I knew, I hasted to prevent
This fatal consequence. My fleet betrayed
Both you and me.

_Ant._ And Dolabella--

_Cleo._ Scarce esteemed before he loved; but hated now.

_Ant._ Enough: my life's not long enough for more.
Thou say'st, thou wilt come after: I believe thee;
For I can now believe whate'er thou sayest,
That we may part more kindly.

_Cleo._ I will come:
Doubt not, my life, I'll come, and quickly too:
Caesar shall triumph o'er no part of thee.

_Ant._ But grieve not, while thou stayest,
My last disastrous times:
Think we have had a clear and glorious day;
And heaven did kindly to delay the storm,
Just till our close of evening. Ten years love,
And not a moment lost, but all improved
To the utmost joys,--what ages have we liv'd?
And now to die each others; and, so dying,
While hand in hand we walk in groves below,
Whole troops of lovers' ghosts shall flock about us,
And all the train be ours.

_Cleo._ Your words are like the notes of dying swans,
Too sweet to last. Were there so many hours
For your unkindness, and not one for love?

_Ant._ No, not a minute.--This one kiss--more worth
Than all I leave to Caesar. [_Dies._

_Cleo._ O, tell me so again,
And take ten thousand kisses for that word.
My lord, my lord! speak, if you yet have being;
Sign to me, if you cannot speak; or cast
One look! Do any thing, that shows you live.

_Iras._ He's gone too far to hear you;
And this you see, a lump of senseless clay,
The leavings of a soul.

_Char._ Remember, madam,
He charged you not to grieve.

_Cleo._ And I'll obey him.
I have not loved a Roman, not to know
What should become his wife; his wife, my Charmion!
For 'tis to that high title I aspire;
And now I'll not die less. Let dull Octavia
Survive, to mourn him dead: My nobler fate
Shall knit our spousals with a tie, too strong
For Roman laws to break.

_Iras._ Will you then die?

_Cleo._ Why should'st thou make that question?

_Iras._ Caesar is most merciful.

_Cleo._ Let him be so
To those that want his mercy: My poor lord
Made no such covenant with him, to spare me
When he was dead. Yield me to Caesar's pride?
What! to be led in triumph through the streets,
A spectacle to base plebeian eyes;
While some dejected friend of Antony's,
Close in a corner, shakes his head, and mutters
A secret curse on her, who ruined him!
I'll none of that.

_Char._ Whatever you resolve,
I'll follow, even to death.