ACT IV SCENE XV | The same. A monument. | |
[
Enter CLEOPATRA and her maids aloft, with
CHARMIAN and IRAS
] |
CLEOPATRA | O Charmian, I will never go from hence. |
CHARMIAN | Be comforted, dear madam. |
CLEOPATRA | No, I will not: |
| All strange and terrible events are welcome, |
| But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow, | 5 |
| Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great |
| As that which makes it. |
[Enter, below, DIOMEDES] |
| How now! is he dead? |
DIOMEDES | His death's upon him, but not dead. |
| Look out o' the other side your monument; | 10 |
| His guard have brought him thither. |
[Enter, below, MARK ANTONY, borne by the Guard] |
CLEOPATRA | O sun, |
| Burn the great sphere thou movest in! |
| darkling stand |
| The varying shore o' the world. O Antony, | 15 |
| Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian, help, Iras, help; |
| Help, friends below; let's draw him hither. |
MARK ANTONY | Peace! |
| Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, |
| But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself. | 20 |
CLEOPATRA | So it should be, that none but Antony |
| Should conquer Antony; but woe 'tis so! |
MARK ANTONY | I am dying, Egypt, dying; only |
| I here importune death awhile, until |
| Of many thousand kisses the poor last | 25 |
| I lay up thy lips. |
CLEOPATRA | 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 | 30 |
| 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 | 35 |
| Demuring upon me. But come, come, Antony,-- |
| Help me, my women,--we must draw thee up: |
| Assist, good friends. |
MARK ANTONY | O, quick, or I am gone. |
CLEOPATRA | Here's sport indeed! How heavy weighs my lord! | 40 |
| 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; | 45 |
[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. |
All | A heavy sight! |
MARK ANTONY | I am dying, Egypt, dying: | 50 |
| Give me some wine, and let me speak a little. |
CLEOPATRA | No, let me speak; and let me rail so high, |
| That the false housewife Fortune break her wheel, |
| Provoked by my offence. |
MARK ANTONY | One word, sweet queen: | 55 |
| Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. O! |
CLEOPATRA | They do not go together. |
MARK ANTONY | Gentle, hear me: |
| None about Caesar trust but Proculeius. |
CLEOPATRA | My resolution and my hands I'll trust; | 60 |
| None about Caesar. |
MARK ANTONY | 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, | 65 |
| 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. | 70 |
CLEOPATRA | 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! | 75 |
| 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. | 80 |
[Faints] |
CHARMIAN | O, quietness, lady! |
IRAS | She is dead too, our sovereign. |
CHARMIAN | Lady! |
IRAS | Madam! |
CHARMIAN | O madam, madam, madam! | 85 |
IRAS | Royal Egypt, Empress! |
CHARMIAN | Peace, peace, Iras! |
CLEOPATRA | 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 | 90 |
| 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 | 95 |
| 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: | 100 |
| 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: | 105 |
| Ah, women, women! come; we have no friend |
| But resolution, and the briefest end. |
[Exeunt; those above bearing off MARK ANTONY's body] |