half that they do: But this is most fallible, the worm 's an odd worm. Cleo. Get thee hence; farewell. Clown. I wish you all joy of the worm. Cleo. Farewell. [CLOWN sets down the basket. Clown. You must think this, look you, that the worm will do his kind.* Cleo. Ay, ay; farewell. Clown. Look you, the worm is not to be trusted, but in the keeping of wise people; for, indeed, there is no goodness in the worm. Cleo. Take thou no care; it shall be heeded. Clown. Very good: give it nothing, I pray you, for it is not worth the feeding. Cleo. Will it eat me? Clown. You must not think I am so simple, but I know the devil himself will not eat a woman: I know, that a woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress her not. But, truly, these same whoreson 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; farewell. Clown. Yes, forsooth; I wish you joy of the worm. Re-enter IRAS, with a robe, crown, &c. Cleo. Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have To praise my noble act; I hear him mock [Exit. [Kisses them. IRAS falls and dies.I Have I the aspic in my lips ? Dost fall? Which hurts, and is desired. 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: If she first meet the curled Antony, He'll make demand of her; and spend that kiss, *Act according to his nature. + Make haste. We must suppose from having applied an asp to her own arm. Which is my heaven to have.* Come, mortal wretch, [To the asp, which she applies to her breast. With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate Be angry, and despatch. O, couldst thou speak! Char. O eastern star! Cleo. Peace, peace! Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, That sucks the nurse asleep? Char. O, break! O, break! Cleo. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle, O Antony!-Nay, I will take thee too: What should I stay [Apply [Applying another asp to her arm. Char. In this vile world ?-So, fare thee well.- Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry; Enter the GUARD, rushing in. 1 Guard. Where is the queen ? O, come; apace, despatch: I partly feel thee. [Applies the asp. 1 Guard. Approach, ho! All's not well: Cæsar's beguiled. 2 Guard. There's Dolabella sent from Cæsar;-call him. 1 Guard. What work is here ?-Charmian, is this well done? Char. It is well done, and fitting for a princess Descended of so many royal kings. Ah, soldier! Enter DOLABELLA. Dol. How goes it here? 2 Guard. All dead. Dol. Cæsar, thy thoughts Touch their effects in this: Thyself art coming So sought'st to hinder. Within. A way there, way for Cæsar! Enter CESAR, and Attendants. Dol. O, Sir, you are too sure an augurer; That you did fear, is done. Cas. Bravest at the last: She levell'd at our purposes, and, being royal, * He will give her that kiss for her intelligence, which, &c. † Impolitic. 1.e. my own part. VOL. IV. [Dies. She says this, closing Cleopatra's eyes. K Took her own way.-The manner of their deaths? I do not see them bleed. Dol. Who was last with them? 1 Guard. A simple countryman, that brought her figs; This was his basket. Cas. Poison'd then. 1 Guard. O Cæsar, This Charmian lived but now; she stood, and spake : On her dead mistress; tremblingly she stood, Cas. O noble weakness ! If they had swallow'd poison, 'twould appear In her strong toil of grace. Dol. Here, on her breast, There is a vent of blood, and something blown :* 1 Guard. This is an aspic's trail: and these fig-leaves Have slime upon them, such as the aspic leaves Upon the caves of Nile. Cas. Most probable, That so she died; for her physician tells me, She had pursued conclusionst infinite, Of easy ways to die.-Take up her bed; Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall, And then to Rome.-Come, Dolabella, see [Exeunt + Enfold. SCENE I-Athens. A Hall in TIMON's House. Enter POET, PAINTER, JEWELLER, MERCHANT, and others, at several Doors. Poet. Good day, Sir. Pain. I am glad you are well. Poet. I have not seen you long; How goes the world? Poet. Ah, that's well known: But what particular rarity? what strange, Which manifold record not matches? See, Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power Hath conjured to attend. I know the merchant. Jew, Nay, that's most fixed. Mer. A most incomparable man; breathed, as it were, To an untirable and continuate† goodness: He passes. + * Inured by constant practice. + Continual. Goes beyond common bounds. Jew. I have a jewel here. Mer. O, pray, let's see't: For the lord Timon, Sir? Jew. If he will touch the estimate:* But, for thatPoet. When we for recompense have praised the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good. Mer. 'Tis a good form. Jew. And rich: here is a water, look you. Pain. You are apt, Sir, in some work, some dedication To the great lord. Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me. Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes From whence 'tis nourished: The fire i' the flint Shows not, till it be struck; our gentle flame Provokes itself, and, like the current, flies Each bound it chafes. What have you there? Pain. A picture, Sir.-And when comes your book forth? Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, ‡ Sir, Let's see your piece. Pain. "Tis a good piece. Poet. So 'tis this comes off well and excellent. Poet. Admirable: How this grace Speaks his own standing! what a mental power This eye shoots forth! how big imagination Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. Here is a touch; Is't good? Poet. I'll say of it, It tutors nature: artificial strife § Lives in these touches, livelier than life. Enter certain SENATORS, and pass over. Pain. How this lord's follow'd! Poet. The senators of Athens :-Happy men! Pain. Look, more! Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. I have, in this rough work, shaped out a man, Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug With amplest entertainment: My free drift Pain. How shall I understand you? Poet. I'll unbolt ** to you. * Give the price. + Reading his poem. As soon as my book has been presented to Timon. I. e. the contest of art with nature. Does not stop at any particular character. Anciently they wrote upon wax tablets with an iron pen. **Explain. |