Your bodies to banke-louing Alders turn’d.
For me, I sigh, I ceasles wepe, and waile,
And heauen pittiles laughes at my woe,
Reuiues, renewes it still: and in the ende
(Oh crueltie!) doth death for comfort lende.
Die Cleopatra then, no longer stay
From Antonie, who thee at Styx attends:
Goe ioine thy Ghost with his, and sobbe no more
Without his loue within these tombes enclos’d.
Eras. Alas! yet let vs wepe, lest sodaine death