Page 2545 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

Become a dog that’s mad: then is it sin, [80]
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, [85]
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 [90]
But resolution, and the briefest end.

(Exeunt; those above bearing off Antony’s body.)