It is well done, and fitting for a princess
Descended of so many royal kings.
Ah, soldier!

Too slow a messenger.
Applies an asp
O, come apace, dispatch! I partly feel thee.

Speak softly, wake her not.

In this vile world? So, fare thee well.
Now boast thee, death, in thy possession lies
A lass unparallel'd. Downy windows, close;
And golden Phoebus never be beheld
Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry;
I'll mend it, and then play.

O, break! O, break!

O eastern star!

Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain; that I may say,
The gods themselves do weep!

Behold, sir.

Madam, I will.

O Cleopatra! thou art taken, queen:

Peace, peace, Iras!

O madam, madam, madam!

Lady!

O, quietness, lady!

Be comforted, dear madam.

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.

Please you, retire to your chamber.

Madam!

Do! why: what else?

I warrant you, madam.

Hath he seen majesty? Isis else defend,
And serving you so long!

Nothing, madam.

A proper man.

Excellent.

Three in Egypt
Cannot make better note.

Like her! O Isis! 'tis impossible.

Many times, madam.

Good your highness, patience.

He is afeard to come.

Good madam, keep yourself within yourself:
The man is innocent.

'Twas merry when
You wager'd on your angling; when your diver
Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, which he
With fervency drew up.

My arm is sore; best play with Mardian.

By your most gracious pardon,
I sing but after you.

The valiant Caesar!

O that brave Caesar!

Madam, I trust, not so.

You think of him too much.

Why, madam?

Madam?

Tempt him not so too far; I wish, forbear:
In time we hate that which we often fear.
But here comes Antony.

In each thing give him way, cross him nothing.

Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly,
You do not hold the method to enforce
The like from him.

I did not see him since.

No, madam.

Not he; the queen.

Amen.

Our worser thoughts heavens mend! Alexas,--come,
his fortune, his fortune! O, let him marry a woman
that cannot go, sweet Isis, I beseech thee! and let
her die too, and give him a worse! and let worst
follow worse, till the worst of all follow him
laughing to his ...

Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than
I, where would you choose it?

Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful
prognostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. Prithee,
tell her but a worky-day fortune.

E'en as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth famine.