Page 2544 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3
P. 2544
The soldier’s pole is fall’n: young boys and girls [65]
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’s dead too, our sovereign.
CHARMIAN
Lady!
IRAS
Madam!
CHARMIAN
O madam, madam, madam!
IRAS
Royal Egypt: [70]
Empress!
(Cleopatra stirs.)
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 [75]
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
