Iras.Will you then die?
Cleop.Why shou'dst thou make that question?
Iras.Cæsar is merciful.
Cleop.Let him be so
To those that want his mercy: my poor Lord
Made no such Cov'nant with him, to spare me
When he was dead. Yield me to Cæsar's pride?
What, to be led in triumph through the Streets,
A spectacle to base Plebeian eyes;
While some dejected Friend of Antony's,
Close in a corner, shakes his Head, and mutters
A secret curse on her who ruin'd him?
I'll none of that.
Char.Whatever you resolve,
I'll follow ev'n to death.
Iras.I only fear'd
For you; but more shou'd fear to live without you.
Cleop.Why, now 'tis as it shou'd be. Quick, my Friends,
Dispatch; ere this, the Town's in Cæsar's hands:
My Lord looks down concern'd, and fears my stay,
Lest I shou'd be surpriz'd;
Keep him not waiting for his love too long.
You, Charmion, bring my Crown and richest Jewels,
With 'em, the Wreath of Victory I made
(Vain Augury!) for him who now lies dead;
You, Iras, bring the cure of all our ills.
Iras.The Aspicks, Madam?
Cleop.Must I bid you twice? Exeunt Char. and Iras.
'Tis sweet to die, when they wou'd force life on me,
To rush into the dark aboad of death,
And seize him first; if he be like my Love,
He is not frightful sure.
We're now alone, in secresie and silence;
And is not this like Lovers? I may kiss
These pale, cold lips; Octavia does not see me;
And, Oh! 'tis better far to have him thus,
Than see him in her Arms.———O welcome, welcome.
Enter Charmion, Iras.
Char.What must be done?
