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. | 4 |
| 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 | 8 |
| As that which makes it. | |
| |
Enter, below, DIOMEDES. | |
| How now! is he dead? | |
| Dio. His death’s upon him, but not dead. | 12 |
| Look out o’ the other side your monument; | |
| His guard have brought him thither. | |
| |
Enter, below, ANTONY, borne by the Guard. | |
| Cleo. O sun! | 16 |
| 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. | 20 |
| 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 | 24 |
| 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 | 28 |
| 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 | 32 |
| 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 | 36 |
| 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. | 40 |
| 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, | 44 |
| 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; | 48 |
| Quicken with kissing; had my lips that power, | |
| Thus would I wear them out. | |
| All. A heavy sight! | |
| Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying: | 52 |
| 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. | 56 |
| Ant. One word, sweet queen. | |
| Of Cæsar seek your honour with your safety. O! | |
| Cleo. They do not go together. | |
| Ant. Gentle, hear me: | 60 |
| 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 | 64 |
| 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, | 68 |
| 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. | 72 |
| 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. | 76 |
| 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, | 80 |
| And there is nothing left remarkable | |
| Beneath the visiting moon. [Swoons. | |
| Char. O, quietness, lady! | |
| Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign. | 84 |
| Char. Lady! | |
| Iras. Madam! | |
| Char. O madam, madam, madam! | |
| Iras. Royal Egypt! | 88 |
| Empress! | |
| Char. Peace, peace, Iras! | |
| Cleo. No more, but e’en a woman, and commanded | |
| By such poor passion as the maid that milks | 92 |
| 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; | 96 |
| 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? | 100 |
| 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, | 104 |
| 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 | 108 |
| But resolution, and the briefest end. [Exeunt; those above bearing off ANTONY’S body. | |
