Ant. Too late, good Diomed.-Call my guard, I

pr'ythee.

Dio. What, ho! the emperor's guard! The guard, what, ho!

Come, your lord calls.

Enter some of the GUARD.

Ant. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides;

'Tis the last service that I shall command you. 1 Guard. Woe, woe are we, sir, you may not live to wear

All your true followers out.

All.

Most heavy day!

Ant. Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp

fate,

To grace it with your sorrows; bid that welcome
Which comes to punish us, and we punish it
Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up:

I have led you oft; carry me now, good friends,
And have my thanks for all.

[Exeunt, bearing Antony.

SCENE XIII.

The same. A monument.

Enter, above, CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, and IRAS.

Cle. O Charmian, I will never go from hence.
Char. Be comforted, dear madam.

Cle.

No, I will not:

All strange and terrible events are welcome,
But comforts we despise our size of sorrow,
Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great

Enter DIOMEDES.

As that which makes it.-How now? is he dead?
Dio. His death's upon him, but not dead.
Look out o' the other side your monument,
His guard have brought him thither.

Enter ANTONY, borne by the Guard.

Cle. O sun,

Burn the great sphere thou movest in! darkling

stand

The varying shore o' the world!—O Antony, Antony, Antony!

Help, Charmian, help; Iras, help; help, friends
Below; let's draw him hither.

Ant.

Peace:

Not Cæsar's valor hath o'erthrown Antony,
But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself.

Cle. So it should be, that none but Antony
Should conquer Antony: but woe 'tis so!
Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying; only
I here importune death awhile, until
Of many thousand kisses the poor last
I lay upon thy lips.

Cle.

I dare not, dear, (Dear my lord, pardon) I dare not, Lest I be taken. Not the imperious show

L

Of the full-fortuned Cæsar ever shall

Be brooch'd1 with me: if knife, drugs, serpents,

have

Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe.

Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes,

And still conclusion, shall acquire no honor

Demuring upon me.-But come, come, Antony !—
Help me, my women! we must draw thee up :-
Assist, good friends.

Ant.

O, quick, or I am gone. Cle. Here's sport, indeed!-How heavy weighs my lord!

Our strength is all gone into heaviness,

That makes the weight. Had I great Juno's power,
The strong-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up,
And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little,—
Wishers were ever fools.-O, come, come, come;
[they draw Antony up.

And welcome, welcome! die, where thou hast lived;
Quicken 3 with kissing: had my lips that power,
Thus would I wear them out.

All.

A heavy sight!

Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying:

Give me some wine, and let me speak a little.

Cle. No, let me speak; and let me rail so high, That the false housewife Fortune break her wheel, Provoked by my offence.

1 Adorned.
* Revive.

2 Sedate determination.

Ant.

One word, sweet queen :

Of Cæsar seek your honor, with your safety.-0!

Cle. They do not go together.
Ant.

Gentle, hear me :

None about Cæsar trust but Proculeius.

Cle. My resolution and my hands I'll trust; None about Cæsar.

Ant. The miserable change now at my end
Lament nor sorrow at; but please your thoughts,
In feeding them with those my former fortunes
Wherein I lived, the greatest prince o' the world,
The noblest; and do now not basely die,
Nor cowardly; put off my helmet to

My countryman, a Roman, by a Roman
Valiantly vanquish'd. Now my spirit is going;
I can no more.

Cle.

Noblest of men, woo't die?
Hast thou no care of me? Shall I abide

In this dull world, which in thy absence is
No better than a sty ?-O, see, my women,

[dies.

The crown o' the earth doth melt.—My lord !—
O, wither'd is the garland of the war;

The soldier's pole 1 is fallen; young boys and girls
Are level now with men: the odds is gone;

And there is nothing left remarkable

Beneath the visiting moon.

Char.

[she faints.

O, quietness, lady!

Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign.

1 The soldier's object of admiration.

Cle. No more, but ev'n a woman; and com

manded

By such poor passion as the maid that milks,
And does the meanest chares.1 It were for me
To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods;
To tell them, that this world did equal theirs,
Till they had stolen our jewel. All's but naught;
Patience is sottish, and impatience does

Become a dog that's mad: then is it sin,

To rush into the secret house of death,

Ere death dare come to us?-How do you, women? What, what? good cheer!-Why, how now, Charmian?

My noble girls!-Ah, women, women! look,
Our lamp is spent, it's out.-Good sirs, take heart
[to the Guard below.
We'll bury him; and then, what's brave, what's

noble,

Let's do it after the high Roman fashion,

And make death proud to take us.

Come, away:

This case of that huge spirit now is cold.

Task-work.