VENTIDIUS. Give me your hand. We soon shall meet again. Now, farewell, emperor!-- [Embrace.] Methinks that word's too cold to be my last: Since death sweeps all distinctions, farewell, friend! That's all-- I will not make a business of a trifle; And yet I cannot look on you, and kill you; Pray turn your face.

ANTONY. I do: strike home, be sure.

VENTIDIUS. Home as my sword will reach. [Kills himself.]

ANTONY. Oh, thou mistak'st; That wound was not of thine; give it me back: Thou robb'st me of my death.

VENTIDIUS. I do indeed; But think 'tis the first time I e'er deceived you, If that may plead my pardon.--And you, gods, Forgive me, if you will; for I die perjured, Rather than kill my friend. [Dies.]

ANTONY. Farewell! Ever my leader, even in death! My queen and thou have got the start of me, And I'm the lag of honour.--Gone so soon? Is Death no more? he used him carelessly, With a familiar kindness: ere he knocked, Ran to the door, and took him in his arms, As who should say--You're welcome at all hours, A friend need give no warning. Books had spoiled him; For all the learned are cowards by profession. 'Tis not worth My further thought; for death, for aught I know, Is but to think no more. Here's to be satisfied. [Falls on his sword.] I've missed my heart. O unperforming hand! Thou never couldst have erred in a worse time. My fortune jades me to the last; and death, Like a great man, takes state, and makes me wait For my admittance.-- [Trampling within.] Some, perhaps, from Caesar: If he should find me living, and suspect That I played booty with my life! I'll mend My work, ere they can reach me. [Rises upon his knees.]

Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, and IRAS

CLEOPATRA. Where is my lord? where is he?

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