Enobarbus:
I
will
tell
you.
The
barge
she
sat
in,
like
a
burnish'd
throne,
Burned
on
the
water:
the
poop
was
beaten
gold;
Purple
the
sails,
and
so
perfumed
that
The
winds
were
lovesick
with
them;
the
oars
were
silver,
Which
to
the
tune
of
flutes
kept
stroke,
and
made
The
water
which
they
beat
to
follow
faster,
As
amorous
of
their
strokes.
For
her
own
person,
It
beggar'd
all
description:
she
did
lie
In
her
pavilion,
cloth-of-gold
of
tissue,
O'erpicturing
that
Venus
where
we
see
The
fancy
outwork
nature:
on
each
side
her
Stood
pretty
dimpled
boys,
like
smiling
Cupids,
With
divers-colour'd
fans,
whose
wind
did
seem
To
glow
the
delicate
cheeks
which
they
did
cool,
And
what
they
undid
did.
Agrippa:
O,
rare
for
Antony.
Enobarbus:
Her
gentlewomen,
like
the
Nereides,
So
many
mermaids,
tended
her
i'
th'
eyes,
And
made
their
bends
adornings.
At
the
helm
A
seeming
mermaid
steers:
the
silken
tackle
Swell
with
the
touches
of
those
flower-soft
hands
That
yarely
frame
the
office.
From
the
barge
A
strange
invisible
perfume
hits
the
sense
Of
the
adjacent
wharfs.
The
city
cast
Her
people
out
upon
her;
and
Antony,
Enthroned
i'
th'
marketplace,
did
sit
alone,
Whistling
to
th'
air;
which,
but
for
vacancy,
Had
gone
to
gaze
on
Cleopatra
too,
And
made
a
gap
in
nature.
Agrippa:
Rare
Egyptian!
Enobarbus:
Upon
her
landing,
Antony
sent
to
her,
Invited
her
to
supper.
She
replied
It
should
be
better
he
became
her
guest;
Which
she
entreated.
Our
courteous
Antony,
Whom
ne'er
the
word
of
"No"
woman
heard
speak,
Being
barbered
ten
times
o'er,
goes
to
the
feast,
And
for
his
ordinary,
pays
his
heart
For
what
his
eyes
eat
only.
Agrippa:
Royal
wench!
She
made
great
Caesar
lay
his
sword
to
bed;
He
plowed
her,
and
she
cropped.
Enobarbus:
I
saw
her
once
Hop
forty
paces
through
the
public
street;
And
having
lost
her
breath,
she
spoke,
and
panted,
That
she
did
make
defect
perfection,
And,
breathless,
pow'r
breathe
forth.
Maecenas:
Now
Antony
must
leave
her
utterly.
Enobarbus:
Never;
He
will
not:
Age
cannot
wither
her,
nor
custom
stale
Her
infinite
variety.
Other
women
cloy
The
appetites
they
feed,
but
she
makes
hungry
Where
most
she
satisfies;
for
vilest
things
Become
themselves
in
her,
that
the
holy
priests
Bless
her
when
she
is
riggish.
