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OCTAVIA Thanks to my
lord.
The Jove of power make me most weak, most weak,
30Your reconciler! Wars ’twixt you twain would
be
As if the world should cleave, and that slain men
Should solder up the rift.
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OCTAVIA Thank you, my lord. May the god of power make me, the weakest of
the weak, your mediator. A war between you two would split the very
world, and the bodies of your slaughtered soldiers would have to
fill the chasm between.
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ANTONY When it appears to you where this begins,
Turn your displeasure that way, for our faults
35Can never be so equal that your love
Can equally move with them. Provide your going;
Choose your own company and command what cost
Your heart has mind to.
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ANTONY When you find out who started this disagreement, turn your anger
upon them. Our faults can’t be so alike that you would judge us
similarly. Order supplies for your trip and choose your traveling
companions. Spend as much as you like.
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Exeunt
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They exit.
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