and 1/

FIRST FOLIO.

Cleo. Give me my Robe, put on my Crown, I have
Immortal longings in me. Now no more

The juice of Egypts Grape shall moist this lip.
Yare, yare, good Iras; quick : Me thinks I hear
Anthony call: I see him rouse himself

To praise my Noble Act. I hear him mock
The luck of Casir, 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 life. So, 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?
If thou and Nature can so gently part,

The strike of death is as a Lovers pinch,

Which hurts, is desir'd. Dost thou lie 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 say
The Gods themselves do weep.

Cleo. This proves me base :

If she first meet the Curled Anthony,

He'll make demand of her, and spend that kiss

Which is my Heaven to have. Come thou mortal wretch,

With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate,

Of life at once untie: Poor venomous Fool,

Be angry, and despatch. Oh could'st thou speak,

That I might hear thee call great Cæsar Ass, unpolicied.

Char. Oh Eastern Star.

Cleo. Peace, peace :

Dost thou not see my Baby at my breast,

That sucks the Nurse asleep.

Char. O break! O break!

Cleo. As sweet as Balm, as soft as Air, as gentle.
O Anthony! Nay I will take thee too.

What should I stay

Char. In this wild World? So fare thee well :
Now boast thee Death, in thy possession lies
A Lass unparallel'd. Downy Windows close,
And golden Phoebus, never be beheld

Of Eyes again so Royal :

Dies.

in my Lips, 1632, 64 and 85; tell'st the World, 1685; thick Cloud, 1632 and

85; my Heaven, 1685; Of Eyes, 1685.

TEXT OF CAMBRIDGE EDITION (CLARK & WRIGHT).

Re-enter Iras with a robe, crown, &c.

Cleo. 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, 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 Cæsar, 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 life. So; 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?
If thou and nature can so gently part,

The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch,

[Kisses them.

Which hurts, and is desired. Dost thou lie 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 say The gods themselves do weep!

If she first meet the curled.Antony,

He'll make demand of her, and spend that kiss

Which is my heaven to have. Come, thou mortal wretch,

Iras falls and dies.

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

FIRST FOLIO.

Cassi. Well, Honor is the subject of my Story:

I cannot tell, what you and other men

Think of this life: But for my single self,

I had as lief not be, as live to be

In awe of such a Thing, as I myself.

I was born free as Casar, so were you,
We both have fed as well, and we can both
Endure the Winters cold, as well as he.
For once, upon a Raw and Gusty day,
The troubled Tiber, chafing with her Shores,
Cæsar said to me, Darst thou Cassius now
Leap in with me into this angry Flood,
And swim to yonder Point? Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,

And bade him follow: so indeed he did.
The Torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it
With lusty Sinews, throwing it aside,
And stemming it with hearts of Controversy.
But ere we could arrive the Point propos'd,
Cæsar cried, Help me Cassius, or I sink.

I (as Æneas, our great Ancestor,

Did from the Flames of Troy, upon his shoulder

The old Anchises bear) so, from the Waves of Tiber

Did I the tired Cæsar: And this Man,

Is now become a God, and Cassius is

A wretched Creature, and must bend his body,

If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him.

He had a Fever when he was in Spain,

And when the Fit was on him, I did mark

How he did shake: 'Tis true, this God did shake,

His Coward lips did from their colour fly,

And that same Eye, whose bend doth awe the World,

Did lose his Lustre: I did hear him groan:

Ay and that Tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his Speeches, in their Books,

Alas, it cried, Give me some drink Titinius,

As a sick Girl: Ye Gods, it doth amaze me,

A man of such a feeble temper should

So get the start of the Majestic World,
And bear the Palm alone.

the Waves of Tiber, 1685; Majestic World, 1685.

TEXT OF BOYDELL'S ATLAS FOLIO EDITION: revised by STEEVENS.

(Referred to in Introduction to Hamnet Macbeth.)

Cas. Well, honour is the subject of my story. —

I cannot tell, what you and other men

Think of this life; but, for my single self,

I had as lief not be, as live to be

In awe of such a thing as I myself.

I was born free as Cæsar; so were you :
We both have fed as well; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold, as well as he.
For once, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tyber chafing with her shores,
Cæsar said to me, Dar'st thou Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point?-Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,

And bade him follow; so, indeed, he did.
The torrent roar'd; and we did buffet it,
With lusty sinews; throwing it aside,
And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point propos'd,
Cæsar cried, Help me, Cassius, or I sink.

I, as Æneas, our great ancestor,

Did, from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder,

-

The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tyber

Did I the tired Cæsar: And this man

Is now become a god; and Cassius is

A wretched creature, and must bend his body,

If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him.

He had a fever when he was in Spain,

And, when the fit was on him, I did mark

How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake :
His coward lips did from their colour fly;
And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world,
Did lose his lustre : I did hear him groan :
Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,
Alas! it cried, Give me some drink, Titinius,
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,

A man of such a feeble temper should
So get the start of the majestic world,
And bear the palm alone.

b

FIRST FOLIO.

Iach. The Crickets sing, and mans o'er-labour'd sense Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus

Did softly press the Rushes, ere he waken'd

The Chastity he wounded. Cytherea,

How bravely thou becom'st thy Bed; fresh Lily,
And whiter than the Sheets: that I might touch,
But kiss, one kiss. Rubies unparagon'd,

How dearly they do't: "Tis her breathing that
Perfumes the Chamber thus: the Flame o'th' Taper
Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids.
To see th' enclosed Lights, now Canopied
Under these windows, White and Azure lac'd
With Blue of Heavens own tinct. But my design.
To note the Chamber, I will write all down,
Such, and such Pictures: There the Window, such
Th'adornment of her Bed; the Arras, Figures,
Why such, and such and the Contents o'th' Story.
Ah, but some natural notes about her Body,
Above ten thousand meaner Moveables
Would testify, t'enrich mine Inventory.
O sleep, thou Ape of Death, lie dull upon her,
And be her Sense but as a Monument,
Thus in a Chapel lying. Come off, come off;
As slippery as the Gordian-Knot was hard.
"Tis mine, and this will witness outwardly,
As strongly as the Conscience does within :
To'th' madding of her Lord. On her left breast
A mole Cinque-spotted: Like the Crimson drops
I'th' bottom of a Cowslip. Here's a Voucher,
Stronger than ever Law could make; this Secret
Will force him think I have pick'd the lock, and ta'en
The treasure of her Honour. No more: to what end?
Why should I write this down, that's riveted,
Screw'd to my memory. She hath been reading late,
The Tale of Tereus, here the leaf's turn'd down
Where Philomele gave up. I have enough,
To'th' Trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift, you Dragons of the night, that dawning
May bear the Ravens eye: I lodge in fear,

Though this a Heavenly Angel: Hell is here.

such Pictures, 1685; the Window, 1685; of Death, 1685; Knot, 1685; a Heavenly 1685; Hell, 1685.