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How now? Is he dead?

How now? Is he dead?
His death's upon him, but not dead.
Look out o' th' other side your monument.
His guard have brought him thither.
Enter Antony below, and the Guard bearing him.

I am dying, Egypt, dying. Only
I here importune death awhile until
Of many thousand kisses the poor last
I lay upon thy lips.

O sun,
Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in. Darkling stand
The varying shore o' th' world! O Antony, Antony,
Antony! Help, Charmian! Help, Iras, help!
Help, friends below! Let's draw him hither.
Not Caesar's valor hath o'erthrown Antony,
But Antony's hath triumphed on itself.
So it should be that none but Antony
Should conquer Antony, but woe 'tis so!
I am dying, Egypt, dying. Only
I here importune death awhile until
Of many thousand kisses the poor last
I lay upon thy lips.
I dare not, dear,
Dear my lord, pardon, I dare not,
Lest I be taken. Not th' imperious show
Of the full-fortuned Caesar ever shall
Be brooched with me; if knife, drugs, serpents have
Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe.
Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes
And still conclusion, shall acquire no honor
Demuring upon me. But come, come, Antony.—
Help me, my women!—We must draw thee up.—
Assist, good friends.
They begin lifting him.
O, quick, or I am gone.
Here's sport indeed. How heavy weighs my lord!
Our strength is all gone into heaviness;
That makes the weight. Had I great Juno's power,
The strong-winged Mercury should fetch thee up
And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little.
Wishers were ever fools. O, come, come, come!
 They heave Antony aloft to Cleopatra.
And welcome, welcome! Die when thou hast lived;
Quicken with kissing. Had my lips that power,
Thus would I wear them out. She kisses him.
A heavy sight!
I am dying, Egypt, dying.
Give me some wine, and let me speak a little.
No, let me speak, and let me rail so high
That the false huswife Fortune break her wheel,
Provoked by my offense.
One word, sweet queen:
Of Caesar seek your honor with your safety—O!
They do not go together.
Gentle, hear me.
None about Caesar trust but Proculeius.
My resolution and my hands I'll trust,
None about Caesar.
The miserable change now at my end
Lament nor sorrow at, but please your thoughts
In feeding them with those my former fortunes
Wherein I lived the greatest prince o' th' world,
The noblest, and do now not basely die,
Not cowardly put off my helmet to
My countryman—a Roman by a Roman
Valiantly vanquished. Now my spirit is going;
I can no more.
Noblest of men, woo't die?
Hast thou no care of me? Shall I abide
In this dull world, which in thy absence is
No better than a sty? O see, my women,
The crown o' th' Earth doth melt.—My lord!
Antony dies.

Act 4
Scene 15
Line 8

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