_Iras._ I only feared
For you; but more should fear to live without you.

_Cleo._ Why, now, 'tis as it should be. Quick, my friends,
Despatch; ere this, the town's in Caesar's hands:
My lord looks down concerned, and fears my stay,
Lest I should be surprised;
Keep him not waiting for his love too long.
You, Charmion, bring my crown and richest jewels;
With them, the wreath of victory I made
(Vain augury!) for him, who now lies dead:
You, Iras, bring the cure of all our ills.

_Iras._ The aspicks, madam?

_Cleo._ Must I bid you twice? [_Ex._ CHAR. _and_ IRAS.
'Tis sweet to die, when they would force life on me,
To rush into the dark abode of death,
And seize him first; if he be like my love,
He is not frightful, sure.
We're now alone, in secresy and silence;
And is not this like lovers? I may kiss
These pale, cold lips; Octavia does not see me:
And, oh! 'tis better far to have him thus,
Than see him in her arms.--O welcome, welcome!

_Enter_ CHARMION _and_ IRAS.

_Char._ What must be done?

_Cleo._ Short ceremony, friends;
But yet it must be decent. First, this laurel
Shall crown my hero's head: he fell not basely,
Nor left his shield behind him.--Only thou
Could'st triumph o'er thyself; and thou alone
Wert worthy so to triumph.

_Char._ To what end
These ensigns of your pomp and royalty?

_Cleo._ Dull, that thou art! why,'tis to meet my love;
As when I saw him first, on Cydnos' bank,
All sparkling, like a goddess: so adorned,
I'll find him once again; my second spousals
Shall match my first in glory. Haste, haste, both,
And dress the bride of Antony.

_Char._ 'Tis done.

_Cleo._ Now seat me by my lord. I claim this place;
For I must conquer Caesar too, like him,
And win my share of the world.--Hail, you dear relicks
Of my immortal love!
O let no impious hand remove you hence;
But rest for ever here! Let Egypt give
His death that peace, which it denied his life.--
Reach me the casket.

_Iras._ Underneath the fruit the aspick lies.

_Cleo._ Welcome, thou kind deceiver! [_Putting aside the leaves._
Thou best of thieves; who, with an easy key,
Dost open life, and, unperceived by us,
Even steal us from ourselves; discharging so
Death's dreadful office, better than himself;
Touching our limbs so gently into slumber,
That death stands by, deceived by his own image,
And thinks himself but sleep.

_Serap._ The queen, where is she? [_Within._
The