Cæsar.
He calls me boy, and chides as he had power
To beat me out of Ægypt. My messenger
He hath whipt with rods, dares me to personal combat,
Cæsar to Antony. Let the old ruffian know,
I have many other ways to die: mean time
Laugh at this challenge.

Mec.
Cæsar must think,
When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now

Make boot of his distraction: never anger
Made good guard for it self.

Cæs.
Let our best heads know,
That to-morrow the last of battels
We mean to fight. Within our files there are,
Of those that serv'd Mark Antony but late,
Enough to fetch him in. See it be done,
And feast the army, we have store to do't,
And they have earn'd the waste. Poor Antony! [Exeunt. SCENE II. Alexandria. Enter Antony and Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, Iras, Alexas, with others.

Ant.
He will not fight with me, Domitius.

Eno.
No?

Ant.
Why should he not?

Eno.
He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune,
He's twenty men to one.

Ant.
To-morrow, soldier,
By sea and land I'll fight: or I will live,
Or bathe my dying honour in the blood
Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well?

Eno.
I'll strike, and cry, take all.

Ant.
Well said, come on:
Call forth my houshold servants, let's to-night Enter Servants.
Be bounteous at our meal. Give me thy hand,
Thou hast been rightly honest, so hast thou,
And thou, and thou, and thou: you've serv'd me well,

And Kings have been your fellows.

Cleo.
What means this?

Eno.
'Tis one of those odd tricks which sorrow shoots
Out of the mind.

Ant.
And thou art honest too:
I wish I could be made so many men,
And all of you clapt up together in
An Antony, that I might do you service,
So good as you have done.

Omnes.
The Gods forbid!

Ant.
Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night;
Scant not my cups, and make as much of me
As when mine empire was your fellow too,
And suffer'd my command.

Cleo.
What does he mean?

Eno.
To make his followers weep.

Ant.
Tend me to-night;
May be it is the period of your duty,
Haply you shall not see me more, or if,
A mangled shadow. It may chance to-morrow,
You'll serve another master. I look on you,
As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends,
I turn you not away, but like a master
Married to your good service, stay 'till death:
Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more,
And the Gods yield you for't.

Eno.
What mean you, Sir,
To give them this discomfort? look, they weep.
And I, an ass, am onion-ey'd; for shame,
Transform us not to women.

Ant.
Ho, ho, ho:
Now the witch take me, if I meant it thus.
Grace grow where those drops fall; my hearty friends,

You take me in too dolorous a sense;
I speake t' you for your comfort, did desire you
To burn this night with torches: know, my hearts,
I hope well of to-morrow, and will lead you,
Where rather I'll expect victorious life,
Than death and honour. Let's to supper, come,
And drown consideration. [Exeunt. Enter a company of Soldiers.

1 Sold.
Brother, good-night: to-morrow is the day.

2 Sold.
It will determine one way: Fare you well.
Heard you of nothing strange about the streets?

1 Sold.
Nothing: what news?

2 Sold.
Belike 'tis but a rumour, good-night to you.

1 Sold.
Well, Sir, good-night. [They meet with other soldiers.

2 Sold.
Soldiers, have careful watch.

1 Sold.
And you, good-night, good-night. [They place themselves in every corner of the stage.

2 Sold.
Here we; and if to-morrow
Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope
Our landmen will stand up.

1 Sold.
'Tis a brave army, and full of purpose. [Musick of the hautboys is under the stage.

2 Sold.
Peace, what noise?

1 Sold.
List, list!

2 Sold.
Hark!

1 Sold.
Musick i'th' air.

3 Sold.
Under the earth.
It sings well, do's it not?

2 Sold.
No.

1 Sold.
Peace I say: what should this mean?

2 Sold.
'Tis the God Hercules, who loved Antony,
Now leaves him.

1 Sold.
Walk, let's see if other watchmen
Do hear what we do?

2 Sold.
How now, masters? [Speak together.

Omnes.
How now? how now? do you hear this?

1 Sold.
Is't not strange?

3 Sold.
Do you hear, masters? do you hear?

1 Sold.
Follow the noise so far as we have quarter,
Let's see how 'twill give off.

Omnes.
Content: 'tis strange. [Exeunt. SCENE III. Cleopatra's Palace. Enter Antony and Cleopatra, with others.

Ant.
Eros, mine armour, Eros.

Cleo.
Sleep a little.

Ant.
No, my chuck: Eros, come, mine armour, Eros. Enter Eros.
Come, my good fellow, put thine iron on;
If fortune be not ours to-day, it is
Because we brave her. Come.

Cleo.
Nay, I'll help too, Antony.
What's this for? ah, let be, let be, thou art
The armourer of my heart; false; this this,
Sooth-law I'll help: thus it must be.

Ant.
Well, well, we shall thrive now.
Seest thou, my good fellow. Go put on thy defences.

Eno.
Briefly, Sir.

Cleo.
Is not this buckled well?

Ant.
Rarely, rarely:

He that unbuckles this, 'till we do please
To dos't for our repose, shall hear a storm.
Thou fumblest Eros, and my Queen's a Squire
More tight at this than thou; dispatch. O love!
That thou could'st see my wars to-day, and knew'st
The royal occupation; thou should'st see
A workman in't. Enter an armed Soldier.
Good-morrow to thee, welcome,
Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge:
To business that we love we rise betime,
And go to't with delight.

Sold.
A thousand, Sir,
Early though't be, have on their rivetted trim,
And at the port expect you. [Shout. Trumpets flourish. Enter Captains and Soldiers.

Cap.
The morn is fair; good-morrow General.

All.
Good-morrow, General.

Ant.
'Tis well blown, lad.
This morning like the spirit of a youth
That means to be of note, begins betimes.
So, so; come give me that,—this way—well said.
Fare thee well, dame, what e'er becomes of me,
This is a soldier's kiss: rebukeable,
And worthy shameful check it were, to stand
On more mechanick compliment, I'll leave thee,
Now, like a man of steel. You that will fight,
Follow me close, I'll bring you to't: adieu. [Exeunt.

Char.
Please you to retire to your chamber?

Cleo.
Lead me:
He goes forth gallantly: That he and Cæsar might

Determine this great war in single fight!
Then Antony—but now—well on. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Trumpets sound. Enter Antony and Eros.

Eros.
The Gods make this a happy day to Antony.

Ant.
Would thou and those thy scars had once prevail'd
To make me fight at land.

Eros.
Hadst thou done so,
The Kings that have revolted, and the soldier
That has this morning left thee, would have still
Follow'd thy heels.

Ant.
Who's gone this morning?

Eros.
Who?
One ever near thee. Call for Enobarbus,
He shall not hear thee, or from Cæsar's camp
Say, I am none of thine.

Ant.
What say'st thou?

Sold.
Sir, he is with Cæsar.

Eros.
Sir, his chests and treasure he has not with him.

Ant.
Is he gone?

Sold.
Most certain.

Ant.
Go, Eros, send his treasure after, do it,
Detain no jot, I charge thee: write to him,
I will subscribe gentle adieus, and greetings:
Say, that I wish he never find more cause
To change a master. Oh my fortunes have
Corrupted honest men! dispatch my Eros. [Exeunt.

SCENE V. Cæsar's Camp. Enter Cæsar, Agrippa, with Enobarbus, and Dolabella.

Cæs.
Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight:
Our will is, Antony be took alive;
Make it so known.

Agr.
Cæsar, I shall.

Cæs.
The time of universal peace is near;
Prove this a prosp'rous day, the three-nook'd world
Shall bear the olive freely. Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
Mark Antony is come into the field.

Cæs.
Go charge Agrippa,
Plant those that have revolted in the van,
That Antony may seem to spend his fury
Upon himself. [Exeunt.

Eno.
Alexas doth revolt, and went to Jewry on
Affairs of Antony; there did perswade
Great Herod to incline himself to Cæsar,
And leave his master Antony. For this pains
Cæsar hath hang'd him: Canidius and the rest
That fell away have entertainment, but
No honourable trust: I have done ill,
Of which I do accuse my self so sorely,
That I will joy no more. Enter a Soldier of Cæsar's.

Sold.
Enobarbus, Antony
Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with

His bounty over-plus. The messenger
Came on my guard, and at thy tent is now
Unloading of his mules.

Eno.
I give it you.

Sold.
Mock not, Enobarbus,
I tell you true: best you see safe the bringer
Out of the host: I must attend mine office,
Or would have done't my self. Your Emperor
Continues still a Jove. [Exit.

Eno.
I am alone the villain of the earth,
And feel I am so most. Oh Antony,
Thou mine of bounty, how wouldst thou have paid
My better service, when my turpitude
Thou dost so crown with gold. This bows my heart;
If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean
Shall out-strike thought; but thought will do't, I feel.
I fight against thee!—no, I will go seek
Some ditch, where I my die; the foul'st best fits
My latter part of life. [Exit. SCENE VI. Before the Walls of Alexandria. Alarum. Drums and Trumpets. Enter Agrippa.

Agr.
Retire, we have engag'd our selves too far:
Cæsar himself has work, and our oppression
Exceeds what we expected. [Exit. Alarum. Enter Antony, and Scarus wounded.

Scar.
O my brave Emperor, this is fought indeed;
Had we done so at first, we had droven them home
With clouts about their heads.

Ant.
Thou bleed'st apace.

Scar.
I had a wound here that was like a T,
But now 'tis made an H.

Ant.
They do retire.

Scar.
We'll beat 'em into bench-holes, I have yet
Room for six scotches more. Enter Eros.

Eros.
They're beaten, Sir, and our advantage serves
For a fair victory.

Scar.
Let us score their backs,
And snatch 'em up, as we take hares behind,
'Tis sport to maul a runner.

Ant.
I will reward thee
Once for thy sprightly comfort, and ten-fold
For thy good valour. Come thee on.

Scar.
I'll halt after. [Exeunt. Alarum. Enter Antony again in a March, Scarus with others.

Ant.
We've beat him to his camp; run one before,
And let the Queen know of our Guests; to-morrow
Before the sun shall see's, we'll spill the blood
That has to-day escap'd. I thank you all,
For doughty-handed are you, and have fought
Not as you serv'd the cause, but as't had been
Each man's like mine; you've shewn your selves all Hectors.
Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends,
Tell them your feats, whilst they with joyful tears
Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss
The honour'd gashes whole. Give me thy hand, [To Scarus. Enter Cleopatra.
To this great faiery I'll commend thy acts,

Make her thanks bless thee. O thou day o'th' world,
Chain mine arm'd neck; leap thou, attire and all,
Through proof of harness to my heart, and there
Ride on the pants triumphing.

Cleo.
Lord of lords,
Oh infinite virtue, com'st thou smiling from
The world's great snare, uncaught?

Ant.
My nightingale,
We've beat them to their beds. What girl, though gray
Do something mingle with our younger brown, yet ha'we
A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can
Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man,
Commend unto his lips thy savouring hand;
Kiss it my warrior: he hath fought to-day,
As if a God in hate of mankind had
Destroyed in such a shape.

Cleo.
I'll give thee, friend,
An armour all of gold; it was a King's.

Ant.
He has deserv'd it, were it carbunkled
Like holy Phœbus' car. Give me thy hand,
Through Alexandria make a jolly march,
Bear our hackt targets, like the men that owe them.
Had our great palace the capacity
To camp this host, we all would sup together,
And drink carowses to the next day's fate
Which promises royal peril. Trumpeters
With brazen din blast you the city's ear,
Make mingle with our ratling tabourines,
That heav'n and earth may strike their sounds together,
Applauding our approach. [Exeunt.

SCENE VII. Cæsar's Camp. Enter a Century, and his Company. Enobarbus follows.

Cent.
If we be not reliev'd within this hour,
We must return to th' court of guard; the night
Is shiny, and they say, we shall embattel
By th' second hour i'th' morn.

1 Watch.
This last day was a shrewd one to's.

Eno.
Oh bear me witness night!

2 Watch.
What man is this?

1 Watch.
Stand close, and list him.

Eno.
Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon,
When men revolted shall upon record
Bear hateful memory; poor Enobarbus did
Before thy face repent.

Cent.
Enobarbus?

3 Watch.
Peace; hark further.

Eno.
Oh sovereign mistress of true melancholy,
The poisonous damp of night dispunge upon me,
That life, a very rebel to my will,
May hang no longer on me. Throw my heart
Against the flint and hardness of my fault,
Which being dried with grief, will break to powder,
And finish all foul thoughts. Oh Antony,
Nobler than my revolt is infamous,
Forgive me in thine own particular,
But let the world rank me in register
A master-leaver, and a fugitive:
Oh Antony! oh Antony! [Dies.

1 Watch.
Let's speak to him.

Cent.
Let's hear him, for the things he speaks
May concern Cæsar.

2 Watch.
Let's do so, but he sleeps.

Cent.
Swoons rather, for so bad a prayer as his
Was never yet for sleep.

1 Watch.
Go we to him.

2 Watch.
Awake, Sir, awake, speak to us.

1 Watch.
Hear you, Sir?

Cent.
The hand of death hath caught him. [Drums afar off.
Hark how the drums demurely wake the sleepers:
Let us bear him to th' court of guard; he is of note.
Our hour is fully out.

2 Watch.
Come on then, he may recover yet. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII. Between the two Camps. Enter Antony, and Scarus, with their army.

Ant.
Their preparation is to-day by sea,
We please them not by land.

Scar.
For both, my lord.

Ant.
I would they'd fight i'th' fire, or in the air,
We'd fight there too. But this it is, our foot
Upon the hills adjoyning to the city
Shall stay with us. Order for sea is given,
They have put forth the haven: further on,
Where their appointment we may best discover,
And look on their endeavour. [Exeunt.

Enter Cæsar, and his army.

Cæs.
But being charg'd, we will be still by land,
Which as I take't we shall; for his best force
Is forth to man his gallies. To the vales,
And hold our best advantage. [Exeunt. [Alarum afar off, as at a sea-fight. Enter Antony and Scarus.

Ant.
Yet they are not join'd:
Where yond pine stands, I shall discover all.
I'll bring thee word straight, how 'tis like to go. [Exit.

Scar.
Swallows have built
In Cleopatra's sails their nests. The augurs
Say, they know not—they cannot tell—look grimly,
And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony.
Is valiant, and dejected, and by starts
His fretted fortunes give him hope and fear
Of what he has, and has not. [Exit. SCENE IX. Alexandria. Enter Antony.

Ant.
All is lost!
This foul Ægyptian hath betray'd me!
My fleet hath yielded to the foe, and yonder
They cast their caps up, and carouse together
Like friends long lost. Triple-turn'd whore! 'tis thou
Hast sold me to this novice, and my heart
Makes only wars on thee. Bid them all fly:
For when I am reveng'd upon my charm,

I have done all. Bid them all fly, be gone.
Oh sun, thy uprise shall I see no more:
Fortune and Antony part here, even here
Do we shake hands—all come to this!—the hearts
That pannell'd me at heels, to whom I gave
Their wishes, do dis-candy, melt their sweets
On blossoming Cæsar: and this pine is bark'd,
That over-topt them all. Betray'd I am.
Oh this false soul of Ægypt! this ^{a note}gay charm,
Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them home:
Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end,
Like a right gipsie, hath at fast and loose
Beguil'd me to the very heart of loss.
What Eros, Eros! Enter Cleopatra.
Ah, thou spell! avant.

Cleo.
Why is my lord enrag'd against his love?

Ant.
Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving,
And blemish Cæsar's triumph. Let him take thee,
And hoist thee up to the shouting Plebeians;
Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot
Of all thy sex. Most monster-like be shewn
For poor'st diminutives, for dolts; and let
Patient Octavia plough thy visage up
With her prepared nails. 'Tis well thou'rt gone, [Exit Cleopatra.
If it be well to live. But better 'twere
Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death
Might have prevented many. Eros, hoa!
The shirt of Nessus is upon me; teach me,
Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage:
Let me lodge Licas on the horns o'th' moon,
And with those hands that graspt the heaviest club,

Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die;
To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall
Under his plot: she dies for't. Eros, hoa! [Exit. Re-enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian.

Cleo.
Help me, my women! oh he is more mad
Than Telamon for his shield, the boar of Thessaly
Was never so imbost.

Char.
To th' monument,
There lock your self, and send him word you're dead:
The soul and body rive not more in parting,
Than greatness going off.

Cleo.
To th' monument:
Mardian, go tell him I have slain my self,
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 th' monument. [Exeunt. SCENE X. Enter Antony and Eros.

Ant.
Eros, thou yet behold'st me?

Eros.
Ay, noble lord.

&plquo;Ant.
&plquo;Sometime we see a cloud that's dragonish,
&plquo;A vapour sometime, like a bear, or lion,
&plquo;A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock,
&plquo;A forked mountain, or blue promontory
&plquo;With trees upon't, that nod unto the world,
&plquo;And mock our eyes with air. Thou'st seen these signs,
&plquo;They are black vesper's pageants.

Eros.
Ay, my lord.

&plquo;Ant.
&plquo;That which is now a horse, even with a thought
&plquo;The rack dislimn's, and makes it indistinct

&plquo;As water is in water.

Eros.
It do's, my lord.

Ant.
My good knave, Eros, now thy captain is
Even such a body; here I'm Antony,
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.
I made these wars for Ægypt; and the Queen,
Whose heart I thought I had, (for she had mine)
Which whilst it was mine, had annext unto't
A million more, now lost! she, Eros, has
Packt cards with Cæsar, and false play'd my glory
Unto an enemy's triumph—
Nay, weep not, gentle Eros, there is left us
Our selves to end our selves. Oh the vile lady! Enter Mardian.
Sh' has robb'd me of my sword.

Mar.
No, Antony,
My mistress lov'd thee, and her fortunes mingled
With thine intirely.

Ant.
Hence, sawcy eunuch, peace, she hath betray'd me,
And she shall die the death.

&plquo;Mar.
&plquo;Death of one person can be paid but once,
&plquo;And that she has discharg'd. What thou would'st do
&plquo;Is done unto thy hand; the last she spake
&plquo;Was Antony! most noble Antony!
&plquo;Then in the midst a tearing groan did break
&plquo;The name of Antony; it was divided
&plquo;Between her heart and lips; she rendred life,
&plquo;Thy name so buried in her.

Ant.
Dead then?

Mar.
Dead.

Ant.
Unarm me, Eros, the long day's task is done,
And we must sleep; that thou depart'st hence safe

Does pay thy labour richly; go. Oh, pluck off, [Exit Mardian.
The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep
The battery from my heart. Oh cleave my sides.
Heart, once be stronger than thy continent,
Crack thy frail case! apace, Eros, apace,
No more a soldier—bruised pieces go, [Unarming himself.
You have been nobly born; from me a while, [Exit Eros.
I will o'er-take thee, Cleopatra, and
Weep for my pardon. So't must be, for now
All length is torture; since the torch is out,
Lye down and stray no further. Now all labour
Marrs what it does, yea, very force entangles
It self with strength; seal then and all is done.
Eros!—I come, my Queen—Eros!—stay for me,
Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in hand,
And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze;
Dido and her Æneas shall want troops,
And all the haunt be ours. Come, Eros, Eros! Enter Eros.

Eros.
What would my lord?

Ant.
Since Cleopatra died,
I've liv'd in such dishonour, that the Gods
Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword
Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's back
With ships, made cities; condemn my self, to lack
The courage of a woman; less noble-minded
Than she which, by her death, our Cæsar tells,
I'm conqueror of my self. Thou art sworn, Eros,
That when the exigent should come, which now
Is come indeed, when I should see behind me
Th'inevitable prosecution of disgrace
And horrour, that on my command thou then

Wouldst kill me. Do it, for the time is come:
Thou strik'st not me, 'tis Cæsar thou defeat'st.
Put colour in my cheek.

Eros.
The Gods with-hold me:
Shall I do that which all the Parthian darts,
Though enemy, lost aim, and could not?

Ant.
Eros,
Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome, and see
Thy master thus with pleacht arms, bending down
His corrigible neck, his face subdu'd
To penetrative shame: whilst the wheel'd seat
Of fortunate Cæsar drawn before him, branded
His baseness that ensued?

Eros.
I would not see't.

Ant.
Come then; for with a wound I must be cur'd.
Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn
Most useful for thy country.

Eros.
Oh, Sir, pardon me.

Ant.
When I did make thee free, swor'st thou not then
To do this when I bad thee? do it at once,
Or thy precedent services are all
But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come.

Eros.
Turn from me then that noble countenance
Wherein the worship of the whole world lyes.

Ant.
Lo thee. [Turning from him.

Eros.
My sword is drawn.

Ant.
Then let it do at once
The thing why thou hast drawn it.

Eros.
My dear master,
My captain, and my emp'ror. Let me say,
Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewel.

Ant.
'Tis said, man, and farewel.

Eros.
Farewel, great chief. Shall I strike now?

Ant.
Now, Eros.

Eros.
Why there then— [Eros kills himself.
Thus I do escape the sorrow
Of Antony's death.

Ant.
Thrice nobler than my self!
Thou teachest me, oh valiant Eros, what
I should, and thou could'st not; my Queen and Eros
Have by their brave instruction got upon me
A nobleness in record. But I will be
A bridegroom in my death, and run into't
As to a lover's bed. Come then, and Eros,
Thy master dies thy scholar; to do thus [Falling on his sword.
I learnt of thee. How, not yet dead? not dead?—
The guard—how!—oh dispatch me. SCENE XI. Enter Dercetas and guard.

1 Guard.
What's the noise?

Ant.
I've done my work ill, friends:
O make an end of what I have begun.

2 Guard.
The star is faln.

1 Guard.
And time is at his period!

All.
Alas, and woe!

Ant.
Let him that loves me, strike me dead.

1 Guard.
Not I.

2 Guard.
Not I.

3 Guard.
Nor any one. [Exeunt.

Der.
Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly.
This sword but shewn to Cæsar with this tidings,
Shall enter me with him.

Enter Diomedes.

Dio.
Where's Antony?

Der.
There, Diomed, there.

Dio.
Lives he? wilt thou not answer, man?

Ant.
Art thou there, Diomed? draw thy sword, and give me
Sufficing strokes for death.

Dio.
Most absolute lord,
My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee.

Ant.
When did she send thee?

Dio.
Now, my lord.

Ant.
Where is she?

Dio
Lockt in her monument. She had a prophesying fear
Of what hath come to pass; for when she saw
(Which never shall be found (you did suspect)
She had dispos'd with Cæsar, and that your rage
Would not be purg'd, she sent word she was dead.
But fearing since how it might work, hath sent
Me to proclaim the truth, and I am come,
I dread, too late.

Ant.
Too late, good Diomed; call my guard I pr'ythee.

Dio.
What ho! the emperor's guard. The guard, what hoa!
Come, your lord calls. Enter the Guard.

Ant.
Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides,
'Tis the last service that I shall command you.

Guard.
Woe are we, Sir! you may not live to wear
All your true follow'rs out.

All.
Most heavy day!

Ant.
Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp fate
To grace it with your sorrows. Bid that welcome

Which comes to punish us, and we punish it
Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up,
I have led you oft, carry me now, good friends,
And have my thanks for all. [Exeunt, bearing Antony. SCENE XII. A magnificent Monument. Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras, above.

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 thou sun,
Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in! darkling stand
The varying shore o'th' world. O 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 yet
I here importune death a while, 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 where 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 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 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. [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.

&plquo;Cleo.
&plquo;No more but a meer woman, and commanded
&plquo;By such poor passion as the maid that milks,
And does the meanest chares. It were for me
To throw my scepter at th' injurious Gods,
To tell them that this world did equal theirs,
'Till they had stoll'n 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,
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 bearing off Antony's body.

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