The crown o’ the earth doth melt.—My lord!—
O, wither’d is the garland of the war,
The soldier’s pole is fallen: young boys and girls
Are level now with men: the odds is gone,
And there is nothing left remarkable
Beneath the visiting moon.
[Faints.]
CHARMIAN.
O, quietness, lady!
IRAS.
She is dead too, our sovereign.
CHARMIAN.
Lady!—
IRAS.
Madam!—
CHARMIAN.
O madam, madam, madam!—
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
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 off ANTONY’S body.]
ACT V.
SCENE I. CAESAR’S Camp before Alexandria.
[Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, DOLABELLA, MAECENAS, GALLUS, PROCULEIUS, and Others.]
CAESAR.
Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield;
Being so frustrate, tell him he mocks
The pauses that he makes.
DOLABELLA.
Caesar, I shall.
[Exit.]
[Enter DERCETAS with the sword of ANTONY.]
CAESAR.
Wherefore is that? And what art thou that dar’st
Appear thus to us?
DERCETAS.
I am call’d Dercetas;
Mark Antony I serv’d, who best was worthy
Best to be serv’d: whilst he stood up and spoke,
He was my master, and I wore my life
To spend upon his haters. If thou please
To take me to thee, as I was to him
I’ll be to Caesar; if thou pleasest not,
I yield thee up my life.
CAESAR.
What is’t thou say’st?
DERCETAS.
I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead.
CAESAR.
The breaking of so great a thing should make
A greater crack: the round world
Should have shook lions into civil streets,
And citizens to their dens. The death of Antony
Is not a single doom; in the name lay
A moiety of the world.
DERCETAS.
He is dead, Caesar;
Not by a public minister of justice,
Nor by a hired knife; but that self hand
Which writ his honour in the acts it did
Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it,
Splitted the heart.—This is his sword;
I robb’d his wound of it; behold it stain’d
With his most noble blood.
CAESAR.
Look you sad, friends?
The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings
To wash the eyes of kings.
AGRIPPA.
And strange it is
That nature must compel us to lament
Our most persisted deeds.
MAECENAS.
His taints and honours
Weigh’d equal with him.
AGRIPPA.
A rarer spirit never
Did steer humanity. But you, gods, will give us
Some faults to make us men. Caesar is touch’d.
MAECENAS.
When such a spacious mirror’s set before him,
He needs must see himself.
CAESAR.
O Antony!
I have follow’d thee to this!—But we do lance
Diseases in our bodies: I must perforce
Have shown to thee such a declining day
Or look on thine; we could not stall together
In the whole world: but yet let me lament,
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts,
That thou, my brother, my competitor
In top of all design, my mate in empire,
Friend and companion in the front of war,
The arm of mine own body, and the heart
Where mine his thoughts did kindle,—that our stars,
Unreconciliable, should divide
Our equalness to this.—Hear me, good friends,—
But I will tell you at some meeter season.
[Enter a Messenger.]
The business of this man looks out of him;
We’ll hear him what he says.—Whence are you?
MESSENGER.
A poor Egyptian yet. The queen, my mistress,
Confin’d