Antony and Cleopatra, Act 4, Scene 15

O Charmian, I will never go from hence.

Oh, Charmian, I will never leave this place.

Be comforted, dear madam.

Take comfort, dear madam.

No, I will not. All strange and terrible events are welcome, But comforts we despise. Our size of sorrow, Proportioned to our cause, must be as great As that which makes it.

No, I will not. Every strange and terrible event is welcome, but comforts we scorn. The size of our sorrow, matched to its cause, must be as great as the thing that causes it.

How now! Is he dead?

Well? Is he dead?

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

His death is on him, but he is not dead. Look out from the other side of your monument; his guard have carried him there.

O sun, Burn the great sphere thou mov’st in! Darkling stand The varying shore o’ th’ world. O Antony, Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian! Help, Iras, help! Help, friends below! Let’s draw him hither.

Oh sun, burn up the great sphere you travel in! Let the shifting shore of the world stand in darkness. Oh Antony, Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian! Help, Iras, help! Help, friends down there! Let us pull him up here.

Peace! Not Caesar’s valour hath o’erthrown Antony, But Antony’s hath triumphed on itself.

Quiet! It was not Caesar's courage that brought Antony down; Antony's own courage has triumphed over itself.

So it should be, that none but Antony Should conquer Antony, but woe ’tis so!

That is how it should be, that no one but Antony should conquer Antony — but what grief that it is so!

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

I am dying, Egypt, dying. I only beg death to wait here a while until I can lay on your lips the poor last of many thousand kisses.

I dare not, dear Dear my lord, pardon. I dare not, Lest I be taken. Not th’ imperious show Of the full-fortuned Caesar ever shall Be brooched 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.

I dare not, dear — my dear lord, forgive me. I dare not, in case I am captured. The triumphant parade of Caesar, with all his good fortune, will never be decorated with me as its ornament. If knives, drugs and snakes still have an edge, a sting, or any effect, I am safe. Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes and silent judgement, shall win no honour by looking down her nose at me. But come, come, Antony — help me, my women — we must pull you up. Lend a hand, good friends.

O, quick, or I am gone.

Oh, quickly, or I am gone.

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-winged Mercury should fetch thee up And set thee by Jove’s side. Yet come a little; Wishers were ever fools. O come, come come,

This is fine work indeed! How heavy my lord weighs! All our strength has turned into sorrow, and that is what makes the weight. If I had great Juno's power, strong-winged Mercury would lift you up and set you at Jove's side. But come a little further; people who only wish were always fools. Oh come, come, come,

And welcome, welcome! Die where thou hast lived; Quicken with kissing. Had my lips that power, Thus would I wear them out.

And welcome, welcome! Die where you have lived; come alive again with kissing. If my lips had that power, I would wear them away like this.

A heavy sight!

A sorrowful sight!

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

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

No, let me speak, and let me rail so high That the false huswife Fortune break her wheel, Provoked by my offence.

No, let me speak, and let me curse so loudly that Fortune, that lying slut, breaks her wheel, stung by my insults.

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

One word, sweet queen: get your honour from Caesar, along with your safety. Oh!

They do not go together.

Those two do not go together.

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

Gentle lady, listen to me. Trust no one in Caesar's circle except Proculeius.

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

I will trust my own determination and my own hands; no one in Caesar's circle.

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 lived the greatest prince o’ th’ world, The noblest; and do now not basely die, Not cowardly put off my helmet to My countryman; a Roman by a Roman Valiantly vanquished. Now my spirit is going; I can no more.

Do not mourn or grieve over this wretched turn at my end; instead please your thoughts by feeding them on those earlier fortunes of mine, when I lived as the greatest prince in the world, and the noblest. And now I do not die basely, nor take off my helmet in cowardice to my own countryman; a Roman bravely conquered by a Roman. Now my spirit is leaving; I can do no more.

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,

Noblest of men, will you die? Have you no thought for me? Am I to stay in this dreary world, which without you is no better than a pigsty? Oh, look, my women,

The crown o’ th’ earth doth melt.—My lord! O, withered 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.

The crown of the earth is melting away. — My lord! Oh, the garland of war has withered, the soldier's guiding star has fallen; young boys and girls are now on a level with men. All distinction is gone, and there is nothing remarkable left beneath the moon that visits us.

O, quietness, lady!

Oh, be calm, my lady!

She is dead too, our sovereign.

She is dead too, our queen.

Lady!

My lady!

Madam!

Madam!

O madam, madam, madam!

Oh madam, madam, madam!

Royal Egypt, Empress!

Royal Egypt, Empress!

Peace, peace, Iras!

Quiet, quiet, Iras!

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 stolen 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.

I am nothing now but simply a woman, ruled by the same humble feelings as the girl who milks the cows and does the lowest chores. It would be right for me to throw my sceptre at the gods who have wronged me, to tell them that this world was the equal of theirs until they stole our jewel. Everything is worthless. Patience is stupid, and impatience suits a mad dog. Then is it a sin to rush into death's hidden house before death dares to come to us? How are you, women? What, what! Cheer up! Why, what is this, Charmian? My noble girls! Ah, women, women! Look, our lamp has burned away, it is out! Good friends, take heart. We will bury him; and then, whatever is splendid, whatever is noble, let us do it in the grand Roman manner and make death proud to take us. Come, let us go. This shell that held that huge spirit is cold now. Ah, women, women! Come, we have no friend but our own resolve and the quickest end.