Imagens das páginas
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Wishers were ever fools;–O come, come, come ;
And welcome, welcome die, where thou hast liv'd :
Quicken with kissing; had my lips that power,
Thus would I wear them out.
All. A heavy sight!
Ant. I am dying, Egypt, 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 Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. O!
Cleo. They do not go together.
Ant. Gentle, hear me:
None about Caesar trust but Proculeius.
Cleo. My resolution, and my hands, I'll trust;
None about Caesar.
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’ the world,
The noblest: and do now not basely die,
Not cowardly put off my helmet to
My countryman; a Roman by a Roman
Valiantly vanquished. Now my spirit is going,
I can no more. [Sinks.
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 asty —O, see, my women,
[ANToNY dies.
The crown o'the 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.

Char. O, quietness, lady. [CLEOPATRA swoon

Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign. Char. Lady— Iras. Madam— Char. O madam, madain, madam | Iras. Royal Egypt : Empress! Char. Peace, peace, Iras. [Seeing her recocer. Cleo. No more but e'en a woman; and commanded By such poor passion as the maid that milks, And does the meanest chares. It were for me, To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods; To tell them, that this world did equal theirs, Till they had stol’n our jewel. All but naught: 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 f 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. [Ereunt.

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Enter Octavius Cæsa R, with Dola BELLA, AGRIPPA, Mechen As, GALLUs, PRocu LEius, and Others.

Oct. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield;
Being so frustrated, tell him he mocks
The pauses that he makes.

Dol. Caesar, I shall. [Erit Dola BELLA.

Enter DeRoet As, with ANTony's Sword.

Oct. Wherefore is that? and what art thou, that dar'st

Appear thus to us?

Der. I am call'd Dercetas;
Mark Antony I serv'd, who best was worthy
Best to be serv'd: whilst he stood up, and spoke,
He was my master; and I wore my life
To spend upon his haters: If thou please
To take me to thee, as I was to him
I'll be to Caesar; if thou pleasest not,
I yield thee up my life.

Oct. What is't thou say'st?

Der. I say, O Caesar, Antony, is dead.

Oct. The breaking of so great a thing should make A greater crack in nature: the round world Should have shook lions into civil streets,


And citizens to their dens: The death of Antony
Is not a single doom; in that name lay
A moiety of the world.

Der. He is dead, Caesar;
Not by a public minister of justice,
Nor by a hired knife; but that self hand,
Which writ his honour in the acts it did,
Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it,
Splitted the heart itself. This is his sword,
I robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd
With his most noble blood.

Oct. Look you sad, friends :
The gods rebuke me, but it is a tidings
To wash the eyes of kings.

Agrip. And strange it is,
That nature must compel us to lament
Our most persisted deeds.

Oct. O Antony,
I have follow'd thee to this:—But we do launch
Diseases in our bodies. I must perforce
Have shown to thee such a declining day,
Or look on thine; we could not stall together
In the whole world: But yet let me lament,
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts,
That thou, my brother, my competitor
In top of all design, my mate in empire,
Friend and companion in the front of war,
The arm of mine own body, and the heart
Where mine his thoughts did kindle, that our stars,
Unreconciliable, should divide -
Our equalness to this.-Hear me, good friends,-


But I will tell you at some meeter season;

The business of this man looks out of him,

We'll hear him what he says.--Whence are you, sir? Mar. A poor Egyptian; the queen, my mistress,

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