William Shakespeare: Antony and Cleopatra

ACT IV. 15. SCENE XV. Alexandria. A monument. (continued)

IRAS.
She is dead too, our sovereign.

CHARMIAN.
Lady!--

IRAS.
Madam!--

CHARMIAN.
O madam, madam, madam!--

IRAS.
Royal Egypt, Empress,--

CHARMIAN.
Peace, peace, Iras!

CLEOPATRA.
No more but e'en a woman, and commanded
By such poor passion as the maid that milks
And does the meanest chares.--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, how 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:
Ah, women, women!--Come; we have no friend
But resolution, and the briefest end.

[Exeunt; those above bearing off ANTONY'S body.]