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Cleo. Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras: Saucy lictors
O the good gods!
Iras. I'll never see it; for, I am sure, my nails
Why, that's the way To fool their preparation, and to conquer Their most absurd intents.-Now, Charmian?
Show me, my women, like a queen;-Go fetch
leave To play till dooms-day:-Bring our crown and all. Wherefore's this noise?
[Erit Iras. A noise within.
Enter one of the Guard.
Here is a rural fellow, That will not be deny'd your bighness' presence; He brings you figs.
Cleo. Let him come in. How poor an instru-
Re-enter Guard, with a Clown bringing a basket.
This is the man.
Clown. Truly I have him: but I would not be the party that should desire you to touch him, for his biting is immortal; those, that do die of it, do seldom or never recover.
Cleo. Remember'st thou any that have died on't?
Clown. Very many, men and women too. I heard of one of them no longer than yesterday: a very honest woman, but something given to lie; as a woman should not do, but in the way of honesty: how she died of the biting of it, what pain she felt, -Truly, she makes a very good report o'the worm: But he that will believe all that they say, shall never be saved by half that they do: But this is most fallible, the worm's an odd worm.
Cleo. Get thee hence; farewel.
Clown. You must think this, look you, that the worm will do his kind.
Cleo. Ay, ay; farewel.
Clown. Look you, the worm is not to be trusted, but in the keeping of wise people; for, indeed, there is no goodness in the worm.
Cleo. Take thou no care; it shall be heeded.
Clown. Very good: give it nothing, I pray you, for it is not worth the feeding.
Cleo. Will it eat me?
Clown. You must not think I am so simple, but I know the devil himself will not eat a woman: I know, that a woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress her not. But, truly, these same whoreson devils do the gods great harm in their women; for in every ten that they make, the devils mar five.
Cleo. Well, get thee gone; farewel. Clown. Yes, forsooth; I wish you joy of the worm.
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
done? Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips.
Farewel, kind Charmian ;-Iras, long farewel.
[Kisses them. Iras falls, and dies. Have I the aspick in my lips? Dost fall? If thou and nature can so gently part, The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, Which hurts, and 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 Antony, He'll make demand of her; and spend that kiss, Which is my heaven to have.-Come, morta]
[to the asp, which she applies to her breast.
Char, O eastern star!
O, 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
Enter the Guard, rushing in.
Speak softly, wake her not.
Too slow a messenger.
[Applies the asp. O, come; apace, despatch: I partly feel thee. 1 Guard. Approach, ho! All's not well: Cæsar's
beguild. 2 Guard. There's Dolabella sent from Cæsar;
-call him. 1 Guard. What work is here:-Charmian, is this
well done? Char. It is well done, and fitting for a princess Descended of so many royal kings. Ah, soldier!
Dol. How goes it here?
Cæsar, thy thoughts
A way there, way for Cæsar.