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I will possess you of that ship and treasure.
Antony taking Leave of his Servants.
Tend me to night;
May be it is the period of your duty :
Haply, you shall not see me more; or if,
As one that takes his leave.
I look on you
Mine honest friends,
I turn you not away; but, like a master
O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more : Fortune and Antony part here; even here Do we shake hands.—All come to this ;—the hearts That spaniell'd me at heels, to whom I gave Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets On blossoming Cæsar; and this pine is bark'd, That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am : O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm, Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them home, Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end, Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose,
Beguil❜d me to the very heart of loss.
Description of Cleopatra's supposed Death.
Death of one person can be paid but once;
Then in the midst a tearing groan did break
Between her heart and lips: she render'd life,
Cleopatra on the Death of Antony.
It were for me
To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods;
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.
This case of that huge spirit now is cold.
How poor an instrument
May do a noble deed! He brings me liberty.
Of woman in me now from head to foot,
I am marble-constant: now the fleeting* moon
Cleopatra's Speech on applying the Serpent to her breast.
Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have
I give to baser life.—So,—have you done?
Casar's Comments on the Death of Cleopatra.
She hath pursu'd conclusions infinite
High order in this great solemnity.
+ Be quick.
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Shylock, a rich Jew of Venice, has advanced on loan three thousand ducats to Antonio, the Merchant of Venice, an agreement being signed by which, if the borrowed money be not repaid by a certain period, Shylock is to claim a pound of flesh to be cut from the merchant's body. Antonio, owing to sudden and unforeseen losses, forfeits the bond, and is cited before the Duke and magnificoes of Venice to pay the incurred penalty. The Duke tries to persuade Shylock to accept the money, which is now ready to be paid, but, influenced by a feeling of rancorous hatred, he insists on having the pound of flesh. In the meantime, Portia, a rich heiress, just married to Bassanio, an intimate friend of Antonio's, disguises herself as a doctor of laws, and attends the court where the Duke is sitting in judgment. The cause is left to Portia to arbitrate on; she admits the justice of Shylock's claim, but urges him to accept payment of the loan in money; this he refuses to do, and she then proceeds to pronounce sentence, explaining to the Jew that the bond gives him "no jot of blood," the words being "expressly a pound of flesh." Thus baffled, he agrees to take the money, but Portia further shows him that by the laws of Venice, he, being an alien, having sought the destruction of a citizen, has placed his life at the mercy of the Duke. The Duke pardons the Jew on condition that he turns Christian and "records a gift of all he dies possessed" to Lorenzo, a Christian gentleman, to whom his daughter Jessica is wedded. The loves of Bassanio and Portia, and Gratiano and Nerissa, form an agreeable episode, and the clown, Launcelot Gobbo, Shylock's servant, excites much amusement in the various scenes in which he appears.
The true Value of the World.
I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; A stage where every man must play a part.
Let me play the fool:
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;
Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice
I tell thee what, Antonio,—
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks;
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!"
That therefore only are reputed wise,
Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice: his reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; you shall seek all day ere you find them; and when you have them, they are not worth the search.
For aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit with