Cleo.
He words me, Girls, he words me,
That I should not be noble to my self.
But hark thee, Charmian. [Whispers Charmian.

Iras.
Finish, good lady, the bright day is done,
And we are for the dark.

Cleo.
Hie thee again.—
I've spoke already, and it is provided;
Go put it to the haste.

Char.
Madam, I will. [Exit Charm. Enter Dolabella.

Dol.
Where is the Queen?

Char.
Behold, Sir.

Cleo.
Dolabella.

Dol.
Madam, as thereto sworn, by your Command,
Which my love makes religion to obey,
I tell you this: Cæsar through Syria
Intends his journey, and, within three days,
You with your children will he send before;
Make your best use of this. I have perform'd
Your pleasure and my promise.

Cleo.
Dolabella,
I shall remain your debtor.

Dol.
I your servant.
Adieu, good Queen; I must attend on Cæsar. [Exit.

Cleo.
Farewel, and thanks. Now, Iras, what think'st thou?
Thou, an Ægyptian puppet, shalt be shewn
In Rome as well as I: mechanick slaves
With greasie aprons, rules, and hammers, shall
Uplift us to the view. In their thick breaths,
Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded,
And forc'd to drink their vapour.

Iras.
The Gods forbid!

Cleo.
Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras: saucy lictors
Will catch at us like strumpets, and scall'd rhimers
Ballad us out-o'-tune. The quick Comedians
Extemp'rally will stage us, and present
Our Alexandrian revels: Antony
Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see
Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my Greatness.
I'th' posture of a whore.

Iras.
O the good Gods!

Cleo.
Nay, that's certain.

Iras.
I'll never see it; for, I'm sure, my nails
Are stronger than mine eyes.

Cleo.
Why, that's the way
To fool their preparation, and to conquer
Their most absurd intents. Now, Charmian,

Enter Charmian.
Shew me, my women, like a Queen: go fetch
My best attires. I am again for Cydnus,
To meet Mark Antony. Sirrah Iras, go—
Now, noble Charmian, we'll dispatch indeed;
And when thou'st done this chare, I'll give thee leave
To play till dooms-day—bring our Crown, and all. [A noise within.
Wherefore this noise? Enter a Guardsman.

Guards.
Here is a rural fellow,
That will not be deny'd your Highness' presence;
He brings you figs.

Cleo.
Let him come in. How poor an instrument [Exit Guardsman.
May do a noble deed!—he brings me liberty.
My resolution's plac'd, and I have nothing
Of woman in me; now from head to foot
I'm marble constant: ^{1 note}
now the fleeting moon
No planet is of mine. Enter Guardsman and Clown with a basket.

Guards.
This is the man.

Cleo.
Avoid and leave him. [Exit Guardsman.
Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there,
That kills and pains not?

&plquo;Clown.

&plquo;Truly, I have him: but I would not be the party should desire you to touch him, for his biting is immortal: those, that do die of it, do seldom or never recover.&prquo;

Cleo.

Remember'st thou any that have dy'd on't?

&plquo;Clown.

&plquo;Very many, men and women too. I heard of one of them no longer than yesterday, a very honest

woman, but something given to lie, as a woman should not do, but in the way of honesty. How she dy'd of the biting of it, what pain she felt! truly, she makes a very good report o'th' worm: ^{3 note}but he, that will believe half that they say, shall never be saved by all that they do: but this is most fallible, the worm's an odd worm.&prquo;

Cleo.

Get thee hence, farewel.

&plquo;Clown.

&plquo;I wish you all joy of the worm.&prquo;

Cleo.

Farewel.

&plquo;Clown.

&plquo;You must think this, look you, that the worm will do his kind.&prquo;

Cleo.

Ay, ay, farewel.

&plquo;Clown.

&plquo;Look you, the worm is not to be trusted but in the keeping of wise people; for, indeed, there is no goodness in the worm.&prquo;

Cleo.

Take thou no care, it shall be heeded.

&plquo;Clown.

&plquo;Very good: give it nothing, I pray you, for it is not worth the feeding.&prquo;

Cleo.

Will it eat me?

&plquo;Clown.

&plquo;You must not think, I am so simple, but I know, the devil himself will not eat a woman: I know, that a woman is a dish for the Gods, if the devil dress her not. But, truly, these same whore-son devils do the Gods great harm in their women! for, in every ten that they make, the devils mar five.&prquo;

Cleo.

Well, get thee gone, farewel.

&plquo;Clown.

&plquo;Yes, forsooth, I wish you joy o'th' worm.&prquo;

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