| 1 |
IV / 14
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Where's Antony?
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Where's Antony?
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DERCETAS. Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly.
This sword but shown to Caesar, with this tidings,
Shall enter me with him.
DIOMEDES. Where's Antony?
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| 2 |
IV / 14
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Lives he?
Wilt thou not answer, man?
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Lives he?
Wilt thou not answer, man?
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DERCETAS. There, Diomed there.
DIOMEDES. Lives he?
Wilt thou not answer, man?
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| 3 |
IV / 14
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Most absolute lord,
My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee.
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Most absolute lord,
My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee.
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ANTONY. Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy sword, and give me
Sufficing strokes for death.
DIOMEDES. Most absolute lord,
My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee.
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| 4 |
IV / 14
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| 5 |
IV / 14
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Lock'd in her monument. She had a prophesying fear
Of what hath come to pass...
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Lock'd in her monument. She had a prophesying fear
Of what hath come to pass: for when she saw--
Which never shall be found--you did suspect
She had disposed with Caesar, and that your rage
Would not be purged, she sent you word she was dead;
But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent
Me to proclaim the truth; and I am come,
I dread, too late.
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ANTONY. Where is she?
DIOMEDES. Lock'd in her monument. She had a prophesying fear
Of what hath come to pass: for when she saw--
Which never shall be found--you did suspect
She had disposed with Caesar, and that your rage
Would not be purged, she sent you word she was dead;
But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent
Me to proclaim the truth; and I am come,
I dread, too late.
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| 6 |
IV / 14
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What, ho, the emperor's guard! The guard, what, ho!
Come, your lord calls!
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What, ho, the emperor's guard! The guard, what, ho!
Come, your lord calls!
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ANTONY. Too late, good Diomed: call my guard, I prithee.
DIOMEDES. What, ho, the emperor's guard! The guard, what, ho!
Come, your lord calls!
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| 7 |
IV / 15
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His death's upon him, but not dead.
Look out o' the other side your monument...
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His death's upon him, but not dead.
Look out o' the other side your monument;
His guard have brought him thither.
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CLEOPATRA. No, I will not:
All strange and terrible events are welcome,
But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow,
Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great
As that which makes it.
[Enter, below, DIOMEDES]
How now! is he dead?
DIOMEDES. His death's upon him, but not dead.
Look out o' the other side your monument;
His guard have brought him thither.
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