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Which comes to punish us, and we punish it Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up; I have led you oft; carry me now, good friends, And have my thanks for all.

Exeunt, bearing Antony.

Cleo. O Charmian! I will never go from hence.

Char. Be comforted, dear madam.

Cleo. 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.

How now! is he dead?

Dio. His death's upon him, but not dead.

Look out o' the other side your monument;

His guard have brought him thither.

Cleo. O sun!

Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in; darkling stand

The varying shore o' the world. O Antony,

Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian, help, Iras, help;

Help, friends below! let's draw him hither.

Ant. Peace!

