_Dir._ When _Antonie_ no hope remaining saw How warre he might, or how agreement make, Saw him betraid by all his men of warre In euery fight as well by sea, as lande; That not content to yeld them to their foes They also came against himselfe to fight: Alone in Court he gan himself torment, Accuse the Queene, himselfe of hir lament, Call’d hir vntrue and traytresse, as who fought To yeld him vp she could no more defend: That in the harmes which for hir sake he bare, As in his blisfull state, she might not share. But she againe, who much his furie fear’d, Gatt to the Tombes, darke horrors dwelling place: Made lock the doores, and pull the hearses downe. Then fell shee wretched, with hir selfe to fight. A thousand plaints, a thousand sobbes she cast From hir weake brest which to the bones was torne, Of women hir the most vnhappie call’d, Who by hir loue, hir woefull loue, had lost Hir realme, hir life, and more, the loue of him, Who while he was, was all hir woes support. But that she faultles was she did inuoke For witnes heau’n, and aire, and earth, and sea. Then sent him worde, she was no more aliue, But lay inclosed dead within hir Tombe. This he beleeu’d; and fell to sigh and grone, And crost his armes, then thus began to mone. _Cæs._ Poore hopeles man! _Dir._ What dost thou more attend? Ah _Antonie_! why dost thou death deferre? Since _Fortune_ thy professed enimie, Hath made to die, who only made thee liue? Sone as with sighes he had these words vp clos’d, His armor he vnlaste, and cast it of, Then all disarm’d he thus againe did say: My Queene, my heart, the grief that now I feele, Is not that I your eies, my Sunne, do loose, For soone againe one Tombe shal vs conioyne: I grieue, whom men so valorouse did deeme, Should now, then you, of lesser valor seeme. So said, forthwith he _Eros_ to him call’d, _Eros_ his man; summond him on his faith To kill him at his nede. He tooke the sworde, And at that instant stab’d therwith his breast, And ending life fell dead before his fete. O _Eros_ thankes (quoth _Antonie_) for this Most noble acte, who pow’rles me to kill, On thee hast done, what I on mee should doe. Of speaking thus he scarce had made an ende, And taken vp the bloudie sword from ground, But he his bodie piers’d; and of redd bloud A gushing fountaine all the chamber fill’d. He staggred at the blowe, his face grew pale, And on a couche all feeble downe he fell, Swounding with anguish: deadly cold him tooke, As if his soule had then his lodging left. But he reuiu’d, and marking all our eies Bathed in teares, and how our breasts we beatt For pittie, anguish, and for bitter griefe, To see him plong’d in extreame wretchednes: He prai’d vs all to haste his lingr’ing death: But no man willing, each himselfe withdrew. Then fell he new to crie and vexe himselfe, Vntill a man from _Cleopatra_ came,