bid thy followers fly.
This sword but shown to Caesar, with this tidings,
Shall enter me with him.
Where's Antony?
There, Diomed there.
Lives he?
Wilt thou not answer, man?
Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy sword, and give me
Sufficing strokes for death.
Most absolute lord,
My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee.
When did she send thee?
Now, my lord.
Where is she?
Lock'd in her monument. She had a prophesying fear
Of what hath come to pass: for when she saw--
Which never shall be found--you did suspect
She had disposed with Caesar, and that your rage
Would not be purged, 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.
Too late, good Diomed: call my guard, I prithee.
What, ho, the emperor's guard! The guard, what, ho!
Come, your lord calls!
Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides;
'Tis the last service that I shall command you.
Woe, woe are we, sir, you may not live to wear
All your true followers out.
Most heavy day!
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,
And have my thanks for all.
O Charmian, I will never go from hence.
Be comforted, dear madam.
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
As that which makes it.
How now! is he dead?
His death's upon him, but not dead.
Look out o' the other side your monument;
His guard have brought him thither.
O sun,
Burn the great sphere thou movest in!
darkling stand
The varying shore o' the world. O Antony,
Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian, help, Iras, help;
Help, friends below; let's draw him hither.
Peace!
Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony,
But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself.
So it should be, that none but Antony
Should conquer Antony; but woe 'tis so!
I am dying, Egypt, dying; only
I here importune death awhile, until
Of many thousand kisses the poor last
I lay up thy lips.
I dare not, dear,--
Dear my lord, pardon,--I dare not,
Lest