DIOMEDES.
Now, my lord.
ANTONY.
Where is she?
DIOMEDES.
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 Caesar, 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.
ANTONY.
Too late, good Diomed.—Call my guard, I pr’ythee.
DIOMEDES.
What, ho! the emperor’s guard! The guard, what ho!
Come, your lord calls!
[Enter some of the Guard.]
ANTONY.
Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides;
‘Tis the last service that I shall command you.
FIRST GUARD.
Woe, woe are we, sir, you may not live to wear
All your true followers out.
ALL.
Most heavy day!
ANTONY.
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.
[Exeunt, bearing ANTONY.]
SCENE XV. Alexandria. A monument.
[Enter, above, CLEOPATRA, 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,
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;
His guard have brought him thither.
[Enter, below, ANTONY, borne by the Guard.]
CLEOPATRA.
O sun,
Burn the great sphere thou mov’st in!—darkling stand
The varying shore o’ theworld.—O Antony,
Antony, Antony!—Help, Charmian; help, Iras, help,—
Help, friends below;—let’s draw him hither.
ANTONY.
Peace!
Not Caesar’s valour hath o’erthrown Antony,
But Antony’s hath triumph’d on itself.
CLEOPATRA.
So it should be, that none but Antony
Should conquer Antony; but woe ‘tis so!
ANTONY.
I am dying, Egypt, dying; only
I here importune death awhile, until
Of many thousand kisses the poor last
I lay upon 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-fortun’d 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.
ANTONY.
O, quick, or I am gone.
CLEOPATRA.
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;
[They draw ANTONY up.]
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!
ANTONY.
I am dying, Egypt, dying:
Give me some wine, and let me speak a little.
CLEOPATRA.
No, let me speak; and let me rail so high
That the false huswife Fortune break her wheel,
Provok’d by my offence.
ANTONY.
One word, sweet queen:
Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety.—O!
CLEOPATRA.
They do not go together.
ANTONY.
Gentle, hear me:
None about Caesar trust but Proculeius.
CLEOPATRA.
My resolution and my hands I’ll trust;
None about Caesar.
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 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.
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