back:
Thou robb'st me of my death.

_Vent._ I do indeed;
But think 'tis the first time I e'er deceived you,
If that may plead my pardon.--And you, gods,
Forgive me, if you will; for I die perjured,
Rather than kill my friend. [_Dies._

_Ant._ Farewell! Ever my leader, even in death!
My queen and thou have got the start of me,
And I'm the lag of honour.--Gone so soon?
Is death no more? he used him carelessly,
With a familiar kindness: ere he knocked,
Ran to the door, and took him in his arms,
As who should say--You're welcome at all hours,
A friend need give no warning. Books had spoiled him;
For all the learned are cowards by profession.
'Tis not worth
My farther thought; for death, for aught I know,
Is but to think no more. Here's to be satisfied.
[_Falls on his sword._
I've mist my heart. O unperforming hand!
Thou never could'st have erred in a worse time.
My fortune jades me to the last; and death,
Like a great man, takes state, and makes me wait
For my admittance.-- [_Trampling within._
Some, perhaps, from Caesar:
If he should find me living, and suspect
That I played booty with my life! I'll mend
My work, ere they can reach me. [_Rises upon his knees._

_Enter_ CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, _and_ IRAS.

_Cleo._ Where is my lord? where is he?

_Char._ There he lies,
And dead Ventidius by him.

_Cleo._ My fears were prophets; I am come too late.
O that accursed Alexas! [_Runs to him._

_Ant._ Art thou living?
Or am I dead before I knew, and thou
The first kind ghost that meets me?

_Cleo._ Help me seat him.
Send quickly, send for help! [_They place him in a chair._

_Ant._ I am answered.
We live both. Sit thee down, my Cleopatra:
I'll make the most I can of life, to stay
A moment more with thee.

_Cleo._ How is it with you?

_Ant._ 'Tis as with a man
Removing in a hurry; all packed up,
But one dear jewel that his haste forgot;
And he, for that, returns upon the spur:
So I come back for thee.

_Cleo._ Too long, ye heavens, you have been cruel to me:
Now show your mended faith, and give me back
His fleeting life!

_Ant._ It will not be, my love;
I keep my soul by force.
Say but, thou art not false.

_Cleo._ 'Tis now too late
To say I'm true: I'll prove it, and die with you.
Unknown to me, Alexas feigned my death:
Which, when