Ch. 62: SCENE XV. Alexandria. A monument.
SCENE XV. Alexandria. 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,
Proportioned 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’ th’ 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’ th’ world. 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 triumphed 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 th’ imperious show
Of the full-fortuned Caesar ever shall
Be brooched 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-winged 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 heave 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!
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,
Provoked 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 lived the greatest prince o’ th’ world,
The noblest; and do now not basely die,
Not cowardly put off my helmet to
My countryman; a Roman by a Roman
Valiantly vanquished. 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,
[ Antony dies. ]
The crown o’ th’ earth doth melt. —My lord!
O, withered 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 stolen 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, bearing off Antony’s body. _]