A bridegroom in my death, and run into't
As to a lover's bed. Come then; and, Eros,
Thy master dies thy scholar; to do thus

[Falling on his sword.

I learn'd of thee. How! not yet dead? not dead?— The guard!-ho!--O, despatch me.

1 Guard.

Enter Dercetas and Guard.

What's the noise?

Ant. I have done my work ill, friends; O, make

an end

Of what I have begun.

2 Guard.

1 Guard. And time is at his period.

All.

Ant. Let him that loves me, strike me dead.

1 Guard.

2 Guard. Nor I.

The star is fallen.

Alas, and woe!

Not I.

[Exeunt Guards.

3 Guard. Nor any one.

Der. Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers

fly.

This sword but shown to Cæsar, with this tidings, Shall enter me with him.

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.

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

Come, your lord calls.

Enter some of the Guard.

Ant. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides;

'Tis the last service that I shall command you. 1 Guard. Woe are we, sir, you may not live to

wear

All your true followers out.

All.

Most heavy day!

Ant. Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp

fate

To grace it with your sorrows: bid that welcome

Which comes to punish us, and we punish it
Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up:
I have led you oft; carry me now, good friends,
my thanks for all.

And have

[Exeunt, bearing Antony.

SCENE XIII.

THE SAME. A MONUMENT.

Enter above, Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras.

Cleo. O Charmian, I will never go from hence.›
Char. Be comforted, dear madam.

Cleo.
No, I will not:
All strange and terrible events are welcome,
But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow,
Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great

Enter Diomedes.

As that which makes it.-How now? is he dead?
Dio. His death's upon him, but not dead.
Look out o' the other side your monument,
His guard have brought him thither.

Cleo.

Enter Antony, borne by the Guard.

O thou sun,

Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in!-darkling

stand

The varying shore o'the world!-O Antony!
Antony, Antony!-Charmian, help; help, Iras;
Help, friends below; let's draw him hither.

Peace:

Ant.
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 'tis 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 am 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.
Wishers were ever fools;-O,

Yet come a little,—

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,

That the false housewife Fortune break her wheel, Provok'd by my offence.

Ant.

One word, sweet queen:

Of Cæsar seek your honour, with your safety.-0! 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.

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, Nor 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.

Cleo.

Noblest of men, woo't die? Hast thou no care of me? shall I abide

[dies.

In this dull world, which in thy absence is
No better than a stye?-O, see, my women,
The crown o' the earth doth melt:-My lord!—
O, wither'd is the garland of the war,