_Cl._ My Sisters, holde me vp. How wretched I, How cursed am! and was ther euer one By Fortunes hate into more dolours throwne? Ah, weeping _Niobe_, although thy hart Beholdes itselfe enwrap’d in causefull woe For thy dead children, that a senceless rocke With griefe become, on _Sipylus_ thou stand’st In endles teares: yet didst thou neuer feele The weights of griefe that on my heart do lie. Thy Children thou, mine I poore soule haue lost, And lost their Father, more then them I waile, Lost this faire realme; yet me the heauens wrathe Into a Stone not yet transformed hath. _Phaetons_ sisters, daughters of the Sunne, Which waile your brother falne into the streames Of stately _Po_: the Gods vpon the bankes Your bodies to banke-louing Alders turn’d. For me, I sigh, I ceasles wepe, and waile, And heauen pittiles laughes at my woe, Reuiues, renewes it still: and in the ende (Oh crueltie!) doth death for comfort lende. Die _Cleopatra_ then, no longer stay From _Antonie_, who thee at _Styx_ attends: Goe ioine thy Ghost with his, and sobbe no more Without his loue within these tombes enclos’d. _Eras._ Alas! yet let vs wepe, lest sodaine death From him our teares, and those last duties take Vnto his tombe we owe. _Ch._ Ah let vs wepe While moisture lasts, then die before his feete. _Cl._ who furnish will mine eies with streaming teares My boiling anguish worthilie to waile, Waile thee _Antonie_, _Antonie_ my heart? Alas, how much I weeping liquor want! Yet haue mine eies quite drawne their Conduits drie By long beweeping my disastred harmes. Now reason is that from my side they sucke First vitall moisture, then the vitall bloud. Then let the bloud from my sad eies out flowe, And smoking yet with thine in mixture growe. Moist it, and heate it newe, and neuer stopp, All watring thee, while yet remaines one dropp. _Cha._ _Antonie_ take our teares: this is the last Of all the duties we to thee can yelde, Before we die. _Er._ These sacred obsequies Take _Antony_, and take them in good parte.