Dro. Lock'd in her monument.

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 Cæsar, 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.

ANT. Too late, good Diomed.-Call my guard,
I pr'ythee.

Dro. What, ho! the emperor's guard! The guard, what, ho!

Come, your lord calls!

Not Cæsar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony,
But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself.
CLEO. So it should be, that none but Antony
Should conquer Antony; but woe 't is so!

ANT. I am dying,-Egypt, dying; only
I here impórtune death a while, until
Of many thousand kisses the poor last
I lay upon thy lips.-

CLEO.
I dare not, dear,
(Dear my lord, pardon,) I dare not,
Lest I be taken: not the imperious show

Of the full-fortun'd Cæsar 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.

ANT.

O, quick, or I ani gone! CLEO. 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, 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!
ANT. I am dying,-Egypt,-dying:-
Give me some wine, and let me speak a little.
CLEO. No, let me speak; and let me rail so
high,

(*) Old text, when.

piteous in the contrast it implies between the fallen queen's present occupation and the diversions of her happier times, is quite lost on Mr. Collier's unsusceptible commentator, who coolly reads, "Here's port, indeed."!

ANT.
One word, sweet queen:
Of Cæsar seek your honour, with your safety.-O!

CLEO. They do not go together.
ANT.

Gentle, hear me ; None about Cæsar trust but Proculeius.

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

b

ANT. 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.(3) Now, my spirit is going;I can no more.CLEO. 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, [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.

CHAR.

[Faints.

O, quietness, lady!

[commanded and

CLEO. No more, but e'en * a woman, 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 nought; 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, [Charmian! What, what good cheer! Why, how now, My noble girls!-Ah, women, women! look, Our lamp is spent, it's out!-Good sirs, take heart :[noble, We'll bury him; and then, what's brave, what's Let's do it after the high Roman fashion, And make Death proud to take us. Come,

women?

d

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.

(*) First folio, in, corrected by Capell.

of addressing women was not unusual; and, consequently, that the modern stage direction here, "[To the Guard below," is improper. Thus, as quoted by Mr. Dyce from Beaumont and Fletcher's play of "The Coxcomb," Act IV. Sc. 3, the mother, speaking to Viola, Nan, and Madge, says,

"Sirs, to your tasks, and shew this little novice

How to bestir herself," &c.

Again, as quoted by Mr. Dyce from the same authors' "A King and No King," Act III. Sc. 1,

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.

DER.

He is dead, Cæsar,

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.

CES.
Look you sad, friends?
The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings
To wash the eyes of kings.
AGR.*
And strange it is
That nature must compel us to lament
Our most persisted deeds.

MEC.

His taints and honours

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

PRO. Cæsar, I shall.

Cæs. Gallus, go you along.

To second Proculeius? AGR., MEC.

[Exit. [Exit GALLUS. Where's Dolabella,

Dolabella!

CES. Let him alone, for I remember now How he's employed: he shall in time be ready. Go with me to my tent; where you shall see How hardly I was drawn into this war; How calm and gentle I proceeded still In all my writings. Go with me, What I can show in this.

and see

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Alexandria. A Room in the

Monument.

Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, and IRAS.

CLEO. My desolation does begin to make A better life. "Tis paltry to be Cæsar; Not being Fortune, he's but Fortune's knave, A minister of her will: and it is great To do that thing that ends all other deeds; Which shackles accidents, and bolts up change; Which sleeps, and never palates more the dug, The beggar's nurse and Cæsar's.

Enter, to the gates of the Monument, PROCULEIUS, GALLUS, and Soldiers.

PRO. Cæsar sends greeting to the queen of Egypt;

(*) Old text, leave. Corrected by Southern.

In the old copies we have,

"and never palates more the dung," &c.

an obvious misprint, though not wanting defenders, which was corrected by Warburton.