Reading The Tragedie of Anthonie, and Cleopatra — William Shakespeare

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Section 170

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Cæs.

You are too indulgent. Let's graunt it is not

Amisse to tumble on the bed of Ptolomy,

To giue a Kingdome for a Mirth, to sit

And keepe the turne of Tipling with a Slaue,

To reele the streets at noone, and stand the Buffet

With knaues that smels of sweate: Say this becoms him

(As his composure must be rare indeed,

Whom these things cannot blemish) yet must Anthony

No way excuse his foyles, when we do beare

So great waight in his lightnesse. If he fill'd

His vacancie with his Voluptuousnesse,

Full surfets, and the drinesse of his bones,

Call on him for't. But to confound such time,

That drummes him from his sport, and speakes as lowd

As his owne State, and ours, 'tis to be chid:

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