charm, I have done all. Bid them all fly; begone. O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more: Fortune and Antony part here; even here Do we shake hands. All come to this? The hearts That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets On blossoming Caesar; and this pine is bark'd, That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am: O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm,-- Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them home; Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end,-- Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose, Beguiled me to the very heart of loss. What, Eros, Eros! Ah, thou spell! Avaunt! Why is my lord enraged against his love? Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving, And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee, And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians: Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shown For poor'st diminutives, for doits; and let Patient Octavia plough thy visage up With her prepared nails. 'Tis well thou'rt gone, If it be well to live; but better 'twere Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death Might have prevented many. Eros, ho! The shirt of Nessus is upon me: teach me, Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage: Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o' the moon; And with those hands, that grasp'd the heaviest club, Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die: To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall Under this plot; she dies for't. Eros, ho! Help me, my women! O, he is more mad Than Telamon for his shield; the boar of Thessaly Was never so emboss'd. To the monument! There lock yourself, and send him word you are dead. The soul and body rive not more in parting Than greatness going off. To the monument! Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself; Say, that the last I spoke was 'Antony,' And word it, prithee, piteously: hence, Mardian, And bring me how he takes my death. To the monument! Eros, thou yet behold'st me? Ay, noble lord. Sometimes we see a cloud that's dragonish; A vapour sometime like a bear or lion, A tower'd citadel, a pendent rock, A forked mountain, or blue promontory With trees upon't, that nod unto the world, And mock our eyes with air: thou hast seen these signs; They are black vesper's pageants. Ay,