harm in their women, for in every ten that they
make, the devils mar five.
Cleo. Well, get thee gone; farewell.
Clo. Yes, forsooth; I wish you joy of the 280
worm. Exit.
[Enter Iras, with a robe, crown, &c.]
Cleo. 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. 284
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 288
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? 292
Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips.
Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell.
[Kisses them. Iras falls and dies.]
Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall?
If thou and nature can so gently part, 296
The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch,
Which hurts, and is desir'd. Dost thou lie still?
If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world
It is not worth leave-taking. 300
Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain; that I may say,
The gods themselves do weep.
Cleo. This proves me base:
If she first meet the curled Antony,
He'll make demand of her, and spend that kiss 304
295 aspic: asp
