Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving And blemish Caesar’s triumph. Let him take thee And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians! Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot Of all thy sex; most monster-like be shown For poor’st diminutives, for dolts, and let Patient Octavia plough thy visage up With her prepared nails. ’Tis well thou’rt gone, If it be well to live; but better ’twere Thou fell’st into my fury, for one death Might have prevented many.—Eros, ho!— The shirt of Nessus is upon me. Teach me, Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage. Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o’ th’ moon, And with those hands that grasped the heaviest club Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die. To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall Under this plot. She dies for’t.—Eros, ho!

Antony Monologue from Antony and Cleopatra

Rehearse Antony's monologue