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    Act 4. Scene XV

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    SCENE XV. The same. A monument.

    Enter CLEOPATRA and her maids aloft, with CHARMIAN and IRAS
    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.

    Enter, below, DIOMEDES

    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, MARK ANTONY, borne by the Guard

    O sun,
    Burn the great sphere thou movest in!
    darkling stand
    The varying shore o' the world. O Antony,
    Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian, help, Iras, help;
    Help, friends below; let's draw him hither.

    Not Caesar'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 up thy lips.

    I dare not, dear,--
    Dear my lord, pardon,--I dare not,
    Lest I be taken: not the imperious show
    Of the full-fortuned Caesar 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,--
    Wishes were ever fools,--O, come, come, come;

    They heave MARK ANTONY aloft to CLEOPATRA

    And welcome, welcome! die where thou hast lived:
    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,
    Provoked by my offence.

    One word, sweet queen:
    Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. O!

    They do not go together.

    Gentle, hear me:
    None about Caesar trust but Proculeius.

    My resolution and my hands I'll trust;
    None about Caesar.

    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 lived, 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,

    MARK ANTONY dies

    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!

    Royal Egypt, Empress!

    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 scottish, 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 off MARK ANTONY's body
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