— Melt Egypt into Nile! and kindly creatures Turn all to serpents!
—He’s speaking now, Or murmuring ’Where’s my serpent of old Nile?’
You’ve strange serpents there.
Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the operation of your sun: so is your crocodile.
’tis a strange serpent.
…Pompeius Hath given the dare to Caesar, and commands The empire of the sea; our slippery people,— Whose love is never link’d to the deserver Till his deserts are past,—begin to throw Pompey the Great, and all his dignities, Upon his son; who, high in name and power, Higher than both in blood and life, stands up For the main soldier: whose quality, going on, The sides o’ the world may danger: much is breeding Which, like the courser’s hair, hath yet but life And not a serpent’s poison.
I dare not, dear,— Dear my lord, pardon,—I dare not, Lest I be taken: not the imperious show Of the full-fortun’d Caesar ever shall Be brooch’d with me; if knife, drugs, serpents, have Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe; Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour Demuring upon me.