(Dear my lord, pardon) I dare not,

Lest I be taken: not the imperious show
Of the full-fortun'd Cæsar ever shall

Be brooch'd 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 honour

Cleo. 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, when thou hast liv'd: Quicken with kissing: had my lips that power, Thus would I wear them out.

Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying.

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

Cleo. No, let me speak; and let me rail so high,
That the false housewife Fortune break her wheel,
Provok'd by my offence.

Ant.
One word, sweet queen.
Of Cæsar seek your honour with your safety. 0!
Cleo. They do not go together.

Ant.

Gentle, hear me.

None about Cæsar trust, but Proculeius.

Cleo. 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 liv'd, the greatest prince o' the world,
The noblest; and do now not basely die,
Not 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.

Cleo.

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 stye? - O! see, my women,
The crown o' the earth doth melt.

O! wither'd is the garland of the war,

My lord!

The soldier's pole 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.

Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign.

[Dies.

O, quietness, lady!

Peace, peace,

Cleo. No more, but e'en a woman; and commanded By such poor passion as the maid that milks,

And does the meanest chares. 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,

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.

Ah, women, women! come; we have no friend

But resolution, and the briefest end.

[Exeunt; those above bearing off ANTONY's Body.

ACT V. SCENE I.

CESAR'S Camp before Alexandria.

Enter CESAR, AGRIPPA, DOLABELLA, MECENAS, GALLUS, PROCULEIUS, and Others.

Cæs. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield;

Being so frustrate, tell him,

He mocks us by the pauses that he makes.

Dol. Cæsar, I shall.

[Exit DOLABELLA.

Enter DERCETAS, with the Sword of ANTONY. Cæs. Wherefore is that? and what art thou, that dar'st Appear thus to us?

Mark Antony I serv'd, who best was worthy

Best to be serv'd: whilst he stood up, and spoke,
He was my master, and I wore my life,

To spend upon his haters. If thou please
To take me to thee, as I was to him
I'll be to Cæsar; if thou pleasest not,
I yield thee up my life.

Cæs.

What is 't thou say'st?

Der. I say, O Cæsar! Antony is dead.

Cæs. The breaking of so great a thing should make A greater crack: the round world should have shook Lions into civil streets,

And citizens to their dens. The death of Antony
Is not a single doom: in the name lay

A moiety of the world.

Not by a public minister of justice,
Nor by a hired knife; but that self hand,
Which writ his honour in the acts it did,

Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it,
Splitted the heart. This is his sword;

I robb'd his wound of it: behold it stain'd

With his most noble blood.

Did steer humanity; but you, gods, will give us

Some faults to make us men. Cæsar is touch'd.

Mec. When such a spacious mirror 's set before him, He needs must see himself.

I have follow'd thee to this; but we do lance

Diseases in our bodies. I must perforce
Have shown to thee such a declining day,
Or look on thine: we could not stall together
In the whole world. But yet let me lament,
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts,
That thou, my brother, my competitor
In top of all design, my mate in empire,
Friend and companion in the front of war,
The arm of mine own body, and the heart
Where mine his thoughts did kindle, that our stars,
Unreconcileable should divide

The business of this man looks out of him;

We'll hear him what he says. Whence are you?

Mess. A poor Egyptian yet. The queen my mistress,
Confin'd in all she has, her monument,

Of thy intents desires instruction,
That she preparedly may frame herself
To the way she's forced to.

Cæs.

Bid her have good heart:

She soon shall know of us, by some of ours,
How honourable and how kindly we

Determine for her; for Cæsar cannot live
To be ungentle.

Cæs. Come hither, Proculeius. Go, and say, We purpose her no shame: give her what comforts

The quality of her passion shall require,

Lest in her greatness by some mortal stroke

She do defeat us; for her life in Rome
Would be eternal in our triumph. Go,

And with your speediest bring us what she says,
And how you find of her.

Pro.

Cæsar, I shall.

[Exit.

[Exit PROCUleius.

[Exit GALLUS.

Cæs. Gallus, go you along. Where's Dolabella, To second Proculeius?

All.

Dolabella!

Cas. Let him alone, for I remember now
How he's employed: he shall in time be ready.
Go with me to my tent, where you shall see
How hardly I was drawn into this war,
How calm and gentle I proceeded still
In all my writings. Go with me, and see
What I can show in this.

[Exeunt.