Ant. Art thou living?  Or am I dead before I knew, and thou The first kind ghost that meets me?

Cleo. Help me seat him.  Send quickly, send for help! [They place him in a chair.

Ant. I am answered.  We live both.  Sit thee down, my Cleopatra:  I’ll make the most I can of life, to stay A moment more with thee.

Cleo. How is it with you?

Ant. ’Tis as with a man
Removing in a hurry; all packed up,
But one dear jewel that his haste forgot;
And he, for that, returns upon the spur: 
So I come back for thee.

Cleo. Too long, ye heavens, you have been cruel to me:  Now show your mended faith, and give me back His fleeting life!

Ant. It will not be, my love;
I keep my soul by force. 
Say but, thou art not false.

Cleo. ’Tis now too late
To say I’m true:  I’ll prove it, and die with you. 
Unknown to me, Alexas feigned my death: 
Which, when I knew, I hasted to prevent
This fatal consequence.  My fleet betrayed
Both you and me.

Ant. And Dolabella—­

Cleo. Scarce esteemed before he loved; but hated now.

Ant. Enough:  my life’s not long enough for more. 
Thou say’st, thou wilt come after:  I believe thee;
For I can now believe whate’er thou sayest,
That we may part more kindly.

Cleo. I will come:  Doubt not, my life, I’ll come, and quickly too:  Caesar shall triumph o’er no part of thee.

Ant. But grieve not, while thou stayest,
My last disastrous times: 
Think we have had a clear and glorious day;
And heaven did kindly to delay the storm,
Just till our close of evening.  Ten years love,
And not a moment lost, but all improved
To the utmost joys,—­what ages have we liv’d? 
And now to die each others; and, so dying,
While hand in hand we walk in groves below,
Whole troops of lovers’ ghosts shall flock about us,
And all the train be ours.

Cleo. Your words are like the notes of dying swans, Too sweet to last.  Were there so many hours For your unkindness, and not one for love?

Ant. No, not a minute.—­This one kiss—­more worth Than all I leave to Caesar. [Dies.

Cleo. O, tell me so again,
And take ten thousand kisses for that word. 
My lord, my lord! speak, if you yet have being;
Sign to me, if you cannot speak; or cast
One look!  Do any thing, that shows you live.

Iras. He’s gone too far to hear you; And this you see, a lump of senseless clay, The leavings of a soul.

Char. Remember, madam, He charged you not to grieve.

Cleo. And I’ll obey him. 
I have not loved a Roman, not to know
What should become his wife; his wife, my Charmion! 
For ’tis to that high title I aspire;
And now I’ll not die less.  Let dull Octavia
Survive, to mourn him dead:  My nobler fate
Shall knit our spousals with a tie, too strong
For Roman laws to break.