Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.

[Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and MARDIAN.]

CLEOPATRA.
Help me, my women! O, he is more mad
Than Telamon for his shield; the boar of Thessaly
Was never so emboss'd.

CHARMIAN.
To the monument!
There lock yourself, and send him word you are dead.
The soul and body rive not more in parting
Than greatness going off.

CLEOPATRA.
To the monument!--
Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself;
Say that the last I spoke was 'Antony',
And word it, pr'ythee, piteously: hence, Mardian;
And bring me how he takes my death.--
To the monument!

[Exeunt.]

Alexandria. Cleopatra's palace. At Charmian's recommendation, Cleopatra decides to lock herself up in her monument, and send false word to Antony that she is dead

At the palace with her attendants, Cleopatra is confused by Antony's wrath; she does not understand his anger, and she tries one last scheme to see if she can win him back. Charmian has suggested that she go to her monument . There, she is to send word to Antony that she is dead; she instructs Mardian, the eunuch, to report to her how Antony reacts to this news.

This is a dangerous ploy on Cleopatra's part, but she is desperate to dispel Antony's persistent doubts about her. Here we see the nature of the conflicts that have continually arisen between these two lovers. Cleopatra has always responded to adversity with a subtle scheme to circumvent its worst effects, if she can. This has made her seem more devious than perhaps she is; in fact, her response may be more of a cultural trait, part and parcel of life in an Oriental court, than it is a personal character trait. Antony, on the other hand, responds directly and impulsively to negative events; as a result, he frequently falls into the error of acting rashly and embroiling himself in unnecessary complications. Now, both Cleopatra and Antony misjudge the other's motives -- with tragic results, as we shall see shortly.

Anthony has gone with Scarus to watch the naval battle. Scarus, in an aside, condemns Cleopatra's fleet as weak, and laments that the soothsayers refuse to share their knowledge regarding the battle's outcome. Antony watches as the Egyptian fleet betrays him and defects to Caesar. Realizing his predicament, Antony commands Scarus to order his army to flee. Alone, the general blames Cleopatra as a deadly enchantress who has beguiled him to a state of absolute loss. When the queen enters, Antony drives her away, threatening to kill her for her betrayal


Alexandria. Another Room.

[Enter ANTONY and EROS.]

ANTONY.
Eros, thou yet behold'st me?

EROS.
Ay, noble lord.

ANTONY.
Sometime we see a cloud that's dragonish;
A vapour sometime like a bear or lion,
A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock,
A forked mountain, or blue promontory
With trees upon't, that nod unto the world,
And mock our eyes with air: thou hast seen these signs;
They are black vesper's pageants.

EROS.
Ay, my lord.

ANTONY.
That which is now a horse, even with a thought
The rack dislimns; and makes it indistinct,
As water is in water.

EROS.
It does, my lord.

ANTONY.
My good knave Eros, now thy captain is
Even such a body: here I am Antony;
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.
I made these wars for Egypt; and the queen,--
Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine;
Which, whilst it was mine, had annex'd unto't
A million moe, now lost,--she, Eros, has
Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false-play'd my glory
Unto an enemy's triumph.--
Nay, weep not, gentle Eros; there is left us
Ourselves to end ourselves.--

[Enter MARDIAN.]

O, thy vile lady!
She has robb'd me of my sword.

MARDIAN.
No, Antony;
My mistress lov'd thee, and her fortunes mingled
With thine entirely.

ANTONY.
Hence, saucy eunuch; peace!
She hath betray'd me, and shall die the death.

MARDIAN.
Death of one person can be paid but once,
And that she has discharg'd: what thou wouldst do
Is done unto thy hand: the last she spake
Was 'Antony! most noble Antony!'
Then in the midst a tearing groan did break
The name of Antony; it was divided
Between her heart and lips: she render'd life,
Thy name so buried in her.

ANTONY.
Dead then?

MARDIAN.
Dead.

ANTONY.
Unarm, Eros; the long day's task is done,
And we must sleep.--That thou depart'st hence safe
Does pay thy labour richly; go.

[Exit MARDIAN.]

Off, pluck off;--
The sevenfold shield of Ajax cannot keep
The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides!
Heart, once be stronger than thy continent,
Crack thy frail case!--Apace, Eros, apace.--
No more a soldier.--Bruised pieces, go;
You have been nobly borne.--From me awhile.--

[Exit EROS.]

I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and
Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now
All length is torture.--Since the torch is out,
Lie down, and stray no further:--now all labour
Mars what it does; yea, very force entangles
Itself with strength: seal then, and all is done.--
Eros!--I come, my queen.--Eros!--stay for me:
Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in hand,
And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze:
Dido and her Aeneas shall want troops,
And all the haunt be ours.--Come, Eros, Eros!

[Re-enter EROS.]

EROS.
What would my lord?

ANTONY.
Since Cleopatra died,
I have liv'd in such dishonour that the gods
Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword
Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's back
With ships made cities, condemn myself to lack
The courage of a woman; less noble mind
Than she which by her death our Caesar tells
'I am conqueror of myself.' Thou art sworn, Eros,
That, when the exigent should come,--which now
Is come indeed--when I should see behind me
The inevitable prosecution of
Disgrace and horror, that, on my command,
Thou then wouldst kill me: do't; the time is come:
Thou strik'st not me; 'tis Caesar thou defeat'st.
Put colour in thy cheek.

EROS.
The gods withhold me!
Shall I do that which all the Parthian darts,
Though enemy, lost aim and could not?

ANTONY.
Eros,
Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome and see
Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending down
His corrigible neck, his face subdu'd
To penetrative shame; whilst the wheel'd seat
Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded
His baseness that ensued?

EROS.
I would not see't.

ANTONY.
Come, then; for with a wound I must be cur'd.
Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn
Most useful for thy country.

EROS.
O, sir, pardon me!

ANTONY.
When I did make thee free, swor'st thou not then
To do this when I bade thee? Do it at once;
Or thy precedent services are all
But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come.

EROS.
Turn from me then that noble countenance,
Wherein the worship of the whole world lies.

ANTONY.
Lo thee!

[Turning from him.]

EROS.
My sword is drawn.

ANTONY.
Then let it do at once
The thing why thou hast drawn it.

EROS.
My dear master,
My captain and my emperor, let me say,
Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell.

ANTONY.
'Tis said, man;--and farewell.

EROS.
Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now?

ANTONY.
Now, Eros.

EROS.
Why, there then [falls on his sword]!--thus do I escape the
sorrow
Of Antony's death.

[Dies.]

ANTONY.
Thrice nobler than myself!
Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what
I should, and thou couldst not. My queen and Eros
Have, by their brave instruction, got upon me
A nobleness in record: but I will be
A bridegroom in my death, and run into't
As to a lover's bed. Come, then; and, Eros,
Thy master dies thy scholar: to do thus

[Falling on his sword.]

I learn'd of thee. How? not dead? not dead?--
The guard, ho!--O, despatch me!

[Enter DERCETAS and a guard.]

FIRST GUARD.
What's the noise?

ANTONY.
I have done my work ill, friends: O, make an end
Of what I have begun.

SECOND GUARD.
The star is fallen.

FIRST GUARD.
And time is at his period.

ALL.
Alas, and woe!

ANTONY.
Let him that loves me, strike me dead.

FIRST GUARD.
Not I.

SECOND GUARD.
Nor I.

THIRD GUARD.
Nor any one.

[Exeunt guard.]

DERCETAS.
Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly.
This sword but shown to Caesar, with this tidings,
Shall enter me with him.

[Enter DIOMEDES.]

DIOMEDES.
Where's Antony?

DERCETAS.
There, Diomed, there.

DIOMEDES.
Lives he?
Wilt thou not answer, man?

[Exit DERCETAS.]

ANTONY.
Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy sword and give me
Sufficing strokes for death.

DIOMEDES.
Most absolute lord,
My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee.

ANTONY.
When did she send thee?

DIOMEDES.
Now, my lord.

ANTONY.
Where is she?

DIOMEDES.
Lock'd in her monument. She had a prophesying fear
Of what hath come to pass: for when she saw,--
Which never shall be found,--you did suspect
She had dispos'd with Caesar, and that your rage
Would not be purg'd, she sent you word she was dead;
But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent
Me to proclaim the truth; and I am come,
I dread, too late.

ANTONY.
Too late, good Diomed.--Call my guard, I pr'ythee.

DIOMEDES.
What, ho! the emperor's guard! The guard, what ho!
Come, your lord calls!

[Enter some of the Guard.]

ANTONY.
Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides;
'Tis the last service that I shall command you.

FIRST GUARD.
Woe, woe are we, sir, you may not live to wear
All your true followers out.

ALL.
Most heavy day!

ANTONY.
Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp fate
To grace it with your sorrows: bid that welcome
Which comes to punish us, and we punish it,
Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up:
I have led you oft: carry me now, good friends,
And have my thanks for all.

[Exeunt, bearing ANTONY.]

Alexandria. Cleopatra's palace. Antony gives a marvelous speech to Eros about clouds, likening himself to the cloud that has a shape for brief moments before it dissolves. He tells Eros that he should not weep, because they have their own suicides to attend to. Mardian the eunuch arrives with the news that Cleopatra is dead by her own hand. Mardian says she died calling Antony's name. After the eunuch leaves, Antony asks Eros to give him a moment alone. He resolves to kill himself, to rejoin his life. He calls Eros back, and orders him to kill him. To escape the duty of killing his beloved master, Eros kills himself. Antony falls on his sword, but the wound is not fatal. Decretas and three guards arrive, and ignore Antony's pleas to finish the job he started. Decretas remains when the guards leave, and takes Antony's sword, hoping to gain favor with Caesar by showing it to him. Diomedes enters, and Decretas leaves. Diomedes has been sent by Cleopatra to fetch Antony, because she feared he might do harm to himself. Some more guards arrive, and they carry Antony to her

Antony and Eros have returned to the palace, and Antony asks Eros if he can still see him. Eros doesn't understand the question, and so Antony explains; he describes himself as being like a shadow or a cloud, insubstantial yet taking on various shapes. He seems to be only a mere shadow of his former self because of his defeat by Caesar and because of what he assumes to be Cleopatra's treachery. Mardian enters and tells Antony that Cleopatra loved thee") is dead, and that the last words that she spoke were "Antony! most noble Antony!" Antony is horribly shocked and instantly regrets his mistrust of her. He vows that he too will end his life. He calls Eros and commands him to kill him. Eros hesitates, and Antony pleads with him, saying that surely Eros would not wish to see him a captive of Caesar, defeated and shamed. Eros agrees, and he asks Antony to turn the other way so that he will not see Eros's sword. Antony does so, and Eros kills himself instead, after saying farewell to Antony. Antony, both abashed and impressed by Eros's courage and loyalty, follows his example and attempts to kill himself by falling upon his sword. Antony's sword, however, does not pierce him fatally. Hearing his cries, Dercetas and other soldiers enter, and although Antony begs them to kill him, no one will do so. Diomedes enters and finds Antony still alive. He tells Antony that Cleopatra has sent him word that she is, in fact, not dead -- that she lives. He explains that Cleopatra had hoped to defuse his rage by sending him word of her death, but then she feared that he might take his life. Thus she has sent Diomedes to tell Antony the truth. Antony calls for his guards and tells them to take him to Cleopatra.

We now see the results of Antony's poor judgment and mistrust. Having believed that he had lost everything, he attempted to kill himself, learning too late that he acted too rashly. Cleopatra, not fully understanding the agony of her Roman lover, precipitated his death by her melodramatic, manipulative playacting.

Cleopatra returns to her maids with tales of Antony's murderous rage. Charmian suggests that her mistress lock herself in a monument and send Antony word that she has killed herself, to quell his anger. Abiding by the plan, she bids Mardian deliver the news to Antony and asks him to return with word of her lover's reaction

Act IV, scenes ix-xv In Act IV, scene xv, Antony, who has been betrayed by his lover and has lost the war to Caesar, offers one of the play's most profound reflections on the connection between character and circumstance: "Here I am Antony, / Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave" . As his fortune changes from good to bad, so, he believes, his character slips from honorable to dishonorable. He likens himself to a cloud that shifts from one shape into another. Given the play's investment in spectacle--neither love nor war truly matters unless one has something to show for them--Antony's disturbance at being unable to hold a "visible shape" is particularly interesting. His honor, it seems, is primarily a function of whether the world sees him as honorable. When it fails to do so, Antony no longer fits into it. His rigid definition of himself as a victorious general and as Cleopatra's lover betrays his Roman sensibilities, which cannot and will not allow him to assume the contradictory roles of the conqueror and the conquered. He will, he decides, either be the hero or cease to exist at all by killing himself. His statement "Here I am Antony" reflects his search for a glimpse of his former, simpler self: the indomitable hero who will put an end to his life. Thus, he thankfully notes to Eros, all that remains to him is suicide. Once the second sea battle is lost, the play belongs to Antony until his death--Cleopatra recedes, as does Caesar. In the scenes leading up to his death, Antony's feelings of betrayal, regret, and, ultimately, love give way to some of the finest language in the play. Oh, sun, thy uprise shall I see no more: Fortune and Antony part here; even here Do we shake hands. All come to this? The hearts That spanieled me at heels, to whom I gaveTheir wishes, do discandy, melt their sweetsOn blossoming Caesar, and this pine is barkedThat over topped them all.           Here, as Antony bids goodbye to "Fortune," he comes to an important realization from which he cannot recover. Comparing himself to a tree that once towered above all others, he now feels that Cleopatra's inconstant love, which once "spanieled" at his heels, has stripped him of his bark. This metaphor expresses that he feels raw, unprotected, and doomed to die. Cleopatra enters soon after Antony delivers these lines, and he scares her away with vicious threats. More than anger, however, Antony feels a keen sense of loss. He laments, "I made these wars for . . .  the Queen-- / Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine, / Which . . .  had annexed unto't / A million more, now lost" . This utterance of regret confirms Antony's lost sense of self: he no longer possesses either of the identities--military giant or lover of Cleopatra--that have defined him so well. The news of Cleopatra's suicide suffices to cool Antony's temper and returns him to thoughts of reconciliation. By killing himself, Antony envisions joining his love in the afterlife: "I come, my queen . . .  / Where souls do couch on flowers we'll hand in hand, / And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze" . This consummation in death of their love moves the couple toward its ultimate victory over Caesar and the Roman Empire.


Alexandria. A monument.

[Enter, above, CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN and IRAS.]

CLEOPATRA.
O Charmian, I will never go from hence!

CHARMIAN.
Be comforted, dear madam.

CLEOPATRA.
No, I will not:
All strange and terrible events are welcome,
But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow,
Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great
As that which makes it.--

[Enter, below, DIOMEDES.]

How now! is he dead?

DIOMEDES.
His death's upon him, but not dead.
Look out o' the other side your monument;
His guard have brought him thither.

[Enter, below, ANTONY, borne by the Guard.]

CLEOPATRA.
O sun,
Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in!--darkling stand
The varying shore o' theworld.--O Antony,
Antony, Antony!--Help, Charmian; help, Iras, help,--
Help, friends below;--let's draw him hither.

ANTONY.
Peace!
Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony,
But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself.

CLEOPATRA.
So it should be, that none but Antony
Should conquer Antony; but woe 'tis so!

ANTONY.
I am dying, Egypt, dying; only
I here importune death awhile, until
Of many thousand kisses the poor last
I lay upon thy lips.

CLEOPATRA.
I dare not, dear,--
Dear my lord, pardon,--I dare not,
Lest I be taken: not the imperious show
Of the full-fortun'd Caesar ever shall
Be brooch'd with me; if knife, drugs, serpents, have
Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe;
Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes
And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour
Demuring upon me.--But come, come, Antony,--
Help me, my women,--we must draw thee up;
Assist, good friends.

ANTONY.
O, quick, or I am gone.

CLEOPATRA.
Here's sport indeed!--How heavy weighs my lord!
Our strength is all gone into heaviness;
That makes the weight: had I great Juno's power,
The strong-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up,
And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little,--
Wishers were ever fools,--O come, come;

[They draw ANTONY up.]

And welcome, welcome! die where thou hast liv'd:
Quicken with kissing: had my lips that power,
Thus would I wear them out.

ALL.
A heavy sight!

ANTONY.
I am dying, Egypt, dying:
Give me some wine, and let me speak a little.

CLEOPATRA.
No, let me speak; and let me rail so high
That the false huswife Fortune break her wheel,
Provok'd by my offence.

ANTONY.
One word, sweet queen:
Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety.--O!

CLEOPATRA.
They do not go together.

ANTONY.
Gentle, hear me:
None about Caesar trust but Proculeius.

CLEOPATRA.
My resolution and my hands I'll trust;
None about Caesar.

ANTONY.
The miserable change now at my end
Lament nor sorrow at: but please your thoughts
In feeding them with those my former fortunes
Wherein I liv'd, the greatest prince o' the world,
The noblest; and do now not basely die,
Not cowardly put off my helmet to
My countryman, a Roman by a Roman
Valiantly vanquish'd. Now my spirit is going:
I can no more.

CLEOPATRA.
Noblest of men, woo't die?
Hast thou no care of me? shall I abide
In this dull world, which in thy absence is
No better than a sty?--O, see, my women,

[Antony dies.]

The crown o' the earth doth melt.--My lord!--
O, wither'd is the garland of the war,
The soldier's pole is fallen: young boys and girls
Are level now with men: the odds is gone,
And there is nothing left remarkable
Beneath the visiting moon.

[Faints.]

CHARMIAN.
O, quietness, lady!

IRAS.
She is dead too, our sovereign.

CHARMIAN.
Lady!--

IRAS.
Madam!--

CHARMIAN.
O madam, madam, madam!--

IRAS.
Royal Egypt, Empress,--

CHARMIAN.
Peace, peace, Iras!

CLEOPATRA.
No more but e'en a woman, and commanded
By such poor passion as the maid that milks
And does the meanest chares.--It were for me
To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods;
To tell them that this world did equal theirs
Till they had stol'n our jewel. All's but naught;
Patience is sottish, and impatience does
Become a dog that's mad: then is it sin
To rush into the secret house of death
Ere death dare come to us?--How do you, women?
What, what! good cheer! Why, how now, Charmian!
My noble girls!--Ah, women, women, look,
Our lamp is spent, it's out!--Good sirs, take heart:--
We'll bury him; and then, what's brave, what's noble,
Let's do it after the high Roman fashion,
And make death proud to take us. Come, away:
This case of that huge spirit now is cold:
Ah, women, women!--Come; we have no friend
But resolution, and the briefest end.

[Exeunt; those above bearing off ANTONY'S body.]

Cleopatra and her maids are in an elevated monument. Diomedes arrives, with the guards carrying Antony. Antony is dying, and wants to kiss Cleopatra one last time. Cleopatra resolves to kill herself rather than be captured by Caesar. The women use ropes to heave Antony up to the monument. Antony tells Cleopatra to look to her own safety, and warns Cleopatra to trust no one of Caesar's company but Proculeius. He expresses satisfaction at dying by his own hand, in some sense unconquered by Octavius. He dies. Cleopatra swoons, recovers, and speaks of the world as a worthless place without Antony. She resolves to prepare his body for burial, and then kill herself.

Antony has lost much of himself for the sake of his love of Cleopatra. Actium was partly Cleopatra's fault, but the final responsibility lies with him. When he believes that Cleopatra has betrayed him, he loses all sense of his identity. His honor, manhood, and sense of self as a Roman are destroyed when he casts aside valor and duty and Actium. In the East, his persona has been linked to Cleopatra and his love for her. He played the soldier-lover and magnanimous ruler who laid whole kingdoms at her feet. When he believes she has betrayed him, his sense of himself disappears. He speaks of clouds that seem to make pictures, but just as quickly dissolve into vapors: "My good knave Eros, now thy captain is / Even such a body: here I am Antony, / Yet cannot hold this visible shape. Empire and honor were lost first. Then Antony believes his lover has been lost, and feels as if his whole identity is evaporating. We have seen Antony as a general, a lover, a magnanimous friend and leader. This speech touches on what makes Antony great. He has something of the poet in him, sensitive to beauty and life's sensuous pleasures. The clouds become a metaphor for a universal condition, the ephemeral nature of power and life, both of which end all too quickly. Antony is as quick to forgive as ever when he hears news of Cleopatra's death. He resolves to die, to be with her, even though he has reason to believe she betrayed him. His love for her is his ultimate priority. Most Romans cannot respect that. When the first set of guards arrives with Decretas, Antony cries out, "Let him that loves me strike me dead". The First, Second, and Third Guards' replies are unequivocal: "Not I," "Nor Me," and "Nor anyone. The use of the word "love" is significant. Antony has traded away love of his countrymen and fellow soldiers for love of Cleopatra. In Antony's last moments, he concerns himself with giving Cleopatra advice, having forgiven her immediately for the deception about her own death. Antony's last words, however, are not about love. They concern his honor, and how he has met his end nobly by his own hand, "a Roman by a Roman / Valiantly vanquished". Since Actium, Antony has been struggling to retain some sense of himself. Suicide is the only way that he has lived up to the Roman conception of honor, and it is this thought that comforts him in the end. Antony has lived torn between two conceptions of what life should be. The pomp and decadence of his life in Egypt seduced him, and his love for Cleopatra ultimately destroyed him. But he is not a failure in every sense. His love for Cleopatra will become legend, and he is untarnished to Cleopatra herself, who calls him "noblest of men" , proclaiming that the gods have taken him because "this world did equal theirs / Till they had stol'n our jewel". She does not understand him completely. Cleopatra could never understand all the nuances of what it means to be Roman, any more than Octavius could understand what it means to be an Egyptian queen. But she adores Antony without qualification. To emphasize Cleopatra as wily lover and decadent Queen, Shakespeare never brings her children on stage. We are nearly made to forget that she is a mother, and he excludes those parts of Plutarch that deal with Cleopatra's concern for her children's fate. Cleopatra will face Caesar not as a woman concerned with her line, but primarily as an individual who will not have that individuality compromised

The scene opens at Cleopatra's monument, or tomb. Cleopatra is being comforted by her attendants when Diomedes enters to tell them what has happened to Antony. Shortly thereafter, Antony is carried in on a stretcher by his soldiers and is raised up to the balcony. There, he makes a farewell speech and bids Cleopatra to seek safety from Caesar. But Cleopatra refuses, and as Antony dies, she faints, mourning the loss of the only person who made her life worth living. She vows to bury him in Roman fashion, and, in addition, she vows to follow his example. As the scene ends, she and her women carry Antony's body away.

Here we have proof that Cleopatra truly loved Antony. Yet we shall still see one last bit of her wily scheming as she deceives her Roman captors long enough to end her own life and follow Antony.

Antony arms himself to kill his lover, telling Eros that he no longer knows who he is now that Cleopatra's love has proven false. Mardian arrives with his false report of the queen's death, adding that her last words were "'Antony. most noble Antony. Antony tells Eros to unarm. Overcome with remorse, he declares that he will join Cleopatra in death and beg her forgiveness for thinking him false. He asks Eros to kill him. Horrified, Eros refuses, but Antony reminds him of the pledge he made long ago to follow even Antony's most extreme wishes. Eros relents. He prepares to stab Antony but stabs himself instead. Antony praises his soldier's honor and says he must learn from this example. He falls on his own sword but fails to kill himself. A group of guardsmen refuses to finish the task, and Diomedes, a servant of Cleopatra, reports that the queen is alive and well. It is too late, however, to save Antony's life. Dying, Antony commands his guards to bear his body to Cleopatra


CAESAR'S Camp before Alexandria.

[Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, DOLABELLA, MAECENAS, GALLUS, PROCULEIUS,
and Others.]

CAESAR.
Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield;
Being so frustrate, tell him he mocks
The pauses that he makes.

DOLABELLA.
Caesar, I shall.

[Exit.]

[Enter DERCETAS with the sword of ANTONY.]

CAESAR.
Wherefore is that? And what art thou that dar'st
Appear thus to us?

DERCETAS.
I am call'd Dercetas;
Mark Antony I serv'd, who best was worthy
Best to be serv'd: whilst he stood up and spoke,
He was my master, and I wore my life
To spend upon his haters. If thou please
To take me to thee, as I was to him
I'll be to Caesar; if thou pleasest not,
I yield thee up my life.

CAESAR.
What is't thou say'st?

DERCETAS.
I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead.

CAESAR.
The breaking of so great a thing should make
A greater crack: the round world
Should have shook lions into civil streets,
And citizens to their dens. The death of Antony
Is not a single doom; in the name lay
A moiety of the world.

DERCETAS.
He is dead, Caesar;
Not by a public minister of justice,
Nor by a hired knife; but that self hand
Which writ his honour in the acts it did
Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it,
Splitted the heart.--This is his sword;
I robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd
With his most noble blood.

CAESAR.
Look you sad, friends?
The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings
To wash the eyes of kings.

AGRIPPA.
And strange it is
That nature must compel us to lament
Our most persisted deeds.

MAECENAS.
His taints and honours
Weigh'd equal with him.

AGRIPPA.
A rarer spirit never
Did steer humanity. But you, gods, will give us
Some faults to make us men. Caesar is touch'd.

MAECENAS.
When such a spacious mirror's set before him,
He needs must see himself.

CAESAR.
O Antony!
I have follow'd thee to this!--But we do lance
Diseases in our bodies: I must perforce
Have shown to thee such a declining day
Or look on thine; we could not stall together
In the whole world: but yet let me lament,
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts,
That thou, my brother, my competitor
In top of all design, my mate in empire,
Friend and companion in the front of war,
The arm of mine own body, and the heart
Where mine his thoughts did kindle,--that our stars,
Unreconciliable, should divide
Our equalness to this.--Hear me, good friends,--
But I will tell you at some meeter season.

[Enter a Messenger.]

The business of this man looks out of him;
We'll hear him what he says.--Whence are you?

MESSENGER.
A poor Egyptian yet. The queen, my mistress,
Confin'd in all she has, her monument,
Of thy intents desires instruction,
That she preparedly may frame herself
To the way she's forc'd to.

CAESAR.
Bid her have good heart:
She soon shall know of us, by some of ours,
How honourable and how kindly we
Determine for her; for Caesar cannot learn
To be ungentle.

MESSENGER.
So the gods preserve thee!

[Exit.]

CAESAR.
Come hither, Proculeius. Go and say
We purpose her no shame: give her what comforts
The quality of her passion shall require
Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke
She do defeat us; for her life in Rome
Would be eternal in our triumph: go,
And with your speediest bring us what she says,
And how you find her.

PROCULEIUS.
Caesar, I shall.

[Exit.]

CAESAR.
Gallus, go you along.--

[Exit GALLUS.]

Where's Dolabella, to second Proculeius?

ALL.
Dolabella!

CAESAR.
Let him alone, for I remember now
How he's employ'd; he shall in time be ready.
Go with me to my tent; where you shall see
How hardly I was drawn into this war;
How calm and gentle I proceeded still
In all my writings: go with me, and see
What I can show in this.
Alexandria. A Room in the Monument.

[Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, and IRAS.]

CLEOPATRA.
My desolation does begin to make
A better life. 'Tis paltry to be Caesar;
Not being Fortune, he's but Fortune's knave,
A minister of her will: and it is great
To do that thing that ends all other deeds;
Which shackles accidents and bolts up change;
Which sleeps, and never palates more the dug,
The beggar's nurse and Caesar's.

[Enter, to the gates of the Monument, PROCULEIUS, GALLUS, and
Soldiers.]

PROCULEIUS.
Caesar sends greetings to the queen of Egypt;
And bids thee study on what fair demands
Thou mean'st to have him grant thee.

CLEOPATRA.
What's thy name?

PROCULEIUS.
My name is Proculeius.

CLEOPATRA.
Antony
Did tell me of you, bade me trust you; but
I do not greatly care to be deceiv'd,
That have no use for trusting. If your master
Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him
That majesty, to keep decorum, must
No less beg than a kingdom: if he please
To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son,
He gives me so much of mine own as I
Will kneel to him with thanks.

PROCULEIUS.
Be of good cheer;
You are fallen into a princely hand; fear nothing:
Make your full reference freely to my lord,
Who is so full of grace that it flows over
On all that need: let me report to him
Your sweet dependency; and you shall find
A conqueror that will pray in aid for kindness
Where he for grace is kneel'd to.

CLEOPATRA.
Pray you, tell him
I am his fortune's vassal and I send him
The greatness he has got. I hourly learn
A doctrine of obedience; and would gladly
Look him i' the face.

PROCULEIUS.
This I'll report, dear lady.
Have comfort, for I know your plight is pitied
Of him that caus'd it.

GALLUS.
You see how easily she may be surpris'd:

[Here PROCULEIUS and two of the Guard ascend the Monument by a
ladder placed against a window, and, having ascended, come behind
CLEOPATRA. Some of the Guard unbar and open the gates.]

[To PROCULEIUS. and the Guear.] Guard her till Caesar come.

[Exit.]

IRAS.
Royal queen!

CHARMIAN.
O Cleopatra! thou art taken, queen!

CLEOPATRA.
Quick, quick, good hands.

[Drawing a dagger.]

PROCULEIUS.
Hold, worthy lady, hold;

[Seizes and disarms her.]

Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this
Reliev'd, but not betray'd.

CLEOPATRA.
What, of death too,
That rids our dogs of languish?

PROCULEIUS.
Cleopatra,
Do not abuse my master's bounty by
Theundoing of yourself: let the world see
His nobleness well acted, which your death
Will never let come forth.

CLEOPATRA.
Where art thou, death?
Come hither, come! Come, come, and take a queen
Worth many babes and beggars!

PROCULEIUS.
O, temperance, lady!

CLEOPATRA.
Sir, I will eat no meat; I'll not drink, sir;
If idle talk will once be accessary,
I'll not sleep neither: this mortal house I'll ruin,
Do Caesar what he can. Know, sir, that I
Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court;
Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eye
Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up,
And show me to the shouting varletry
Of censuring Rome? Rather a ditch in Egypt
Be gentle grave unto me! rather on Nilus' mud
Lay me stark-nak'd, and let the water-flies
Blow me into abhorring! rather make
My country's high pyramides my gibbet,
And hang me up in chains!

PROCULEIUS.
You do extend
These thoughts of horror further than you shall
Find cause in Caesar.

[Enter DOLABELLA.]

DOLABELLA.
Proculeius,
What thou hast done thy master Caesar knows,
And he hath sent for thee: as for the queen,
I'll take her to my guard.

PROCULEIUS.
So, Dolabella,
It shall content me best: be gentle to her.--
[To CLEOPATRA.] To Caesar I will speak what you shall please,
If you'll employ me to him.

CLEOPATRA.
Say I would die.

[Exeunt PROCULEIUS and Soldiers.]

DOLABELLA.
Most noble empress, you have heard of me?

CLEOPATRA.
I cannot tell.

DOLABELLA.
Assuredly you know me.

CLEOPATRA.
No matter, sir, what I have heard or known.
You laugh when boys or women tell their dreams;
Is't not your trick?

DOLABELLA.
I understand not, madam.

CLEOPATRA.
I dream'd there was an Emperor Antony:--
O, such another sleep, that I might see
But such another man!

DOLABELLA.
If it might please you,--

CLEOPATRA.
His face was as the heavens; and therein stuck
A sun and moon, which kept their course, and lighted
The little O, the earth.

DOLABELLA.
Most sovereign creature,--

CLEOPATRA.
His legs bestrid the ocean; his rear'd arm
Crested the world: his voice was propertied
As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends;
But when he meant to quail and shake the orb,
He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty,
There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas
That grew the more by reaping: his delights
Were dolphin-like; they show'd his back above
The element they liv'd in: in his livery
Walk'd crowns and crownets; realms and islands were
As plates dropp'd from his pocket.

DOLABELLA.
Cleopatra,--

CLEOPATRA.
Think you there was or might be such a man
As this I dream'd of?

DOLABELLA.
Gentle madam, no.

CLEOPATRA.
You lie, up to the hearing of the gods.
But if there be, or ever were, one such,
It's past the size of dreaming: nature wants stuff
To vie strange forms with fancy: yet to imagine
An Antony were nature's piece 'gainst fancy,
Condemning shadows quite.

DOLABELLA.
Hear me, good madam.
Your loss is, as yourself, great; and you bear it
As answering to the weight: would I might never
O'ertake pursu'd success, but I do feel,
By the rebound of yours, a grief that smites
My very heart at root.

CLEOPATRA.
I thank you, sir.
Know you what Caesar means to do with me?

DOLABELLA.
I am loath to tell you what I would you knew.

CLEOPATRA.
Nay, pray you, sir,--

DOLABELLA.
Though he be honourable,--

CLEOPATRA.
He'll lead me, then, in triumph?

DOLABELLA.
Madam, he will;
I know it.

[Flourish within.]

[Within.] Make way there,--Caesar!

[Enter CAESAR, GALLUS, PROCULEIUS, MAECENAS, SELEUCUS, and
Attendants.]

CAESAR.
Which is the queen of Egypt?

DOLABELLA.
It is the emperor, madam.

[CLEOPATRA kneels.]

CAESAR.
Arise, you shall not kneel:--
I pray you, rise; rise, Egypt.

CLEOPATRA.
Sir, the gods
Will have it thus; my master and my lord
I must obey.

CAESAR.
Take to you no hard thoughts;
The record of what injuries you did us,
Though written in our flesh, we shall remember
As things but done by chance.

CLEOPATRA.
Sole sir o' the world,
I cannot project mine own cause so well
To make it clear: but do confess I have
Been laden with like frailties which before
Have often sham'd our sex.

CAESAR.
Cleopatra, know
We will extenuate rather than enforce:
If you apply yourself to our intents,--
Which towards you are most gentle,--you shall find
A benefit in this change; but if you seek
To lay on me a cruelty, by taking
Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself
Of my good purposes, and put your children
To that destruction which I'll guard them from,
If thereon you rely. I'll take my leave.

CLEOPATRA.
And may, through all the world: 'tis yours, and we,
Your scutcheons and your signs of conquest, shall
Hang in what place you please. Here, my good lord.

CAESAR.
You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra.

CLEOPATRA.
This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels,
I am possess'd of: 'tis exactly valued;
Not petty things admitted.--Where's Seleucus?

SELEUCUS.
Here, madam.

CLEOPATRA.
This is my treasurer: let him speak, my lord,
Upon his peril, that I have reserv'd
To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus.

SELEUCUS.
Madam,
I had rather seal my lips than to my peril
Speak that which is not.

CLEOPATRA.
What have I kept back?

SELEUCUS.
Enough to purchase what you have made known.

CAESAR.
Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve
Your wisdom in the deed.

CLEOPATRA.
See, Caesar! O, behold,
How pomp is follow'd! Mine will now be yours;
And, should we shift estates, yours would be mine.
The ingratitude of this Seleucus does
Even make me wild: O slave, of no more trust
Than love that's hir'd!--What, goest thou back? thou shalt
Go back, I warrant thee; but I'll catch thine eyes
Though they had wings; slave, soulless villain, dog!
O rarely base!

CAESAR.
Good queen, let us entreat you.

CLEOPATRA.
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 should
Parcel the sum of my disgraces by
Addition of his envy! Say, good Caesar,
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 me
Beneath the fall I have.
[To SELEUCUS.] Pr'ythee go hence;
Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits
Through theashes of my chance.--Wert thou a man,
Thou wouldst have mercy on me.

CAESAR.
Forbear, Seleucus.

[Exit SELEUCUS.]

CLEOPATRA.
Be it known that we, the greatest, are misthought
For things that others do; and when we fall
We answer others' merits in our name,
Are therefore to be pitied.

CAESAR.
Cleopatra,
Not what you have reserv'd, nor what acknowledg'd,
Put we i' the roll of conquest: still be't yours,
Bestow it at your pleasure; and believe
Caesar's no merchant, to make prize with you
Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be cheer'd;
Make not your thoughts your prisons: no, dear queen;
For we intend so to dispose you as
Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed and sleep:
Our care and pity is so much upon you
That we remain your friend; and so, adieu.

CLEOPATRA.
My master and my lord!

CAESAR.
Not so. Adieu.

[Flourish. Exeunt CAESAR and his Train.]

CLEOPATRA.
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.

CLEOPATRA.
Hie thee again:
I have spoke already, and it is provided;
Go put it to the haste.

CHARMIAN.
Madam, I will.

[Re-enter DOLABELLA.]

DOLABELLA.
Where's the queen?

CHARMIAN.
Behold, sir.

[Exit.]

CLEOPATRA.
Dolabella!

DOLABELLA.
Madam, as thereto sworn by your command,
Which my love makes religion to obey,
I tell you this: Caesar 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.

CLEOPATRA.
Dolabella,
I shall remain your debtor.

DOLABELLA.
I your servant.
Adieu, good queen; I must attend on Caesar.

CLEOPATRA.
Farewell, and thanks.

[Exit DOLABELLA.]

Now, Iras, what think'st thou?
Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shall be shown
In Rome as well as I: mechanic 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.

IRAS.
The gods forbid!

CLEOPATRA.
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.
O the good gods!

CLEOPATRA.
Nay, that's certain.

IRAS.
I'll never see't; for I am sure mine nails
Are stronger than mine eyes.

CLEOPATRA.
Why, that's the way
To fool their preparation and to conquer
Their most absurd intents.

[Enter CHARMIAN.]

Now, Charmian!--
Show me, my women, like a queen.--Go fetch
My best attires;--I am again for Cydnus,
To meet Mark Antony:--sirrah, Iras, go.--
Now, noble Charmian, we'll despatch indeed;
And when thou hast done this chare, I'll give thee leave
To play till doomsday.--Bring our crown and all.

[Exit IRAS. A noise within.]

Wherefore's this noise?

[Enter one of the Guard.]

GUARD.
Here is a rural fellow
That will not be denied your highness' presence:
He brings you figs.

CLEOPATRA.
Let him come in.

[Exit Guard.]

What poor an instrument
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 Clown bringing a basket.]

GUARD.
This is the man.

CLEOPATRA.
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.

CLEOPATRA.
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 woman 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
falliable, the worm's an odd worm.

CLEOPATRA.
Get thee hence; farewell.

CLOWN.
I wish you all joy of the worm.

[Sets down the basket.]

CLEOPATRA.
Farewell.

CLOWN.
You must think this, look you, that the worm will do his kind.

CLEOPATRA.
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.

CLEOPATRA.
Take thou no care; it shall be heeded.

CLOWN.
Very good. Give it nothing, I pray you, for it is not worth the
feeding.

CLEOPATRA.
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.

CLEOPATRA.
Well, get thee gone; farewell.

CLOWN.
Yes, forsooth. I wish you joy o' the worm.

[Exit.]

[Re-enter IRAS, with a robe, crown, &c.]

CLEOPATRA.
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:--
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 Caesar, which the gods give men
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?
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 thus thou and nature can so gently part,
The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch,
Which hurts and is desir'd. Dost thou lie still?
If thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world
It is not worth leave-taking.

CHARMIAN.
Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain; that I may say
The gods themselves do weep!

CLEOPATRA.
This proves me base:
If she first meet the curled Antony,
He'll make demand of her, and spend that kiss
Which is my heaven to have.--Come, thou mortal wretch,

[To an asp, which she applies to her breast.]

With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate
Of life at once untie: poor venomous fool,
Be angry and despatch. O couldst thou speak,
That I might hear thee call great Caesar ass
Unpolicied!

CHARMIAN.
O eastern star!

CLEOPATRA.
Peace, peace!
Dost thou not see my baby at my breast
That sucks the nurse asleep?

CHARMIAN.
O, break! O, break!

CLEOPATRA.
As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle:--
O Antony! Nay, I will take thee too:--

[Applying another asp to her arm.]

What should I stay,--

[Falls on a bed and dies.]

CHARMIAN.
In this vile world?--So, fare thee well.--
Now boast thee, death, in thy possession lies
A lass unparallel'd.--Downy windows, close;
And golden Phoebus never be beheld
Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry;
I'll mend it and then play.

[Enter the guard, rushing in.]

FIRST GUARD.
Where's the queen?

CHARMIAN.
Speak softly, wake her not.

FIRST GUARD.
Caesar hath sent,--

CHARMIAN.
Too slow a messenger.

[Applies an asp.]

O, come apace, despatch: I partly feel thee.

FIRST GUARD.
Approach, ho! all's not well: Caesar's beguil'd.

SECOND GUARD.
There's Dolabella sent from Caesar; call him.

FIRST GUARD.
What work is here!--Charmian, is this well done?

CHARMIAN.
It is well done, and fitting for a princess
Descended of so many royal kings.
Ah, soldier!

[CHARMIAN dies.]

[Re-enter DOLABELLA.]

DOLABELLA.
How goes it here?

SECOND GUARD.
All dead.

DOLABELLA.
Caesar, 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 Caesar!

[Re-enter CAESAR and his Train.]

DOLABELLA.
O sir, you are too sure an augurer;
That you did fear is done.

CAESAR.
Bravest at the last,
She levell'd at our purposes, and being royal,
Took her own way.--The manner of their deaths?
I do not see them bleed.

DOLABELLA.
Who was last with them?

FIRST GUARD.
A simple countryman that brought her figs.
This was his basket.

CAESAR.
Poison'd then.

FIRST GUARD.
O Caesar,
This Charmian liv'd but now; she stood and spake:
I found her trimming up the diadem
On her dead mistress; tremblingly she stood,
And on the sudden dropp'd.

CAESAR.
O noble weakness!--
If they had swallow'd poison 'twould appear
By external swelling: but she looks like sleep,--
As she would catch another Antony
In her strong toil of grace.

DOLABELLA.
Here on her breast
There is a vent of blood, and something blown:
The like is on her arm.

FIRST 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.

CAESAR.
Most probable
That so she died; for her physician tells me
She hath pursu'd conclusions infinite
Of easy ways to die. Take up her bed,
And bear her women from the monument:--
She shall be buried by her Antony:
No grave upon the earth shall clip in it
A pair so famous. High events as these
Strike those that make them; and their story is
No less in pity than his glory which
Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall
In solemn show attend this funeral;
And then to Rome.--Come, Dolabella, see
High order in this great solemnity.

[Exeunt.]

Alexandria. Caesar's camp. Decretas brings Antony's bloody sword to Caesar. Octavius weeps, and his men seem touched. Octavius says that fate seemed to make them foes, and he mourns the loss of his old comrade-in-arms. An Egyptian arrives. Cleopatra is waiting to know what Caesar intends. Octavius assures the Egyptian that he will be generous, and the Egyptian returns to Cleopatra. Octavius decides to send Proculeius to Cleopatra. He orders Proculeius to keep her alive, no matter what. He plans to have her paraded in Rome at his triumphal procession. Then he invites all into his tent, where he will show them how reluctantly he was led into the war. Scene Two. Alexandria. The monument. Cleopatra reflects that Caesar is merely Fortune's knave, a pawn of destiny. Proculeius arrives, and Cleopatra asks him to tell Caesar that she must beg for Egypt to be kept for her heirs. She also says she is ready to meet Caesar face to face. Proculeius is merely stalling: his men sneak up behind the Queen and take her prisoner, and when she attempts to stab herself he disarms her. Cleopatra proclaims that she would rather die than be displayed before Rome. Dolabella arrives, relieving Proculeius. He is kind to Cleopatra, and listens as she describes her dream of Antony, a vision of Antony far greater than any real mortal could be. Dolabella expresses sympathy for her grief. She asks him if Caesar means to parade her in triumph, and Dolabella tells her the truth: "Madam, he will. I know't" . Caesar arrives. He warns her that if she commits suicide, he will kill her children. Cleopatra lays an inventory of her treasure before him, but the secret reserve kept for herself is revealed by her treacherous servant, Seleucus. Cleopatra is enraged by her servant's treachery, and dismisses him. Caesar treats her with extreme courtesy throughout their meeting. When he and his train leave, Cleopatra says his kind words are tricks meant to keep her from proper action. She sends Charmian off on a secret errand. Dolabella returns, and tells her that she has three days before Caesar will take her and her children out of Egypt. He leaves. Cleopatra regales Iras with horror stories of what they will all have to endure in Rome, held up before the ridicule of the Roman mob. When Charmian returns, the queen has Charmian and Iras go to fetch her best attire. A clown brings a basket, in which is an asp . The clown leaves, and Cleopatra gives her final speech. She kisses the maids goodbye, and Iras falls dead. Cleopatra holds the asp to her breast, and receives the bite. She applies another asp to her arm. She dies. Charmian sets her queen's crown straight. When guards rush in, Charmian applies an asp to herself. Dolabella returns, followed shortly afterward by Caesar. Octavius cannot help but admire her end. He announces that she will be buried with Antony. He and his men will attend the funeral, and return to Rome.

Antony is dead; the whole of Act Five is reserved for Cleopatra. Her decision to kill herself wavers, and probably she would not follow her lover to death if given other options, but Caesar's intentions driver her to it. Octavius weeps to hear of Antony's death, showing a more human side, but never is it suggested that humanity could stand in the way of his ambition. His speech of sorrow for his old friend does not negate the fact that he denied Antony the chance to live on, stripped of power, as a private citizen. Octavius, also, is capable of theatricality, but his performances all serve a political purpose. He probably feels genuine sorrow for Antony, but that does not mean he is not conscious of the performance he's giving for his men. Agrippa echoes Enobarbus: "And strange it is / That nature must compel us to lament / Our most persisted deeds" . Agrippa seems convinced of the tears' sincerity. As he sees it, Octavius' tears come because of human "nature," but one cannot help but remember the lines in their first incarnation, also the first time Agrippa heard them: "What willingly he did confound he wailed" . Enobarbus does not speculate about the true cause of the tears. He is too cynical to ascribe them to nature, and one misses his insight now. The sincerity of Octavius' action is brought under further scrutiny when he asks the men around him to come to his tent, to see documents showing how unwillingly he went to war. As Shakespeare depicts it, Octavius was the instigator of the war with Antony. His decisions were ruthless and all to a purpose. Such a man can inspire awe and respect, but not love. The theme of loyalty can be explored in the final fates of many of the characters. Different kinds and degrees of loyalty, and loyalty's consequences, make an excellent paper topic. Charmian and Iras remain loyal unto death, but Seleucus betrays his mistress now that her Fortune is fallen. Caesar's men are loyal, but then again he is the winner. And Dolabella's loyalty to his master is not complete. Enchanted by the unfortunate queen, he betrays his master's wishes. Antony remains loyal to Cleopatra, despite everything, but his last words concern his own honor. Cleopatra remains loyal to her own individuality. Cleopatra's musings about Octavius return us to the theme of fate and historical necessity. She argues to herself that in some ways Octavius is not the true agent of events: "Not being Fortune, he's but Fortune's knave / A minister of her will" . Her own final actions are not exactly in defiance of Fate, but somehow apart from it. She will make sure that despite the change of Fortune, no fundamental compromise is made to her identity. Though the world will be Roman, she will remain Cleopatra. She does not stick to the fourth act-closing resolution of suicide, until she knows what Caesar intends for her. Her withholding of an honest inventory of her riches suggests she had planned to survive. At the same time, she has made preparations for suicide: looking on her corpse, Caesar says that her doctors warned that "She hath pursued conclusions infinite / Of easy ways to die" . But Dolabella's warning is enough to stiffen her resolve. Not even the threat against her children can give her pause. On this point, Shakespeare omits an important part of Plutarch, where Cleopatra's attempt at self-starvation ended because Caesar threatened her children. Shakespeare has changed Plutarch to suit his own portrait of her, in line with the omission of any on-stage presence for Cleopatra's children. Her last speech is a show-stopper, including the memorable "I am fire, and air; my other elements / I give to baser life" . When the dismayed guards discover Cleopatra dead, Charmian's last words are taken straight from Plutarch: "It is well done, and fitting for a princess / Descended of so many royal kings" . As a tactician, she rates poorly. She is often kind to her servants, but she also bullies them. She has aspects of a tyrant. She destroys her lover's prospects, and having done so, wavers in following him to the grave for love's sake. But Cleopatra remains one of Shakespeare's most charismatic creations. Her power is such that Dolabella betrays his master's intentions, to save this foreign queen from humiliation. Her ladies-in-waiting willingly follow her to death. Charmian sees her as forever young, and despite her middle-aged status refers to her as "lass" and "princess" . Antony, who casts aside other women easily, forgives her again and again for her excesses. She is a complicated, self-dramatizing, difficult character. But even the victorious Caesar is forced to admire her and all her wiles when he sees her dead body: ". . . she looks like sleep / As she would catch another Antony / In her strong toil of grace" . Octavius will become Augustus, the great ruler of the Roman Empire. But Cleopatra's assessment is partially true. Octavius is known in history as the agent of Rome's transformation into Empire, but no great plays have been written about him. The poet's natural subject is Cleopatra. Because Cleopatra captures the imagination of writers like Shakespeare, her name has ultimately become even more famous than that of her conqueror.


A plain near Actium.

[Enter CAESAR, TAURUS, Officers, and others.]

CAESAR.
Taurus,--

TAURUS.
My lord?

CAESAR.
Strike not by land; keep whole; provoke not battle
Till we have done at sea. Do not exceed
The prescript of this scroll: our fortune lies
Upon this jump.

[Exeunt.]
Another part of the Plain.

[Enter ANTONY and ENOBARBUS.]

ANTONY.
Set we our squadrons on yon side o' the hill,
In eye of Caesar's battle; from which place
We may the number of the ships behold,
And so proceed accordingly.

[Exeunt.]
Another part of the Plain.

[Enter CANIDIUS, marching with his land Army one way; and
TAURUS, the Lieutenant of CAESAR, with his Army, the other way.
After their going in, is heard the noise of a sea-fight.]

[Alarum. Enter ENOBARBUS.]

ENOBARBUS.
Naught, naught, all naught! I can behold no longer:
The Antoniad, the Egyptian admiral,
With all their sixty, fly and turn the rudder:
To see't mine eyes are blasted.

[Enter SCARUS.]

SCARUS.
Gods and goddesses,
All the whole synod of them!

ENOBARBUS.
What's thy passion?

SCARUS.
The greater cantle of the world is lost
With very ignorance; we have kiss'd away
Kingdoms and provinces.

ENOBARBUS.
How appears the fight?

SCARUS.
On our side like the token'd pestilence,
Where death is sure. Yon ribaudred nag of Egypt,--
Whom leprosy o'ertake!--i' the midst o' the fight,
When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd,
Both as the same, or rather ours the elder,--
The breese upon her, like a cow in June,--
Hoists sails and flies.

ENOBARBUS.
That I beheld:
Mine eyes did sicken at the sight, and could not
Endure a further view.

SCARUS.
She once being loof'd,
The noble ruin of her magic, Antony,
Claps on his sea-wing, and, like a doting mallard,
Leaving the fight in height, flies after her:
I never saw an action of such shame;
Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before
Did violate so itself.

ENOBARBUS.
Alack, alack!

[Enter CANIDIUS.]

CANIDIUS.
Our fortune on the sea is out of breath,
And sinks most lamentably. Had our general
Been what he knew himself, it had gone well:
O, he has given example for our flight
Most grossly by his own!

ENOBARBUS.
Ay, are you thereabouts?
Why, then, good night indeed.

CANIDIUS.
Toward Peloponnesus are they fled.

SCARUS.
'Tis easy to't; and there I will attend
What further comes.

CANIDIUS.
To Caesar will I render
My legions and my horse; six kings already
Show me the way of yielding.

ENOBARBUS.
I'll yet follow
The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason
Sits in the wind against me.

[Exeunt.]

This brief scene reveals the exchange between Caesar and his trusted lieutenant Taurus and establishes the fact that Caesar's army will indeed attack by sea, and that Caesar believes that this move will prove advantageous to his side: "Our fortune lies upon this jump," he boasts. Antony and Enobarbus meet in an equally brief scene and plan to position their men so that they can see how many ships Caesar has sent and act accordingly. Canidius with his armies and Taurus with his troops are seen briefly on the stage. They exit, and the audience hears offstage the noise of the battle at sea. Enobarbus and Scarus, another soldier, enter, and we learn that Antony's fleet has retreated. Scarus exclaims that because of Antony's ignorance they have lost their chance to be rulers of a segment of the empire. Scarus, in describing the battle, blames the defeat on the presence of Cleopatra. She retreated first , and Antony followed her rather than staying to fight. Canidius says that Antony has not lived up to his reputation; Canidius has decided to surrender to Caesar. While Enobarbus agrees with Canidius that Caesar will undoubtedly win, he vows to stay on with Antony, although the decision is against his better judgment.

After Shakespeare has focused on Antony for several scenes, he now turns his attention to Caesar. Confident and proud, Caesar is convinced that victory awaits him. It seems as though Antony is planning a defensive campaign because he decides to leave part of the land forces under Enobarbus's command. Canidius says that Antony has not lived up to his reputation; Canidius has decided to surrender to Caesar. While Enobarbus agrees with Canidius that Caesar will undoubtedly win, he vows to stay on with Antony, although the decision is against his better judgment.


CAESAR'S Camp before Alexandria.

[Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, DOLABELLA, MAECENAS, GALLUS, PROCULEIUS,
and Others.]

CAESAR.
Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield;
Being so frustrate, tell him he mocks
The pauses that he makes.

DOLABELLA.
Caesar, I shall.

[Exit.]

[Enter DERCETAS with the sword of ANTONY.]

CAESAR.
Wherefore is that? And what art thou that dar'st
Appear thus to us?

DERCETAS.
I am call'd Dercetas;
Mark Antony I serv'd, who best was worthy
Best to be serv'd: whilst he stood up and spoke,
He was my master, and I wore my life
To spend upon his haters. If thou please
To take me to thee, as I was to him
I'll be to Caesar; if thou pleasest not,
I yield thee up my life.

CAESAR.
What is't thou say'st?

DERCETAS.
I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead.

CAESAR.
The breaking of so great a thing should make
A greater crack: the round world
Should have shook lions into civil streets,
And citizens to their dens. The death of Antony
Is not a single doom; in the name lay
A moiety of the world.

DERCETAS.
He is dead, Caesar;
Not by a public minister of justice,
Nor by a hired knife; but that self hand
Which writ his honour in the acts it did
Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it,
Splitted the heart.--This is his sword;
I robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd
With his most noble blood.

CAESAR.
Look you sad, friends?
The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings
To wash the eyes of kings.

AGRIPPA.
And strange it is
That nature must compel us to lament
Our most persisted deeds.

MAECENAS.
His taints and honours
Weigh'd equal with him.

AGRIPPA.
A rarer spirit never
Did steer humanity. But you, gods, will give us
Some faults to make us men. Caesar is touch'd.

MAECENAS.
When such a spacious mirror's set before him,
He needs must see himself.

CAESAR.
O Antony!
I have follow'd thee to this!--But we do lance
Diseases in our bodies: I must perforce
Have shown to thee such a declining day
Or look on thine; we could not stall together
In the whole world: but yet let me lament,
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts,
That thou, my brother, my competitor
In top of all design, my mate in empire,
Friend and companion in the front of war,
The arm of mine own body, and the heart
Where mine his thoughts did kindle,--that our stars,
Unreconciliable, should divide
Our equalness to this.--Hear me, good friends,--
But I will tell you at some meeter season.

[Enter a Messenger.]

The business of this man looks out of him;
We'll hear him what he says.--Whence are you?

MESSENGER.
A poor Egyptian yet. The queen, my mistress,
Confin'd in all she has, her monument,
Of thy intents desires instruction,
That she preparedly may frame herself
To the way she's forc'd to.

CAESAR.
Bid her have good heart:
She soon shall know of us, by some of ours,
How honourable and how kindly we
Determine for her; for Caesar cannot learn
To be ungentle.

MESSENGER.
So the gods preserve thee!

[Exit.]

CAESAR.
Come hither, Proculeius. Go and say
We purpose her no shame: give her what comforts
The quality of her passion shall require
Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke
She do defeat us; for her life in Rome
Would be eternal in our triumph: go,
And with your speediest bring us what she says,
And how you find her.

PROCULEIUS.
Caesar, I shall.

[Exit.]

CAESAR.
Gallus, go you along.--

[Exit GALLUS.]

Where's Dolabella, to second Proculeius?

ALL.
Dolabella!

CAESAR.
Let him alone, for I remember now
How he's employ'd; he shall in time be ready.
Go with me to my tent; where you shall see
How hardly I was drawn into this war;
How calm and gentle I proceeded still
In all my writings: go with me, and see
What I can show in this.

The final act opens at Caesar's camp in Alexandria. Dercetas enters with Antony's bloodied sword. Caesar is startled by the sight, and then Dercetas explains that this is the sword with which Antony killed himself. Caesar is affected by the irony of this moment, for while he fought hard for Antony's defeat or death, he is saddened by the fact that his rival is now dead, by his own hand. As he considers the tragedy of all that has happened, he speaks of Antony as being like his "brother," his "competitor," and his "mate in empire." Like many of Shakespeare's great characters, Caesar speaks of men's fates as being determined by the stars. His and Antony's fates, he says, were ultimately "reconcilable." An Egyptian enters with a message from Cleopatra, asking for instructions from Caesar, the conqueror. Caesar promises kindness, and he sends Gallus and Proculeius to her with a message.

Caesar's response to Antony's death evokes a reassessment and a new recognition of Antony's good qualities, his courage and sense of honor, which perhaps finally outweigh his faults. In this scene, we also note the unusual tenor of Cleopatra's letter, since the previous scene informed us that she intended to follow Antony into death. Obviously, she is planning something. Shakespeare's heroine remains a scheme to the end.

From atop the monument with her maids, Charmian and Iras, Cleopatra declares that she will never leave her hiding place. Diomedes appears below and calls up to her that Antony's guard has brought the wounded Antony. The lovers call to one another. Antony says that he is dying and wishes to embrace her one last time. She replies that she dares not come down from her monument, lest she be captured by Caesar and paraded through the streets as a prisoner of war. Instead, Cleopatra asks the soldiers to heave Antony up to her. As they do so, Cleopatra notes that the strength of Antony's body has turned to heaviness. She pulls him to her and kisses him, the onlookers declaring this intimacy "a heavy sight" . Antony advises the queen to cast herself upon Caesar's mercy, trusting in the honesty of Caesar's friend Proculeius. He then recalls his own greatness and says that he will die gloriously, "a Roman by a Roman / Valiantly vanquished" . He dies, and Cleopatra curses the world as a suddenly very dull place. Without Antony, she feels that neither life nor she herself is the least bit remarkable: she might as well be a "maid that milks / And does the meanest chores" . After her maids revive her from a fainting spell, Cleopatra decides that they must bury Antony in Roman fashion and then help her seek her own death. Act V, scene i Caesar orders Dolabella to deliver to Antony a command for his surrender. After Dolabella leaves, Decretas, one of Antony's men, enters carrying Antony's sword. When Caesar asks why the man would dare appear before him in such a way, Decretas explains that he was a loyal follower of Antony's and now wishes to serve Caesar as faithfully. Caesar questions the meaning of this reversal, and Decretas explains that his master is dead, taken from this world by the same noble hands that committed the brave deeds for which Antony is so renowned. Caesar remarks that the passing of such a great man ought to be marked by great tumult and mourning--after all, the death of Antony, as one of the two triumvirs, "is not a single doom" but the end of one-half of the world . Agrippa notes the irony of their mourning Antony's death after having fought him so fiercely. Caesar and his men agree that Antony was a great man, and Caesar declares it proper to mourn him. A messenger arrives from Cleopatra to ask what Caesar intends for the queen. Caesar promises to be honorable and kind to her, and dispatches Cleopatra's messenger with assurances, bidding her to be of good heart. Although Caesar tells Cleopatra that he intends to cause her no shame, he plans to force her to live in Rome, where she will be his eternal triumph. Toward this end, he orders some of his men, led by Proculeius, to prevent Cleopatra from committing suicide and thus robbing him of renown.

Antony's understanding of himself cannot incorporate military defeat or romantic betrayal: he would rather die thinking of himself as a hero and conqueror than live a life of shifting  identities. Thus, Antony's suicide is his last--and most lasting--triumph. In dying, Antony not only understands himself as a victor but also convinces the world of his honor and might. Cleopatra agrees with her lover that no one but he is worthy to conquer Antony, and even Caesar musters awe for his vanquished foe, remarking that Antony's death represents a calamity for half the world. Whether we share Caesar's awe, we cannot help but feel sympathy for the dying Antony. His love for Cleopatra has led him to destroy himself, but his love does not wane. Antony's steadfastness contributes to the depth of his tragedy. He spends his dying breath advising Cleopatra to trust in Caesar's mercy and Procu-leius's care. Antony is a Roman nobly vanquished by a Roman, but he is still a misguided politician and lover . The sword on which he falls does not excise the blemish of his soldier's opening remark: he remains both a fool and a hero. Just as any complete understanding of the play must take into account the competing forces of East and West, reason and passion, discussion of Antony's character must account for both his glory and his baseness. Even in the face of her lover's death, Cleopatra is unable to stop performing. For Cleopatra, the public display of emotions corresponds directly to their genuineness; preparing to meet Antony's death, the queen resolves that "ur size of sorrow, / Proportioned to our cause, must be as great / As that which makes it" . These words echo her opening lines, in which she begs Antony to outdo himself and all others with professions of love. The importance of performance becomes clear as Antony begins to speak his dying words:  ANTONY: I am dying, Egypt, dying.  Give me some wine, and let me speak a little. CLEOPATRA: No, let me speak, and let me rail so high    That the false hussy Fortune break her wheel,  Provoked by my offence.           Here, Cleopatra's self-awareness in her role as grief-stricken lover rises to a near comedic level when she interrupts Antony as he tries to deliver his last words.