Cleo.
Help me, my women! O, he is more mad
Than Telamon for his shield^{8 note}; the boar of Thessaly
Was never so emboss'd^{9 note}

Char.
To the monument;
There lock yourself, and send him word you are dead.

The soul and body rive not more in parting,
Than greatness going off^{1 note}


.

Cleo.
To the monument:—
Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself;
Say, that the last I spoke was, Antony,
And word it, pr'ythee, piteously: Hence,
Mardian; and bring me how he takes my death.—
To the monument. [Exeunt.

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