MARK ANTONY: Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that—

That were excusable, that, and thousands more

Of semblable import—but he hath wag’d

New wars ’gainst Pompey; made his will, and read it

To public ear;

Spoke scantly of me; when perforce he could not

But pay me terms of honor, cold and sickly

He vented them, most narrow measure lent me;

When the best hint was given him, he not took’t,

Or did it from his teeth.

OCTAVIA: O my good lord,

Believe not all, or if you must believe,

Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady,

If this division chance, ne’er stood between,

Praying for both parts.

The good gods will mock me presently,

When I shall pray, “O, bless my lord and husband!”

Undo that prayer, by crying out as loud,

“O, bless my brother!” Husband win, win brother,

Prays, and destroys the prayer, no