Front Page Titles (by Subject) ACT IV. - Anthony and Cleopatra
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ACT IV. - William Shakespeare, Anthony and Cleopatra 
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (The Oxford Shakespeare), ed. with a glossary by W.J. Craig M.A. (Oxford University Press, 1916).
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EnterCæsar,reading a letter;Agrippa, Mecænas,and Others.
He calls me boy, and chides as he had power
To beat me out of Egypt; my messenger
He hath whipp’d with rods; dares me to personal combat,
Cæsar to Antony. Let the old ruffian know
I have many other ways to die; meantime
Laugh at his challenge.
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 itself.
Let our best heads
Know that to-morrow the last of many battles
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 done;
And feast the army; we have store to do ’t,
And they have earn’d the waste. Poor Antony!
Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.
EnterAntony, Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, Iras, Alexas,and Others.
He will not fight with me, Domitius.
Why should he not?
He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune,
He is twenty men to one.
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?
I’ll strike, and cry, ‘Take all.’
Well said; come on.
Call forth my household servants; let’s to-night
Be bounteous at our meal.
Enter three or four Servitors.
Give me thy hand,
Thou hast been rightly honest; so hast thou;
Thou; and thou, and thou: you have serv’d me well,
And kings have been your fellows.
What means this?
[Aside toCleopatra.] ’Tis one of those odd tricks which sorrow shoots
Out of the mind.
And thou art honest too.
I wish I could be made so many men,
And all of you clapp’d up together in
An Antony, that I might do you service
So good as you have done.
The gods forbid!
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.
[Aside toEnobarbus.] What does he mean?
[Aside toCleopatra.] To make his followers weep.
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: perchance 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!
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.
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,
For I spake to 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.
The Same. Before the Palace.
Enter two Soldiers to their guard.
Brother, good night; to-morrow is the day.
It will determine one way; fare you well.
Heard you of nothing strange about the streets?
Nothing. What news?
Belike, ’tis but a rumour. Good night to you.
Well, sir, good night.
Enter two other Soldiers.
Soldiers, have careful watch.
And you. Good night, good night.
[The first two place themselves at their posts.
[They take their posts.
And if to-morrow
Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope
Our landmen will stand up.
’Tis a brave army,
And full of purpose.
[Music of hautboys under the stage.
Peace! what noise?
Music i’ the air.
Under the earth.
It signs well, does it not?
Peace, I say!
What should this mean?
’Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony lov’d,
Now leaves him.
Walk; let’s see if other watchmen
Do hear what we do.
[They advance to another post.
How now, masters!
How now!—do you hear this?
Ay; is ’t not strange?
Do you hear, masters? do you hear?
Follow the noise so far as we have quarter;
Let’s see how ’t will give off.
[Speaking together.] Content.—’Tis strange.
The Same. A Room in the Palace.
EnterAntonyandCleopatra; Charmian,and Others, attending.
Eros! mine armour, Eros!
Sleep a little.
No, my chuck. Eros, come; mine armour, Eros!
Come, good fellow, put mine iron on:
If Fortune be not ours to-day, it is
Because we brave her. Come.
Nay, I’ll help too.
What’s this for?
Ah! let be, let be; thou art
The armourer of my heart: false, false; this, this.
Sooth, la! I’ll help: thus it must be.
We shall thrive now. Seest thou, my good fellow?
Go put on thy defences.
Is not this buckled well?
He that unbuckles this, till we do please
To daff ’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 couldst see my wars to-day, and knew’st
The royal occupation, thou shouldst see
A workman in ’t.
Enter an armed Soldier.
Good morrow to thee; welcome;
Thou look’st like him that knows a war-like charge:
To business that we love we rise betime,
And go to ’t with delight.
A thousand, sir,
Early though ’t be, have on their riveted trim,
And at the port expect you.
[Shout. Trumpets flourish.
Enter Captains and Soldiers.
The morn is fair. Good morrow, general.
Good morrow, general.
’Tis well blown, lads.
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, whate’er becomes of me;
This is a soldier’s kiss. [Kisses her.] Rebukeable
And worthy shameful check it were, to stand
On more mechanic 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.
[ExeuntAntony, Eros, Captains, and Soldiers.
Please you, retire to your chamber.
He goes forth gallantly. That he and Cæsar might
Determine this great war in single fight!
Then, Antony,—but now.—Well, on.
Trumpets sound. EnterAntonyandEros;a Soldier meeting them.
The gods make this a happy day to Antony!
Would thou and those thy scars had once prevail’d
To make me fight at land!
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.
Who’s gone this morning?
One ever near thee: call for Enobarbus,
He shall not hear thee; or from Cæsar’s camp
Say, ‘I am none of thine.’
What sayst thou?
He is with Cæsar.
Sir, his chests and treasure
He has not with him.
Is he gone?
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. O! my fortunes have
Corrupted honest men. Dispatch. Enobarbus!
Flourish. EnterCæsar,withAgrippa, Enobarbus,and Others.
Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight:
Our will is Antony be took alive;
Make it so known.
Cæsar, I shall.
The time of universal peace is near:
Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook’d world
Shall bear the olive freely.
Enter a Messenger.
Is come into the field.
Go charge Agrippa
Plant those that have revolted in the van,
That Antony may seem to spend his fury
[ExeuntCæsarand his Train.
Alexas did revolt, and went to Jewry on
Affairs of Antony; there did persuade
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 myself so sorely
That I will joy no more.
Enter a Soldier ofCæsar’s.
Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with
His bounty overplus: the messenger
Came on my guard; and at thy tent is now
Unloading of his mules.
I give it you.
Mock not, Enobarbus.
I tell you true: best you saf’d the bringer
Out of the host; I must attend mine office
Or would have done ’t myself. Your emperor
Continues still a Jove.
I am alone the villain of the earth,
And feel I am so most. O Antony!
Thou mine of bounty, how wouldst thou have paid
My better service, when my turpitude
Thou dost so crown with gold! This blows my heart:
If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean
Shall outstrike thought; but thought will do ’t, I feel.
I fight against thee! No: I will go seek
Some ditch, wherein to die; the foul’st best fits
My latter part of life.
Field of Battle between the Camps.
Alarum. Drums and trumpets. EnterAgrippaand Others.
Retire, we have engag’d ourselves too far.
Cæsar himself has work, and our oppression
Exceeds what we expected.
O my brave emperor, this is fought indeed!
Had we done so at first, we had droven them home
With clouts about their heads.
Thou bleed’st apace.
I had a wound here that was like a T,
But now ’tis made an H.
They do retire.
We’ll beat ’em into bench-holes: I have yet
Room for six scotches more.
They are beaten, sir; and our advantage serves
For a fair victory.
Let us score their backs,
And snatch ’em up, as we take hares, behind:
’Tis sport to maul a runner.
I will reward thee
Once for thy sprightly comfort, and ten-fold
For thy good valour. Come thee on.
I’ll halt after.
Under the Walls of Alexandria.
Alarum. EnterAntony,marching;Scarus,and Forces.
We have beat him to his camp; run one before
And let the queen know of our gests. 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 have shown 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. [ToScarus.] Give me thy hand:
To this great fairy I’ll commend thy acts,
Make her thanks bless thee. O thou day o’ the 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.
Lord of lords!
O infinite virtue! com’st thou smiling from
The world’s great snare uncaught?
We have beat them to their beds. What, girl! though grey
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 favouring hand:
Kiss it, my warrior: he hath fought to-day
As if a god, in hate of mankind, had
Destroy’d in such a shape.
I’ll give thee, friend,
An armour all of gold; it was a king’s.
He has deserv’d it, were it carbuncled
Like holy Phœbus’ car. Give me thy hand:
Through Alexandria make a jolly march;
Bear our hack’d targets like the men that owe them:
Had our great palace the capacity
To camp this host, we all would sup together
And drink carouses to the next day’s fate,
Which promises royal peril. Trumpeters,
With brazen din blast you the city’s ear,
Make mingle with our rattling tabourines,
That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together,
Applauding our approach.
Sentinels on their post.
If we be not reliev’d within this hour,
We must return to the court of guard: the night
Is shiny, and they say we shall embattle
By the second hour i’ the morn.
This last day was
A shrewd one to ’s.
O! bear me witness, night,—
What man is this?
Stand close and list him.
Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon,
When men revolted shall upon record
Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did
Before thy face repent!
O sovereign mistress of true melancholy,
The poisonous damp of night disponge 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. O 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.
O Antony! O Antony!
Let’s speak to him.
Let’s hear him, for the things he speaks
May concern Cæsar.
Let’s do so. But he sleeps.
Swounds rather; for so bad a prayer as his
Was never yet for sleep.
Go we to him.
Awake, sir, awake! speak to us.
Hear you, sir?
The Land of death hath raught him.
[Drums afar off.
Hark! the drums
Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him
To the court of guard; he is of note: our hour
Is fully out.
Come on, then;
He may recover yet.
[Exeunt with the body.
Between the two Camps.
EnterAntonyandScarus,with Forces, marching.
Their preparation is to-day by sea;
We please them not by land.
For both, my lord.
I would they’d fight i’ the fire or i’ the air;
We’d fight there too. But this it is; our foot
Upon the hills adjoining to the city
Shall stay with us; order for sea is given,
They have put forth the haven,
Where their appointment we may best discover
And look on their endeavour.
EnterCæsar,and his Forces, marching.
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 galleys. To the vales,
And hold our best advantage!
Yet they are not join’d. Where yond pine does stand
I shall discover all; I’ll bring thee word
Straight how ’tis like to go.
Swallows have built
In Cleopatra’s sails their nests; the augurers
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.
[Alarum afar off, as at a sea-fight.
All is lost!
This foul Egyptian hath betrayed 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.
O 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 spaniel’d me at heels, to whom I gave
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets
On blossoming Cæsar; and this pine is bark’d,
That overtopp’d them all. Betray’d I am.
O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm,
Whose eyes beck’d forth my wars, and call’d them home,
Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end,
Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose,
Beguil’d me to the very heart of loss.
What, Eros! Eros!
Ah! thou spell. Avaunt!
Why is my lord enrag’d against his love?
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 shown
For poor’st diminutives, for doits; and let
Patient Octavia plough thy visage up
With her prepared nails.
’Tis well thou’rt gone,
If it be well to live; but better ’twere
Thou fell’st into my fury, for one death
Might have prevented many. Eros, ho!
The shirt of Nessus is upon me; teach me,
Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage;
Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o’ the moon;
And with those hands, that grasp’d the heaviest club,
Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die:
To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall
Under this plot; she dies for ’t. Eros, ho!
Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.
EnterCleopatra, Charmian, Iras,andMardian.
Help me, my women! O! he is more mad
Than Telamon for his shield; the boar of Thessaly
Was never so emboss’d.
To the monument!
There lock yourself, and send him word you are dead.
The soul and body rive not more in parting
Than greatness going off.
To the monument!
Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself;
Say that the last I spoke was ‘Antony,’
And word it, prithee, piteously. Hence,
Mardian, and bring me how he takes my death.
To the monument!
The Same. Another Room.
Eros, thou yet behold’st me?
Ay, noble lord.
Sometimes we see a cloud that’s dragonish;
A vapour sometime like a bear or lion,
A tower’d citadel, a pendant rock,
A forked mountain, or blue promontory
With trees upon ’t, that nod unto the world
And mock our eyes with air: thou hast seen these signs;
They are black vesper’s pageants.
Ay, my lord.
That which is now a horse, even with a thought
The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct,
As water is in water.
It does, my lord.
My good knave, Eros, now thy captain is
Even such a body: here I am Antony;
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.
I made these wars for Egypt; and the queen,
Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine,
Which whilst it was mine had annex’d unto ’t
A million more, now lost; she, Eros, has
Pack’d cards with Cæsar, and false-play’d my glory
Unto an enemy’s triumph.
Nay, weep not, gentle Eros; there is left us
Ourselves to end ourselves.
O! thy vile lady;
She has robb’d me of my sword.
My mistress lov’d thee, and her fortunes mingled
With thine entirely.
Hence, saucy eunuch; peace!
She hath betray’d me and shall die the death.
Death of one person can be paid but once,
And that she has discharg’d. What thou wouldst do
Is done unto thy hand; the last she spake
Was, ‘Antony! most noble Antony!’
Then in the midst a tearing groan did break
The name of Antony; it was divided
Between her heart and lips. She render’d life,
Thy name so buried in her.
Unarm, Eros; the long day’s task is done,
And we must sleep. [ToMardian.] That thou depart’st hence safe,
Does pay thy labour richly; go.
Off, pluck off:
The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep
The battery from my heart. O! cleave, my sides;
Heart, once be stronger than thy continent,
Crack thy frail case! Apace, Eros, apace.
No more a soldier; bruised pieces, go;
You have been nobly borne. From me awhile.
I will o’ertake thee, Cleopatra, and
Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now
All length is torture; since the torch is out,
Lie down, and stray no further. Now all labour
Mars what it does; yea, very force entangles
Itself 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!
What would my lord?
Since Cleopatra died,
I have 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 myself to lack
The courage of a woman; less noble mind
Than she, which by her death our Cæsar tells
‘I am conqueror of myself.’ Thou art sworn, Eros,
That, when the exigent should come,—which now
Is come indeed,—when I should see behind me
The inevitable prosecution of
Disgrace and horror, that, on my command,
Thou then wouldst kill me: do ’t; the time is come.
Thou strik’st not me, ’tis Cæsar thou defeat’st.
Put colour in thy cheek.
The gods withhold me!
Shall I do that which all the Parthian darts,
Though enemy, lost aim and could not?
Wouldst thou be window’d in great Rome, and see
Thy master thus with pleach’d 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 ensu’d?
I would not see’t.
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.
O, sir! pardon me.
When I did make thee free, swor’st thou not then
To do this when I bade thee? Do it at once,
Or thy precedent services are all
But accidents unpurpos’d. Draw, and come.
Turn from me then that noble countenance,
Wherein the worship of the whole world lies.
[Turning from him.
My sword is drawn.
Then let it do at once
The thing why thou hast drawn it.
My dear master,
My captain, and my emperor, let me say,
Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell.
’Tis said, man; and farewell.
Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now?
Why, there then; thus do I escape the sorrow
Of Antony’s death.
Thrice-nobler than myself!
Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what
I should, and thou couldst 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
[Falls on his sword.
I learn’d of thee. How! not dead? not dead?
The guard, ho! O! dispatch me.
What’s the noise?
I have done my work ill, friends: O! make an end
Of what I have begun.
The star is fallen.
And time is at his period.
Alas, and woe!
Let him that loves me strike me dead.
Nor any one.
Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly.
This sword but shown to Cæsar, with this tidings,
Shall enter me with him.
There, Diomed, there.
Wilt thou not answer, man?
Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy sword, and give me
Sufficing strokes for death.
Most absolute lord,
My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee.
When did she send thee?
Now, my lord.
Where is she?
Lock’d 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 you 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.
Too late, good Diomed. Call my guard, I prithee.
What, ho! the emperor’s guard! The guard, what, ho!
Come, your lord calls!
Enter four or five of the Guard ofAntony.
Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides;
’Tis the last service that I shall command you.
Woe, woe are we, sir, you may not live to wear
All your true followers out.
Most heavy day!
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.
The Same. A Monument.
EnterCleopatraand her maids aloft, withCharmianandIras.
O Charmian! I will never go from hence.
Be comforted, dear madam.
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.
How now! is he dead?
His death’s upon him, but not dead.
Look out o’ the other side your monument;
His guard have brought him thither.
Enter, below,Antony,borne by the Guard.
Burn the great sphere thou mov’st in; darkling stand
The varying star o’ the world. O Antony,
Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian, help, Iras, help;
Help, friends below! let’s draw him hither.
Not Cæsar’s valour hath o’erthrown Antony,
But Antony’s hath triumph’d on itself.
So it should be, that none but Antony
Should conquer Antony; but woe ’tis so!
I am dying, Egypt, dying; only
I here importune death awhile, until
Of many thousand kisses the poor last
I lay upon thy lips.
I dare not, dear,—
Dear my lord, pardon,—I dare not,
Lest I be taken: not the imperious show
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.
O! quick, or I am gone.
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. O! come, come, come;
[They heaveAntonyaloft toCleopatra.
And welcome, welcome! die where thou hastliv’d;
Quicken with kissing; had my lips that power,
Thus would I wear them out.
A heavy sight!
I am dying, Egypt, dying:
Give me some wine, and let me speak a little.
No, let me speak; and let me rail so high,
That the false housewife Fortune break her wheel,
Provok’d by my offence.
One word, sweet queen.
Of Cæsar seek your honour with your safety. O!
They do not go together.
Gentle, hear me:
None about Cæsar trust, but Proculeius.
My resolution and my hands I’ll trust;
None about Cæsar.
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 vanquish’d. Now my spirit is going;
I can no more.
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 sty? O! see my women,
The crown o’ the earth doth melt. My lord!
O! 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.
O, quietness, lady!
She is dead too, our sovereign.
O madam, madam, madam!
Peace, peace, Iras!
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’s 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!
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; those above bearing offAntony’sbody.