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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!

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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 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

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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."!

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.-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.

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.

b

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!

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Empress!

CHAR. Peace, peace, Iras!

[commanded CLEO. No more, but e'en * a woman, and 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?

away:

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,

"Spa. I do beseech you, madam, send away
Your other women, and receive from me

A few sad words, which, set against your joys,
May make 'em shine the more.

Pan. Sirs, leave me all.

[Exeunt Waiting-women,

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Of thy intents desires instruction,
That she preparedly may frame herself
To the way she's forc'd to.

CES.

Bid her have good heart; She soon shall know of us, by some of ours, How honourable and how kindly we Determine for her: for Cæsar cannot live * To be ungentle.

MESS. So the gods preserve thee! [Exit. CES. Come hither, Proculeius. Go, and say, We purpose her no shame: give her what comforts

The quality of her passion shall require,
Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke
She do defeat us; for her life in Rome
Would be eternal in our triumph: go,

And with your speediest bring us what she says,
And how you find of her.

PRO. Cæsar, I shall.
Cæs. Gallus, go you along.

To second Proculeius? AGR., MEC.

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

Dolabella!

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