Let’s grant it is not Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy; To give a kingdom for a mirth; to sit And keep the turn of tippling with a slave; To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet With knaves that smell of sweat: say this becomes him,— As his composure must be rare indeed Whom these things cannot blemish,—yet must Antony No way excuse his foils when we do bear So great weight in his lightness.
There are no more uses of "composure" in the play.
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After I regained my composure, I thanked her for telling me about the problem.
During all this time he was evidently struggling for composure.