Ant. Too late, good Diomed:—Call my guard, I pr'ythee. Dio. What, ho! the emperor's guard! The guard, what, ho! 'Come, your lord calls. Enter some of the Guard. Ant. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides; 'Tis the last service that I shall command you. All To 1 Guard. Woe are we, sir, you may not live to wear your true followers out. All. Most heavy day! Ant. Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp fate 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, [Exeunt, bearing Antony. SCENE XIII THE SAME. A MONUMENT. Enter above, Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras. Cleo. O Charmian, I will never go from hence. Cleo. No, I will not: All strange and terrible events are welcome, Enter Diomedes. As that which makes it.—How now? is he dead? Enter Antony, borne by the Guard. Cleo. O thou sun, Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in!-darkling stand The varying shore o' the world!—O Antony! Not Cæsar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, Cleo. So it should be, that none but Antony Cleo. I dare not, dear, (Dear my lord, pardon,) I dare not, Of the full-fortun'd Cæsar ever shall Be brooch'd with me; if knife, drug, 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,- Ant. O, quick, or I am gone. Cleo. Here's sport, indeed!—How heavy weighs my lord! Our strength is all gone into heavinefs, That makes the weight: Had I great Juno's power, Wishers were ever fools;-O, come, come, come; And welcome, welcome! die, where thou hast liv'd: 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 housewife Fortune break her wheel, Provok'd by my offence. Ant. One word, sweet queen: Of Cæsar seek your honour, with your safety.-0! 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' the world, The noblest and do now not basely die, : Nor cowardly; put off my helmet to My countryman, a Roman, by a Roman Cleo. Noblest of men, wo'n't die? In this dull world, which in thy absence is [dies. 1 J No better than a stye?—O, see, my women, The soldier's pole is fallen; young boys, and girls, And there is nothing left remarkable Char. O, quietness, lady! Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign. Iras. Madam, Char. O madam, madam, madam! Iras. Royal Egypt! Empress! Char. Peace, peace, Iras. [she faints. Cleo. No more, but e'en a woman; and commanded By such poor passion as the maid that milks, To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods; 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? Our lamp is spent, it's out: Good sirs, take heart: |