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

Char.
To the monument!
There lock yourself, and send him word you are ^note dead. ^note
The soul and body rive not more in parting
Than greatness going off.

Cleo.
To the monument!
Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself;
Say that the last I spoke was ‘Antony,’
And word it, prithee, piteously: hence, Mardian,
And bring me how he takes my death. To ^note the monument! ^note [Exeunt. ^note

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