Eno. All take hands.
Make battery to our ears with the loud music;116
The while I'll place you; then the boy shall sing,
The holding every man shall bear as loud
As his strong sides can volley.
The Song.
'Come, thou monarch of the vine, 120
Plumpy Bacchus, with pink eyne!
In thy fats our cares be drown'd,
With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd:
Cup us, till the world go round, 124
Cup us, till the world go round!'
Cæs. What would you more? Pompey, good night. Good brother,
Let me request you off; our graver business
Frowns at this levity. Gentle lords, let's part;128
You see we have burnt our cheeks; strong Enobarb
Is weaker than the wine, and mine own tongue
Splits what it speaks; the wild disguise hath almost
Antick'd us all. What needs more words? Good night. 132
Good Antony, your hand.
Pom. I'll try you on the shore.
Ant. And shall, sir. Give's your hand.
Pom. O, Antony!
You have my father's house,—But, what? we are friends.
Come down into the boat.
116 Make battery to our ears: let the music beat upon our ears.
118 holding: burden or chorus
121 pink eyne: blinking eyes
122 fats: wine vats
127 Let me request you off: let me request you to leave
132 Antick'd: made us all like buffoons
