Antony and Cleopatra, Act 4, Scene 14

Eros, thou yet behold’st me?

Eros, can you still see me?

Ay, noble lord.

Yes, noble lord.

Sometime we see a cloud that’s dragonish, A vapour sometime like a bear or lion, A towered 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.

Sometimes we see a cloud shaped like a dragon, sometimes a mist like a bear or a lion, a towered fortress, an overhanging rock, a mountain with two peaks, or a blue headland with trees on it, that nod to the world and fool our eyes with nothing but air. You have seen these shapes. They are the shows that dark evening puts on.

Ay, my lord.

Yes, my lord.

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

What is now a horse, in the time it takes to have a thought the drifting cloud blurs away and makes it as featureless as water in water.

It does, my lord.

It does, my lord.

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 annexed unto’t A million more, now lost—she, Eros, has Packed cards with Caesar, and false-played my glory Unto an enemy’s triumph. Nay, weep not, gentle Eros. There is left us Ourselves to end ourselves.

My good lad Eros, your captain is now just such a shape. Here I am Antony, yet I cannot hold on to this visible form, my lad. I fought these wars for Egypt, and for the Queen, whose heart I thought I had, since she had mine, and mine, while it was my own, had a million more joined on to it, all lost now — she, Eros, has stacked the deck with Caesar, and cheated my glory away into an enemy's triumph. No, do not weep, gentle Eros. We still have ourselves left, to make an end of ourselves.

O, thy vile lady! She has robbed me of my sword.

Oh, your vile lady! She has robbed me of my sword.

No, Antony, My mistress loved thee and her fortunes mingled With thine entirely.

No, Antony, my mistress loved you, and mixed her fortunes with yours completely.

Hence, saucy eunuch! Peace! She hath betrayed me and shall die the death.

Get out, insolent eunuch! Be quiet! She has betrayed me and she shall die for it.

Death of one person can be paid but once, And that she has discharged. 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 rendered life, Thy name so buried in her.

One person's death can only be paid once, and she has already paid it. What you would do has been done for you. The last thing she said was "Antony! Most noble Antony!" Then, halfway through, a tearing groan broke the name of Antony in two; it was split between her heart and her lips. She gave up her life with your name buried in her like that.

Dead, then?

Dead, then?

Dead.

Dead.

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.

Take off my armour, Eros. The long day's work is finished, and we must sleep. — The fact that you leave here alive pays you richly for your trouble. Go.

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.

Off with it, pull it off! The sevenfold shield of Ajax could not keep the battering from my heart. Oh, split open, my sides! Heart, for once be stronger than the body that holds you; crack your fragile shell! Quickly, Eros, quickly! I am a soldier no longer. Battered pieces, go; you have been worn nobly. Leave me for a while.

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 farther. 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!

I will catch up with you, Cleopatra, and weep to be forgiven. It has to be this way, because now every extra moment is torture. Since the torch has gone out, lie down and wander no further. Now every effort ruins what it does; indeed, sheer force gets tangled up in its own strength. So put the seal on it, and everything is finished. Eros! — I am coming, my queen. — Eros! — Wait for me. Where souls lie down on flowers, we will go hand in hand, and with our lively bearing we will make the ghosts stare. Dido and her Aeneas will lose their followers, and the whole crowd will be ours. — Come, Eros, Eros!

What would my lord?

What does my lord want?

Since Cleopatra died, I have lived in such dishonour that the gods Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword Quartered 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 Th’ 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.

Since Cleopatra died, I have lived in such dishonour that the gods hate my meanness. I, who cut the world in quarters with my sword, and built cities of ships on green Neptune's back, condemn myself for lacking a woman's courage; for having a mind less noble than hers, who by her death tells our Caesar, "I am the conqueror of myself." You have sworn, Eros, that when the crisis came — and it has truly come now — when I saw closing in behind me the unavoidable pursuit of disgrace and horror, then at my command you would kill me. Do it. The time has come. You are not striking me; it is Caesar you are defeating. Put some colour back in your cheek.

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

May the gods hold me back! Shall I do what all the Parthian arrows, enemies though they were, missed and could not do?

Eros, Wouldst thou be windowed in great Rome and see Thy master thus with pleached arms, bending down His corrigible neck, his face subdued To penetrative shame, whilst the wheeled seat Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded His baseness that ensued?

Eros, would you like to be at a window in great Rome and see your master like this, his arms folded and tied, bowing down his submissive neck, his face beaten down by piercing shame, while the wheeled chariot of lucky Caesar, drawn along in front of him, branded him with the disgrace of following behind?

I would not see’t.

I would not want to see it.

Come, then, for with a wound I must be cured. Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn Most useful for thy country.

Come then, for I must be cured by a wound. Draw that honest sword of yours, which you have worn so usefully for your country.

O, sir, pardon me!

Oh, sir, forgive me!

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 unpurposed. Draw, and come.

When I set you free, did you not swear then to do this when I ordered you to? Do it right now, or all your past services were nothing but chance events with no purpose behind them. Draw, and come here.

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

Then turn away from me that noble face in which the reverence of the whole world rests.

Lo thee!

There you are!

My sword is drawn.

My sword is drawn.

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

Then let it do at once the thing you drew it for.

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

My dear master, my captain and my emperor, let me say farewell before I strike this bloody blow.

’Tis said, man, and farewell.

It is said, man, and farewell.

Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now?

Farewell, great commander. Shall I strike now?

Now, Eros.

Now, Eros.

Why, there then! [kills himself] Thus do I escape the sorrow Of Antony’s death.

Well, there then! [he kills himself] This is how I escape the sorrow of Antony's death.

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

Three times nobler than I am! You teach me, brave Eros, what I should do and you could not. My queen and Eros have, by their fine example, won over me a nobleness that will be remembered. But I will be a bridegroom in my death, and run into it as into a lover's bed. Come then, and, Eros, your master dies your pupil. To do this

I learned of thee. How? Not dead? Not dead? The guard, ho! O, dispatch me!

I learned from you. What? Not dead? Not dead? The guard, hey! Oh, finish me off!

What’s the noise?

What is that noise?

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

I have done my job badly, friends. Oh, finish what I have begun.

The star is fallen.

The star has fallen.

And time is at his period.

And time has reached its end.

Alas, and woe!

Alas, and grief!

Let him that loves me strike me dead.

Whoever loves me, strike me dead.

Not I.

Not I.

Nor I.

Nor I.

Nor anyone.

Nor anyone.

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

Your death and your fallen fortunes tell your followers to run. Just showing this sword to Caesar, with this news, will get me a place with him.

Where’s Antony?

Where is Antony?

There, Diomed, there.

There, Diomed, there.

Lives he? Wilt thou not answer, man?

Is he alive? Will you not answer me, man?

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

Are you there, Diomed? Draw your sword and give me enough blows to kill me.

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

Absolute lord, my mistress Cleopatra sent me to you.

When did she send thee?

When did she send you?

Now, my lord.

Just now, my lord.

Where is she?

Where is she?

Locked 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 disposed with Caesar, and that your rage Would not be purged, 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.

Locked inside her tomb. She had a fear that foretold what has happened. For when she saw that you suspected she had made a deal with Caesar — which will never be proved true — and that your rage could not be cleared away, she sent you word that she was dead; but afterwards, afraid of what effect that might have, she sent me to announce the truth, and I have come, I am afraid, too late.

Too late, good Diomed. Call my guard, I prithee.

Too late, good Diomed. Call my guard, please.

What, ho! The emperor’s guard! The guard, what ho! Come, your lord calls!

Hey there! The emperor's guard! The guard, hey there! Come, your lord is calling!

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

Carry me, good friends, to where Cleopatra is staying. It is the last service I shall ever ask of you.

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

We are full of grief, sir, that you may not live long enough to outlast all your loyal followers.

Most heavy day!

What a terrible day!

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.

No, my good men, do not give cruel fate the pleasure of being honoured by your grief. Welcome the thing that comes to punish us, and we punish it back by seeming to take it lightly. Lift me up. I have often led you; carry me now, good friends, and take my thanks for everything.