Shakespeare
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!
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.
All
A heavy sight!
MARK 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 housewife Fortune break her wheel,
Provoked by my offence.
MARK ANTONY
One word, sweet queen:
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;
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,
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
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.
Faints
Ant.
But grieve not, while thou stay'st
My last disastrous times:
Think we have had a clear and glorious day;
[450] And Heav'n did kindly to delay the
storm
Just till our close of ev'ning. Ten years love,
And not a moment lost, but all improv'd
To th' utmost joys: What Ages have we liv'd?
And now to die each others; and, so dying,
While hand in hand we walk in Groves below,
Whole Troops of Lovers Ghosts shall flock about us,
And all the Train be ours.
Cleop.
Your words are like the Notes of dying Swans,
Too sweet to last. Were there so many hours
For your unkindness, and not one for love?
Ant.
No, not a minute.---This one kiss---more worth
Than all I leave to Cæsar.
(Dies.
Cleop.
O, tell me so again,
And take ten thousand kisses, for that word.
My Lord, my Lord: speak, if you yet have being;
Sigh to me, if you cannot speak; or cast
One look: Do any thing that shows you live.
Iras.
He's gone too far, to hear you;
And this you see, a lump of sensless Clay,
The leavings of a Soul.