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VICIOUS PERSONS INFATUATED BY HEAVEN.
Good, my lord,-
ake us Adore our errors; laugh at us, while we strut To our confusion.
FURY EXPELS FEAR. Now he'll outstare the lightning. To be furious, Is, to be frighted out of fear; and in that mood, The dove will peck the estridge t; and I see still A diminution in our captain's brain Restores his heart: When valour preys on reason, It eats the sword it fights with.
EARLY RISING THE WAY TO EMINENCE.
This morning, like the spirit of a youth
0, thou day o'the world,
Tend me to-night; May be, it is the period of your duty: Haplys, you shall not see me more; or if, A mangled shadow: percbance, to-morrow You'll serve another master. I look on you, As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends,
+ Ostrich. Armour of proof. Perhaps.
* Close up:
I turn you not away; but, like a master
ANTONY'S REFLECTIONS ON HIS FADED GLORY.
Ay, my lord. Ant. That, which is now a horse, even with a
thought, The rackş dislimns; and makes it indistinct, As water is in water.
+ Discharge, as a sponge when squeezed discharges the moisture it had imbibed. # Split. $ The fleeting clouds.
It does, my lord. Ant. My good knave*, Eros, now thy captain is Even such a body: here I am Antony; Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave. I made these wars for Egypt; and the queen, Whose heart, I thought I had, for she had mine ; Which, whilst it was mine, had annex't unto't A million more, now lost,-she, Eros, has Pack'd cards with Cæsar, and false play'd my glory Unto an enemy's triumph.Nay, weep not, gentle Eros; there is left us Ourselves to end ourselves.
DESCRIPTION OF CLEOPATRA'S SUPPOSED DEATH. Death of one person can be paid but once: And that she has discharg’d: What thou would'st do, Is done unto thy hand; the last she spake Was Antony! most noble Antony! Then in the midst a tearing groan did break The name of Antony; it was divided Between her heart and lips: she render'd life, Thy name so buried in her. CLEOPATRA'S REFLECTIONS ON THE DEATH OF ANTONY.
It were for me To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods; To tell them, that this world did equal theirs, Till they had stol'n 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, bow now, Charmian? My noble girls!—Ah, women, women! look, Our lamp is spent, it's out:-Good sirs, take heart: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. Come, away: This case of that huge spirit now is cold.
My desolation does begin to make
Cleo. I dream'd, there was an emperor Antony ;-
If it might please you,, Cleo. His face was as the heavens; and therein stuck A sun, and moon; which kept their course, and lighted The little 0, the earth. Dol.
Most sovereign creature,Cleo. His legs bestrid the ocean: his reard arm Crested the world: his voice was propertied As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends ; But when he meant to quailt and shake the orb, He was as-rattling thunder. For his bounty, There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas, That grew the more by reaping: His delights Were dolphin-like; they show'd his back above The element they liv'd in: In his livery Walk'd crowns,and crownets; realms and islands were As platest dropp'd from his pocket.
How poor an instrument
CLEOPATRA'S SPEECH ON APPLYING THE ASP.
Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me: Now no more The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip:Yare, yare *, good Iras; quick.—Methinks, I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself To praise my noble act; I hear him mock The luck of Cæsar, which the gods give men To excuse 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 baser life.--So, have you done? Come, then, and take the last warmth of my lips. Farewell, kind Charmian;-Iras, long farewell. Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall? If thou and nature can so gently part, The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, Which hurts, and is desird. Dost thou lie still ? If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world It is not worth leave-taking. Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain; that I
may say, The gods themselves do weep! Cleo.
This proves me base: * Make haste.