ound, Cleopatra gathers up
her faculties to meet them, not with the calm fortitude of a great soul,
but the haughty, tameless spirit of a wilful woman, unused to reverse or
contradiction.

Her speech, after Antony has expired in her arms, I have always regarded
as one of the most wonderful in Shakspeare. Cleopatra is not a woman to
grieve silently. The contrast between the violence of her passions and
the weakness of her sex, between her regal grandeur and her excess of
misery, her impetuous, unavailing struggles with the fearful destiny
which has compassed her, and the mixture of wild impatience and pathos
in her agony, are really magnificent. She faints on the body of Antony,
and is recalled to life by the cries of her women:--

IRAS.

Royal Egypt--empress!

CLEOPATRA.

No more, but e'en a woman![74] 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 our 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, is out.
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.

But although Cleopatra talks of dying "after the high Roman fashion" she
fears what she most desires, and cannot perform with simplicity what
costs her such an effort. That extreme physical cowardice, which was so
strong a trait in her historical character, which led to the defeat of
Actium, which made her delay the execution of a fatal resolve, till she
had "tried conclusions infinite of _easy_ ways to die," Shakspeare has
rendered with the finest possible effect, and in a manner which
heightens instead of diminishing our respect and interest. Timid by
nature, she is courageous by the mere force of will, and she lashes
herself up with high-sounding words into a kind of false daring. Her
lively imagination suggests every incentive which can spur her on to the
deed she has resolved, yet trembles to contemplate. She pictures to
herself all the degr