He brings you figs.

Cleo. Let him come in. How poor an inftrument
[Exit Guardfman.

May do a noble deed! he brings me liberty.
My refolution's plac'd, and I have nothing
Of woman in me; now from head to foot
I'm marble conftant: now the fleeting moon
No planet is of mine.

· Enter Guardfman, and Clown with a basket. Guards. This is the man.

Cleo. Avoid and leave him.

[Exit Guardfman. Haft thou the pretty worm of Nilus there, That kills and pains not?

Clown. Truly I have him: but I would not be the party that fhould defire you to touch him, for his biting is immortal: thofe that do die of it, do feldom or never

recover.

Cleo. Remember'ft thou any that have dy'd on't?

Clown. Very many, men and women too. I heard of one of them no longer than yesterday, a very honest woman, but something given to lie, as a woman fhould not do, but in the way of honefty. How fhe dy'd of the biting of it, what pain fhe felt! truly, fhe makes a very good report o' th' worm: but he that will believe 'half that they fay, fhall never be faved by all that they do: but this is moft fallible, the worm's an odd worm.

Cleo. Get thee hence, farewel.

Clown. I with you all joy of the worm.

Cleo. Farewel.

Clown. You must think this, look you, that the worm will do his kind.

Cleo. Ay, ay, farewel.

Clown. Look you, the worm is not to be trufted but in the keeping of wife people; for indeed there is no goodnefs in the worm.

Cleo. Take no care, it fhall be heeded.

Clown. Very good: give it nothing I pray you, for it

is not worth the feeding.

Cleo. Will it eat me?

all that they fay, fhall never be faved by half

Clown.

... old edit. Warb. emend.

Clown. You must not think I am fo fimple, but I know the devil himfelf will not eat a woman: I know, that a woman is a difh for the Gods, if the devil dress her not. But truly, thefe fame whorefon devils do the Gods great harm in their women: for in every ten that they make, the devils mar five.

Cleo. Well, get thee gone, farewel.

Clown. Yes forfooth, I wish you joy o' th' worm. [Exit, SCENE

V.

Cleo. Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have
Immortal longings in me. Now no more
The juice of gypt's grape fhall moift this lip.
Yare, yare, good Iras, quick- methinks I hear
Antony call, I fee him roufe himself

To praife my noble act. I hear him mock
The luck of Cafar, which the Gods give men
T'excufe their after-wrath. Husband, I come;
Now to that name my courage prove my title!
I am fire, and air; my other elements

I give to bafer life. So-have you done?
Come then, and take the laft warmth of my lips.
Farewel, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewel. [Kiffing them.
Have I the afpick in my lips? doft fall?

[To Iras, who falls down.

If thou and nature can fo gently part,

The ftroke of death is as a lover's pinch,

Which hurts, and is defir'd. Doft thou lye ftill?

If thus thou vanifheft, thou tell'ft the world

It is not worth leave-taking.

[Iras dies.

Char. Diffolve, thick cloud, and rain, that I may fay,

The Gods themselves do weep!

Cleo. This proves me bafe

If the first meet the curled Antony,

He'll make demand of her, and spend that kifs
Which is my heav'n to have. Come, mortal wretch,

With thy fharp teeth this knot intrinficate

[To the Serpent, applying it to her breast.

Of life at once untie: poor venomous fool,
Be angry and dispatch, Oh, could'ft thou speak,

That

That I might hear thee call great Cafar afs,
Unpolicied!

Char. Oh eastern star!

Cleo. Peace, peace!

Doft thou not fee my baby at my breast,

That fucks the nurse asleep?

Char. O break! O break!

Cleo. As fweet as balm, as foft as air, as gentle. O Antony!-nay, I will take thee too.

What should I ftay

[Applying another Afp to her arm.

Char. In this wild world? fo fare thee well:
Now boaft thee, Death, in thy poffeffion lyes
A lafs unparallel'd. Downy windows close,
And golden Phabus never be beheld

Of eyes again fo royal! your crown's awry,
I'll mend it, and then play-

Enter the Guards rushing in.

1 Guard. Where is the Queen? Char. Speak foftly, wake her not.

[Dies.

1 Guard. Cafar hath fent- [Charmian applies the Afp. Char. Too flow a meffenger.

Oh come, apace, difpatch, I partly feel thee.

1 Guard. Approach, ho! all's not well: Cæfar's beguil'd. 2 Guard. There's Dolabella fent from Cæfar; call him. 1 Guard. What work is here, Charmian? is this well Char. It is well done, and fitting for a Princess [done? Defcended of fo many royal Kings.

Ah, foldiers!

Enter Dolabella.

Dol. How goes it here?

2 Guard. All dead!

Dol. Cæfar, thy thoughts

[Charmian dies.

Touch their effects in this; thy felf art coming
To fee perform'd the dreaded act which thou

So fought'ft to hinder.

Enter Cæfar and Attendants.

All. Make way there, way for Cafar.

Dol. Oh, Sir, you are too fure an augurer;
VOL. V.

Bb

That

That you did fear, is done,

Caf. Braveft at laft,

She levell'd at our purpofe, and being royal
Took her own way. The manner of their deaths.
I do not fee them bleed.

Dol. Who was laft with them?

1 Guard. A fimple countryman, that brought her figs: This was his basket.

Caf. Poifon'd then!

1 Guard. Oh Cæfar!

This Charmian liv'd but now, fhe stood and fpake:
I found her trimming up the diadem

On her dead miftrefs, tremblingly fhe ftood,
And on the fudden dropt.

Caf. Oh noble weakness!

If they had fwallow'd poifon, 'twould appear
By external fwelling; but the looks like sleep;
As the would catch another Antony

In her ftrong toil of grace.

Dol. Here on her breaft

There is a vent of blood, and fomething blown:
The like is on her arm.

1 Guard. This is an afpick's trail,

And these fig-leaves have flime upon them, fuch
As th' afpick leaves upon the caves of Nile.
Caf. Moft probable

That fo fhe died; for her phyfician tells me
She hath purfu'd conclufions infinite
Of eafie ways to die. Take up her bed,
And bear her women from the monument;
She fhall be buried by her Antony.
No grave upon the earth fhall clip in it
A pair fo famous. High events as these
Strike thofe that make them; and their story is
No lefs in pity, than his glory, which

Brought them to be lamented. Our army fhall,
In folemn fhew, attend this funeral,
And then to Rome: come, Dolabella, fee
High order in this great folemnity.

[Exeunt omnes.

TITUS

TITUS

ANDRONICUS.

250