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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, Char

mian? 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.

ACT V.

DEATH. My desolation does begin to make A better life: 'Tis paltry to be Cesar; Not being fortune, he's but fortune's knave,* A minister of her will: And it is great To do that thing that ends all other deeds; Which shackles accidents, and bolts up change; Which sleeps, and never palates more the dung, The beggar's nurse and Cesar's. CLEOPATRA'S DREAM, AND DESCRIPTION OF ANTONT.

Cleo. I dream'd, there was an emperor Antony; 0, such another sleep, that I might see But such another man! Dol.

If it might please you, Cleo. His face was as the heavens; and therein stuck A sun, and moon; which kept their course, and

lighted The little 0, the earth. Dol.

Most sovereign creature, Cleo. His legs bestrid the ocean: his rear'd arm Crested the world: his voice was propertied As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends:

* Servant.

But when he meant to quail* and shaķe the orb,
He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty,
There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas,
That grew the more by reaping: His delights
Were dolphin-like; they show'd his back above
The element they lived in: In his livery
Walk'd crowns, and crownets; realms and islands

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were

As platest dropp'd from his pocket.

FIRM RESOLUTION,

How poor an instrument
May do a noble deed! he brings me liberty.
My resolution's plac'd, and I have nothing
of woman in me: Now from head to foot
I am marble-constant: now the fleetingt moon
No planet is of mine.

CLEOPATRA'S SPEECH ON APPLYING THE ASP.
Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have
Immortal longings in me: Now no more
The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip:-
Yare, yare, $ good Iras; quick.-Methinks, I hear
Antony call; I see him rouse himself
To praise my noble act; I hear him mock
The luck of Cesar, which the gods give men
To excuse their after wrath: Husband, Lcome:
Now to that name my courage prove my title!
I am fire, and air; my other elements
I give to baser life.-S0,-have you done?
Come, then, and take the last warmth of my lips.
Farewell

, kind Charmian;--Iras, long farewell! Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall? If thou and nature can so gently part, The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, Which hurts and is desir’d. Dost thou lie still? If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world It is not worth leave-taking. . Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain; that I may

say, * Crush.

# Inconstant. Make haste.

+ Silver money

Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst
My hate to Marcius: where I find him, were it
At home upon my brother's guard, * even there
Against the hospitable cannon, would I
Wash my fierce hand in his heart.

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ACT II.

POPULARITY.

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All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights
Are spectacled to see him: Your prattling nurse
Into a rapturet lets her baby cry,
While she chats him: the kitchen malkint pins
Her richest lockram 'bout her reechyll seck,
Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks, wit-

dows,
Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors'd
With variable complexions; all agreeing
In earpestness to see him: seld T-shown flamens**
Do press among the popular throngs, and puff
To win a vulgar station:tt our veilid dames
Commit the war of white and damask, in
Their nicely-gawded † cheeks, to the wanton spoil
Of Phæbus burning kisses: such a pother,
As if that whatsoever god, who leads him,
Were slily crept into his human powers,
And

gave him graceful posture.
COMINIUS'S PRAISE OF CORIOLANUS IN THE SENATE,

I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus
Should not be utter'd feebly.-It is held,
That valour is the chiefest virtue, and
Most dignifies the haver:$$ if it be,
The man I speak of cannot in the world
Be singly counterpois’d. At sixteen years,
When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought
Beyond the mark of others; our then dictator,
Whom with ali praise I point at, saw him fight,

My brother posted to protect him.
& Best linen. ll Soiled with sweat and smoke.
T Seldom. ** Priests. tt Common standing-place.
1$ Adon'd Sg Possessor.

a

# Fit. Maid.

When with his Amazonian chin* he drove
The bristledt lips before him: he bestrid
An o'er-press'd Roman, and i' the consul's view
Slew three opposers: Tarquin's self he met,
And struck him on his knee: in that day's feats,
When he might act the woman in the scene, f
He prov'd best man i? the field, and for his meed
Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupilage
Man entered thus, he waxed like a sea;
And, in the brunt of seventeen battles since,
He lurch’d|| all swords o' the garland. For this last,
Before and in Corioli, let me say,
I cannot speak him home: He stopp'd the fliers:
And, by his rare example, made the coward
Turn terror into sport: as waves before
A vessel under sail, so men obey'd,
And fell below his stem: his sword (death's stamp)
Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot
He was a thing of blood, whose every motion
Was timed** with dying cries: alone he enter'd
The mortal gate o' the city, which he painted
With shunless destiny, aidless came off,
And with a sudden reinforcement struck
Corioli, like a planet: now all's his:
When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce
His ready sensc: then straight his doubled spirit
Requicken’d what in flesh was fatigate,tt
And to the battle came he; where he did
Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if
Twere a perpetual spoil: and, till we call'd
Both field and city ours, he never stood
To ease his breast with panting.

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ACT III.
THE MISCHIEF OF ANARCHY.
My soul aches,
To know, when two authorities are up,
* Without a beard.

| Bearded. Smooth-faced enough to act a woman's part. & Reward. ll Won. Stroke. ** Followed. # Wearied.

Neither supreme, how soon confusion
May enter 'twixt the gap of both, and take
The one by the other.

CHARACTER OF CORIOLANUS.
His nature is too noble for the world:
He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,
Or Jove for his power to thunder. His heart's his

mouth:
What his breast forges that his tongue must vent;
And, being angry, does forget that ever
He heard the name of death.

HONOUR AND POLICY.

I have heard you say,
Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends,

' the war do grow together: grant that, and tell me
In peace, what each of them by th’ other lose,
That they combine not there.

THE METHOD TO GAIN POPULAR FAVOUR.

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Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand;
And thus far having stretch'd it, (here be with them;)
Thy knee bussing the stones (for in such business
Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant
More learned than the ears,) waving thy head,
Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart,
That humble, as the ripest mulberry,
Now will not hold the handling: Or, say to them,
Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils,
Hast not the soft way, which, thou dost confess,
Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim,
In asking their good loves; but thou wilt frame
Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far
As thou hast power, and person.

CORIOLANUS'S ABHORRENCE OF FLATTERY.
Well, I must dort:
Away, my disposition, and possess me
Some harlot's spirit! My throat of war be turn'd,
Which quired with my drum, into a pipe
Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice
That babies lulls asleep! The smiles of knaves

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