How now, friend Eros!

There's strange news come, sir.

What, man?

Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon Pompey.

This is old: what is the success?

Caesar, having made use of him in the wars 'gainst Pompey, presently denied him rivality; would not let him partake in the glory of the action: and not resting here, accuses him of letters he had formerly wrote to Pompey; upon his own appeal, seizes him: so the poor third is up, till death enlarge his confine.

Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps, no more;
And throw between them all the food thou hast,
They'll grind the one the other. Where's Antony?

He's walking in the garden—thus; and spurns
The rush that lies before him; cries, 'Fool Lepidus!'
And threats the throat of that his officer
That murder'd Pompey.

Our great navy's rigg'd.

For Italy and Caesar. More, Domitius;
My lord desires you presently: my news
I might have told hereafter.

'Twill be naught:
But let it be. Bring me to Antony.

Come, sir.