Touching our limbs so gently into slumber,
That Death stands by, deceived by his own image,
And thinks himself but sleep.
Serapion (within). The Queen, where is she?
The town is yielded, Caesar’s at the gates.
Cleopatra. He comes too late t’invade the rights of death.
Haste, bare my arm, and rouse the serpent’s fury.
(holds out her arm, and draws it back)
Coward flesh—
Would’st thou conspire with Caesar to betray me,