Cleo.
Oh 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 Diomedes.
How now? Is he dead?

Dio.
His Death's upon him, but not dead.
Look out o'th' other-side your Monument,
His Guard have brought him hither. Enter Antony, born by the Guard.

Cleo.
O Sun,
Burn the great Sphere thou mov'st in, darkling stand
The varying Shore o'th'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'er-thrown Antony,
But Antony hath triumpht on himself.

Cleo.
So it should be, that none but Antony
Should conquer Antony, but woe 'tis so.

Ant.
I am dying, Ægypt, 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 th' imperious shew
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.
Oh 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. Oh come, come, come— [They draw Antony up to Cleopatra.

And welcome, welcome. Die when thou hast liv'd,
Quicken with kissing; had my Lips that power,
Thus would I wear them out.

All.
Oh heavy sight!

Ant.
I am dying, Ægypt, 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 Huswife, Fortune, break her Wheel,
Provok'd by my offence.

Ant.
One word, sweet Queen.
Of Cæsar seek your honour, with your safety—Oh!—

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'th'World,
The noblest once; and do now not basely die,
Nor 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— [Antony Dies.

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'th'Earth doth melt—My Lord!—
Oh wither'd is the Garland of the War,
The Soldiers Pole is faln: Young Boys and Girls
Are level now with Men; the odds is gone,
And there is nothing left remarkable,
Beneath the visiting Moon. [She faints.

Char.
Oh quietness, Lady.

Iras.
She's dead too, our Sovereign.

Char.
Lady.

Iras.
Madam.

Char.
Oh Madam, Madam, Madam—

Iras.
Royal Ægypt! Empress!

Char.
Peace, peace, Iras.

Cleo.
No more but a meer Woman, and commanded
By such poor passion, as the Maid that Milks,
And does the meanest chares. It were for me
To throw my Scepter at the injurious Gods,
To tell them that this world did equal theirs,
'Till they had stoln our Jewel. All's but nought:
Patience is sottish, and Impatience does
Become a Dog that's mad: Then is it sin,
To rush into the secret House of death,
E'er 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't 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, bearing off Antony's Body.

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