because

Go back, I warrant thee; but I'll catch thine eyes,
Though they had wings: Slave, soul-less villain,
dog!
O rarely base!

Cas.

Good queen, let us entreat you.
Cleo. O Caesar, what a wounding shame is this;
That thou, vouchsafing here to visit me,
Doing the honour of thy lordliness

To one so meek, that mine own servant shoula
Parcel the sum of my disgraces by
Addition of his envy! Say, good Cæsar,
That I some lady trifles have reserv'd,
Immoment toys, things of such dignity

As we greet modern friends withal; and say,
Some nobler token I have kept apart
For Livia, and Octavia, to induce
Their mediation; must I be unfolded

With one that I have bred? The gods! It smites

Cæs.

Not so: Adieu. [Exeunt CESAR, and his Train.

Cleo. He words me, girls, he words me, that I should not

Be noble to myself: but hark thee, Charmian.
[Whispers CHARMIAN.
Iras. Finish, good lady; the bright day is done,
And we are for the dark.

Cleo.

Hie thee again :

I have spoke already, and it is provided;
Go, put it to the haste.
Char.

Madam, I will.

Re-enter Dolabella.

Dol. Where is the queen?

Char.

Behold, sir. [Exit CHARMIAN.
Dolabella?

Cleo.
Dol. Madam, as thereto sworn by your command,
Which my love makes religion to obey,

I tell you this: Cæsar through Syria
Intends his journey; and, within three days,
You with your children will he send before
Make your best use of this: I have perform'd
Your pleasure, and my promise.

Cleo.

I shall remain your debtor. Dol.

Dolabella,

I your servant.
Adieu, good queen; I must attend on Cæsar.
Cleo. Farewell, and thanks. [Exit DoL.] Now,
Iras, what think'st thou ?

Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shalt be shown
In Rome, as well as I: mechanick slaves
With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall
Uplift us to the view; in their thick breaths,
Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded,
And forc'd to drink their vapour.

The gods forbid :

Iras. Cleo. Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras: Saucy lictors Will catch at us, like strumpets; and scald rhymers Ballad us out o'tune: the quick comedians Extemporally will stage us, and present

Our Alexandrian revels; Antony

Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see
Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness
I' the posture of a whore.

Iras.

Cleo. Nay, that is certain.

O the good gods!

Iras. I'll never see it; for, I am sure, my nails Are stronger than mine eyes.

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

Re-enter Guard, with a Clown bringing a basket.
Guard.
This is the man.
Cleo. Avoid, and leave him.
[Exit Guard.
Hast 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 should desire you to touch him, for his biting is immortal; those, that do die of it, do seldom or never recover.

Cleo. Remember'st thou any that have died 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 woinan should not do, but in the way of honesty: how she died of the biting of it, what pain she felt, Truly, she makes a very good report o' the worm: But he that will believe all that they say, shall never be saved by 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.

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.

Dol.

All dead.

[Dies

Cæsar, thy thoughts Touch their effects in this: Thyself art coming To see perform'd the dreaded act, which thou So sought'st to hinder. Within.

A way there, a way for Cæsar! Enter CESAR and Attendants. Dol. O, sir, you are too sure an augurer; did fear, is done.

That

you

She levell'd at our purposes, and, being royal,
Took her own way.
I do not see them bleed.
Dol.

1 Guard. A simple countryman, that brought her figs. This was his basket. Cies.

Poison'd then.

As be was born. The king, he takes the babe
To his protection; calls him Posthumus;
Breeds him, and makes him of his bed-chamber:
Puts him to all the learnings that his time
Could make him the receiver of; which he took,
As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd; and
In his spring became a harvest: Liv'd in court,
(Which rare it is to do,) most prais'd, most lov'd:
A sample to the youngest; to the more mature,
A glass that feated them; and to the graver,
A child that guided dotards: to his mistress,
For whom he now is banish'd, - her own price
Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;
By her election may be truly read.
What kind of man he is.

Should we be taking leave
As long a term as yet we have to live,
The loathness to depart would grow: Adieu!
Imo. Nay, stay a little :

Were you but riding forth to air yourself,
Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;
This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart;
But keep till you woo another wife,
When Imogen is dead.

Post. How how! another? You gentle gods, give me but this I have, And sear up my embracements from a next With bonds of death! - Remain thou here [Putting on the ring. While sense can keep it on! And sweetest, fairest, As I my poor self did exchange for you, To your so infinite loss; so, in our trifles I still win of you: For my sake, wear this; It is a manacle of love; I'll place it Upon this fairest prisoner.

If, after this command, thou fraught the court
With thy unworthiness, thou diest: Away!
Thou art poison to my blood.
Post.
The gods protect you!
And bless the good remainders of the court!
I am gone.

[Exit. Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death More sharp than this is.

Cym.

O disloyal thing, That should'st repair my youth; thou heapest A year's age on me!

Imo.

I beseech you, sir, Harm not yourself with your vexation; I Am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare Subdues all pangs, all fears.

Cym.

Past grace? obedience? Imo. Past hope, and in despair; that way, past