Tony and Cleo

Shakespeare:
https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Shakespeare_-_First_Folio_facsimile_(1910)/The_Tragedie_of_Anthonie,_and_Cleopatra/Act_1_Scene_1

Act I. Scene I.
Enter Geo and Phil.
Phil.
No woman; the general’s foible is key. He is the eye to the military muster and file, when Mars shines of metal, and the foible gives the keen tilt and turn, the timed angle and focus, for the sidereal leap beyond the northern harvest lunar tan. All becomes by a center code, the rib enacts an enclave of force, for all impulse to yield; a smith excellent itself against inordinate motive. Still, we need our lieutenants.
Enter Tony and Cleo.
Look now. Only a few are allowed to know the ammeter for the physical extent, yet one of a chosen three is become a broad cinch. Mind you and reckon yourself.
Cleo.
If you do truly mean me, say how strong.
Tony.
In love, definition may only beg sense.
Cleo.
I will decide how strong you mean me, then.
Tony.
So as to woo a new Heaven, a new Earth.
Enters Messenger.
Messenger.
The City has news.
Tony.
The sum of all things.
Cleo.
Hear them, Tony. Maybe the Crescent are irked; or that Blue Tow smooth chin for a man has ceased your authority. He always says, do this, or do this as well; take in that, or have that for franchise as well. Do, or we abominate you.
Tony.
How so, my love?
Cleo.
If it’s possible? It is most the odds; that your dwelling here cannot last, the city has bounced your count, and you ought to hear them. Can you see the people of the Crescent? Have the Blue Tow come? Hear the message. I am a woman of symbol, so do not grow your red: the color becomes tribute to the Blue, in time with the Crescent woe, as it grows to shame your face. Hear the messengers.
Tony.
May the city blend under the tide of time, its commodious ceilings — douse. Here, I can hold a fair field, free is my head; there, the floor supports the jackal and the man. It is life and its bearings, for two our souls fellow to live the light and the dark together. Bound with mutuality in trust, we will stand up to the world unchallenged.
Cleo.
A great illusion: but why did the Blue get in line with the Crescent — you married her. Now Tony, you will be man.
Tony.
The man for his Cleo; but now, for the love of love, gentle is the day, let us not yield to chalk or sessions, and ban a minute, even if there be one only to attempt a while of no pleasure. What game would you choose for tonight?
Cleo.
Hear the messengers.
Tony.
A woman of resolve. She has it all: she jokes, she laughs, she weeps; each her affect is own and becoming. I will have no message, only yours, and tonight, just the two of us, we go look at walks by other cognates. You wanted so last night, to hike the town and see people, talk about the custom, resources around. Say no more.
They Exit.
Geo.
Is Blue Tow of so little worth to Tony?
Phil.
When he’s not himself, some quality of his walk happens to abandon him, and so he comes to be impoverish’d.
Geo.
It is a pity, then, for the Blue Tow to accord a fallacy for a man. I hope tomorrow proves a better day. Have calm repose, good night.
They Exit.

For The many-colored garment of the moon, see Taylor, Collectanea. : )
https://teresapelka.files.wordpress.com/2019/08/thomas-taylor-collectanea.pdf

My website has more about transcreation:
https://teresapelka.com/transcreation/