CLEOPATRA.
No more but e’en a woman, and commanded
By such poor passion as the maid that milks
And does the meanest chares. It were for me
To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods,
To tell them that this world did equal theirs
Till they had stolen our jewel. All’s but naught;
Patience is sottish, and impatience does
Become a dog that’s mad. Then is it sin
To rush into the secret house of death
Ere death dare come to us? How do you, women?
What, what! good cheer! Why, how now, Charmian?
My noble girls! Ah, women, women! Look,
Our lamp is spent, it’s out! Good sirs, take heart.
We’ll bury him; and then, what’s brave, what’s noble,
Let’s do it after the high Roman fashion
And make death proud to take us. Come, away.
This case of that huge spirit now is cold.
Ah, women, women! Come, we have no friend
But resolution and the briefest end.
[Exeunt, bearing off Antony’s body.]
ACT V
SCENE I. Caesar’s Camp before Alexandria.
Enter Caesar, Agrippa, Dolabella, Maecenas, Gallus, Proculeius with his council of war.
CAESAR.
Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield.
Being so frustrate, tell him, he mocks
The pauses that he makes.
DOLABELLA.
Caesar, I shall.
[Exit.]
Enter Dercetus with the sword of Antony.
CAESAR.
Wherefore is that? And what art thou that dar’st
Appear thus to us?