Antony and Cleopatra

Oh, has it come to this?

You were a cold crumb on dead Julius Caesar’s plate when I met you. No, you were one of Gneius Pompey’s leftovers—not to mention your other, more depraved affairs, which have somehow managed to avoid becoming the subject of vulgar gossip. For I’m sure that although you may know what temperance is, you’ve never experienced it firsthand.

Why are you doing this?

To let a servant be familiar with my little toy, your hand—a hand that has signed royal treaties and pledged your love to me—oh, if only I were standing on the hill of

Basan

home to herds of bulls (traditional symbols of men with adulterous wives), according to the Bible

Basan , so that I could roar louder than that horned herd! For I have been savagely abused, and to state my grievances politely would be as absurd as a condemned criminal thanking the hangman for doing his job quickly.

Has he been whipped?

Soundly, my lord.

Did he cry? Did he beg my pardon?

He did ask for mercy.