! To what end?

       Therefore live happy; study, if you must,

       For fame and happiness. Life’s vanity

       Exceeds its usefulness.”

       So speaking thus

       Wise Theophrastus died.

       Now I have said

       That Brutus ruined Antony. So he did,

       If Antony were ruined—that’s the question.

       For Antony hearing Brutus say, “O virtue,

       Miserable virtue, bawd and cheat,” and seeing

       The eyes of Brutus stare in death, threw over him

       A scarlet mantle, and took to his heart

       The dying words of Brutus.

      It is true

       That Cicero said Antony as a youth

       Was odious for drinking-bouts, amours,

       For bacchanals, luxurious life, and true

       When as triumvir, after Cæsar’s death,

       He kept the house of Pompey, where he lived,

       Filled up with jugglers, drunkards, flatterers.

       All this before the death of Brutus, or

       His love for Cleopatra. But it’s true

       He was great Cæsar’s colleague. Cæsar dead,

       This Antony is chief ruler of all Rome,

       And wars in Greece, and Asia. So it’s true

       He was not wholly given to the cup,

       But knew fatigue and battle, hunger too,

       Living on roots in Parthia. Yet, you see,

       With Cæsar slaughtered in the capitol,

       His friend, almost his god; and Brutus gasping

       “O miserable virtue”; and the feet of men

       From Syria to Hispania, slipping off

       The world that broke in pieces, like an island

       Falling apart beneath a heaving tide—

       Whence from its flocculent fragment wretches leap—

       You see it was no wonder for this Antony,

       Made what he was by nature and by life,

       In such a time and fate of the drifting world,

       To turn to Cleopatra, and leave war

       And rulership to languish.

       Thus it was:

       Cæsar is slaughtered, Antony must avenge

       The death of Cæsar. Brutus is brought to death,

       And dying scoffs at virtue which took off

       In Brutus’ hand the sovran life of Cæsar.

       And soon our Antony must fight against

       The recreant hordes of Asia, finding here

       His Cleopatra for coadjutor. …

       He’s forty-two and ripe. She’s twenty-eight,

       Fruit fresh and blushing, most mature and rich;

       Her voice an instrument of many strings

       That yielded laughter, wisdom, folly, song,

       And tales of many lands, in Arabic,

       And Hebrew, Syriac and Parthiac.

       She spoke the language of the troglodytes,

       The Medes and others. And when Antony

       Sent for her in Cilicia, she took time,

       Ignored his orders, leisurely at last

       Sailed up the Cydnus in a barge whose stern

       Was gilded, and with purple sails. Returned

       His dining invitation with her own,

       And bent his will to hers. He went to her,

       And found a banquet richer than his largess

       Could give her. For while feasting, branches sunk

       Around them, budding lights in squares and circles,

       And lighted up their heaven, as with stars.

       She found him broad and gross, but joined her taste

       To him in this. And then their love began.

       And while his Fulvia kept his quarrels alive

       With force of arms in Rome on Octavianus,

       And while the Parthian threatened Syria,

       He lets the Queen of Egypt take him off

       To Alexandria, where he joins with her

       The Inimitable Livers; and in holiday

       Plays like a boy and riots, while great Brutus

       Is rotting in the earth for Virtue’s sake;

       And Theophrastus for three hundred years

       Has changed from dust to grass, and grass to dust!

       And Cleopatra’s kitchen groans with food.

       Eight boars are roasted whole—though only twelve

       Of these Inimitable Livers, with the Queen

       And Antony are to eat—that every dish

       May be served up just roasted to a turn.

       And who knows when Marc Antony may sup?

       Perhaps this hour, perhaps another hour,

       Perhaps this minute he may call for wine,

       Or start to talk with Cleopatra; fish—

       For fish they did together. On a day

       They fished together, and his luck was ill,

       And so he ordered fishermen to dive

       And put upon his hook fish caught before.

       And Cleopatra feigned to be deceived,

       And shouted out his luck. Next day invited

       The Inimitable Livers down to see him fish,

       Whereat she had a diver fix his hook

       With a salted fish from Pontus. Antony

       Drew up amid their laughter. Then she said:

       “Sweet Antony, leave us poor sovereigns here,

       Of Pharos and Canopus, to the rod;

       Your game is cities, provinces and kingdoms.”

       Were Antony serious, or disposed to mirth?

       She had some new delight. She diced with him,

       Drank with him, hunted with him. When he went

       To exercise in arms, she sat to see.

       At night she rambled with him in the streets,

       Dressed like a servant-woman, making mischief

       At people’s doors. And Antony disguised

       Got scurvy answers, beatings from the folk,

      

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