1    Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that,--
2    That were excusable, that, and thousands more
3    Of semblable import,--but he hath waged
4    New wars 'gainst Pompey; made his will, and read it
5    To public ear:
6    Spoke scantly of me: when perforce he could not
7    But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly
8    He vented them; most narrow measure lent me:
9    When the best hint was given him, he not took't,
10   Or did it from his teeth.

11   O my good lord,
12   Believe not all; or, if you must believe,
13   Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady,
14   If this division chance, ne'er stood between,
15   Praying for both parts:
16   The good gods me presently,
17   When I shall pray, 'O bless my lord and husband!'
18   Undo that prayer, by crying out as loud,
19   'O, bless my brother!' Husband win, win brother,
20   Prays, and destroys the prayer; no midway
21   'Twixt these extremes at all.

22   Gentle Octavia,
23   Let your best love draw to that point, which seeks
24   Best to preserve it: if I lose mine honour,
25   I lose myself: better I were not yours
26   Than yours so branchless. But, as you requested,
27   Yourself shall go between 's: the mean time, lady,
28   I'll raise the preparation of a war
29   Shall stain your brother: make your soonest haste;
30   So your desires are yours.

31   Thanks to my lord.
32   The Jove of power make me most weak, most weak,
33   Your reconciler! Wars 'twixt you twain would be
34   As if the world should cleave, and that slain men
35   Should solder up the rift.

36   When it appears to you where this begins,
37   Turn your displeasure that way: for our faults
38   Can never be so equal, that your love
39   Can equally move with them. Provide your going;
40   Choose your own company, and command what cost
41   Your heart has mind to.