The Same. A Monument. |
| |
Enter CLEOPATRA and her maids aloft, with CHARMIAN and IRAS. |
| Cle. O Charmian! I will never go from hence. |
| Char. Be comforted, dear madam. |
| Cleo. 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 |
| As that which makes it. |
| |
Enter, below, DIOMEDES. |
| 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, below, ANTONY, borne by the Guard. |
| Cleo. O sun! |
| Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in; darkling stand |
| The varying star 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 valour hath o'erthrown Antony, |
| But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself. |
| Cleo. 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. |
| Cleo. I dare not, dear,— |
| 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 |
| 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. |
| 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 heave ANTONY aloft to CLEOPATRA. |
| And welcome, welcome! die where thou hast liv'd; |
| Quicken 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. |
| 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. O! |
| 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 sty? O! see my women, [ANTONY dies. |
| The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! |
| O! wither'd is the garland of the war, |
| The soldier's pole is fall'n; young boys and girls |
| Are level now with men; the odds is gone, |
| And there is nothing left remarkable |
| Beneath the visiting moon. [Swoons. |
| Char. O, quietness, lady! |
| Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign. |
| Char. Lady! |
| Iras. Madam! |
| Char. O madam, madam, madam! |
| Iras. Royal Egypt! |
| Empress! |
| Char. Peace, peace, Iras! |
| 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 stol'n 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;— |
| 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. |
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