Puslapio vaizdai

Enter the Guard rushing in.

■ Guard. Where's the Queen? Char. Speak fofcly, wake her not. 1 Guard. Cafar hath fent

[Charmian and Iras apply the Afp.

Char. Too flow a Messenger.

Oh come apace, difpatch, I partly feel thee.

I Guard. Approach ho!

All's not well. Cafar's beguil'd.

2 Guard. There's Dolabella fent from Cafar; call him. 1 Guard. What work is here, Charmian? Is this well done? Char. Is't well done, and fitting for a Princess

Defcended of fo many Royal Kings.

Ah Soldiers !

[Charmian and Iras Die.

Enter Dolabella.

Dol. How goes it here?

2 Guard. All Dead.

Dol. Cafar, thy Thoughts

Touch their Effects in this; thy felf art coming
To fee perform'd the dreaded Act which thou
So fought'ft to hinder.

Enter Cæfar and Attendants.
All. Make way there, make way for Cafar.
Dol. Oh, Sir, you are too fure an Augurer;
you did fear, is done.

Caf. Braveft at the last,

She levell'd at our purposes, and being Royal
Took her own way; the manner of their Deaths?
I do not fee them Bleed.

Dol. Who was laft with them

1 Guard. A fimple Countryman, that brought her Figs:

This was his Basket.

Caf. Poifon'd then.

1 Gent. Oh Cafar!

This Charmian liv'd but now, fhe stood and fpake:

I found her trimming up the Diadem,

On her dead Mistress, tremblingly the flood,
And on the fudden dropt.

Cafar. Oh noble weakness!

If they had fwallow'd Poifon, 'twould appear
By external Swelling; but the looks like fleep,



As he would catch another Antony

In her ftrong Toil of Grace.

Dol. Here on her Breast,

There is a vent of Blood, and fomething blown,
The like is on her Arm.

I Guard. This is an Afpick's Trail,

And thefe Fig-leaves have flime upon them, such
As th' Afpick leaves upon the Caves of Nyle.
Caf. Moft probable

That fo the died; for her Phyfician tells me
She hath purfu'd Conclufions infinite
Of eafie ways to die. Take up her bed,
And bear her Women from the Monument,
She fhall be buried by her Antony.
No Grave upon the Earth fhall clip in it
A pair fo Famous. High events as these
Strike thofe that make them; and their Story is
No lefs in Pity, than his Glory which

Brought them to be lamented. Our Army fhall,
In folemn fhew, attend this Funeral,
And then to Rome : Come, Dolabella, fee

High Order in this great Solemnity.

[Exeunt omnes,

[ocr errors][ocr errors]
[ocr errors]



Printed in the YEAR 1709.

« AnkstesnisTęsti »