Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Cleo. It is my Birth‑day,
Cleo. I had thought t'haue held it poore. But since my Lord
Cleo. Is Anthony againe, I will be Cleopatra.
Ant. Ant.
Ant. We will yet do well.
Cleo. Cleo.
Cleo. Call all his Noble Captaines to my Lord.
Ant. Do so, wee'l speake to them,
Ant. And to night Ile force
Ant. The Wine peepe through their scarres.
Ant. Come on (my Queene)
Ant. There's sap in't yet. The next time I do fight
Ant. Ile make death loue me: for I will contend
Ant. Euen with his pestilent Sythe.
Ant. Exeunt.
Eno. Eno.
Eno. Now hee'l out‑stare the Lightning, to be furious
Eno. Is to be frighted out of feare, and in that moode
Eno. The Doue will pecke the Estridge; and I see still