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, Chai

mian?
My noble girls!-Ah, women, women! look,
Vur 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.

ACT V.

DEATH.

My desolation does begin to make A better life: 'Tis paltry to be Cesar; Not being fortune, he's but fortune's knare, 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 dung, The beggar's nurse and Cesar's. CLEOPATRA'S DREAM, AND DESCRIPTION OF ANTONI.

Cleo. I dream'd, there was an emperor Antony;0, such another sleep, that I might see But such another man! Dol.

If it might please you, Cleo. His face was as the heavens; and therein stuck A sun, and moon; which kept their course, and

lighted The little 0, the earth. Dol.

Most sovereign creature,Cleo. His legs bestrid the ocean: his reard arm Crested the world: his voice was propertied As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends:

• Servant

were

But when he meant to quail* and shake the orb,
He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty,
There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas,
That grew the more by reaping: His delights
Were dolphin-like; they show'd his back above
The element they lived in: In his livery
Walk'd crowns, and crownets; realms and islands
As platest dropp'd from his pocket.

FIRM RESOLUTION.
How poor an instrument
May do a noble deed! be brings me liberty.
My resolution's plac'd, and I have nothing
of woman in me: Now from head to foot
I am marble-constant: now the fleeting; moon
No planet is of mine.

CLEOPATRA'S SPEECII ON APPLYING THE ASP.
Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have
Immortal longings in me: Now no more
The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip:
Yare, yare, ş good Iras; quick.-Methinks, I hear
Antony call; I see him rouse himself
To praise my noble act; I hear him mock
The luck of Cesar, which the gods give men
To excuse their after wrath: Husband, I come:
Now to that name my courage prove my title!
I am fire, and air; my other elements
I give to baser lise.-S0,-have you done?
Come, then, and take the last warmth of my lips.
Farewell, kind Charmian;--Iras, long farewell.
Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall?
II thou and nature can so gently part,
The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch,
Which hurts and is desir'd. Dost ihou lic still?
If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world
It is not worth leave-taking.
Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain; that I may
The gods themselves do weep!
Cleo.

This proves me base:
If she first meet the curled Antony,
He'll make demands of her; and spend that kiss,
Which is my heaven to have. Come, mortal wretch,

[To the asp, which she applies to her breast. With thy sharp teeth, this knot intrinsicate Of lise at once untie: poor venomous fool, Be angry, and despatch. O, could'st thou speak! That I might hear thee call great Cesar, ass Unpolicied! Char.

O eastern star!
Cleo.

Peace, peace!
Dost thou not see my baby at my breast,
That sucks the nurse asleep?
Char,

0, break! O, break. Cleo. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle,O Antony !- Nay, I will take thee too:

[ Applying another asp to her arm. What should I stay— [Falls on a bed, and dies.

Char. In this wild world-So, fare thee well.Now boast thee, death! in thy possession lies A lass unparalleld.

CORIOLANUS.

ACT I.

A MOB.

WHAT would you have, you curs, That like nor peace, nor war? the one affrights you, The other makes you proud. He that trusts you, Where he should find you lions, finds you hares; Where foxes, geese: You are no surer, no, Than is the coal of fire upon the ice, Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is, To make him worthy, whose offence subdues liim, And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greal

ness,

Unpolitic to leave me to myself.

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