The man is afterwards brought back, almost by force, to satisfy Cleopatra's jealous anxiety, by a description of Octavia:--but this time, made wise by experience, he takes care to adapt his information to the humors of his imperious mistress, and gives her a satirical picture of her rival. The scene which follows, in which Cleopatra--artful, acute, and penetrating as she is--becomes the dupe of her feminine spite and jealousy, nay, assists in duping herself; and after having cuffed the messenger for telling her truths which are offensive, rewards him for the falsehood which flatters her weakness--is not only an admirable exhibition of character, but a fine moral lesson. She concludes, after dismissing the messenger with gold and thanks, I repent me much That I so harry'd him. Why, methinks by him This creature's no such thing? CHARMIAN. O nothing, madam. CLEOPATRA. The man hath seen some majesty, and should know! Do we not fancy Cleopatra drawing herself up with all the vain consciousness of rank and beauty as she pronounces this last line? and is not this the very woman who celebrated her own apotheosis,--who arrayed herself in the robe and diadem of the goddess Isis, and could find no titles magnificent enough for her children but those of _the Sun_ and _the Moon_? The despotism and insolence of her temper are touched in some other places most admirably. Thus, when she is told that the Romans libel and abuse her, she exclaims,-- Sink Rome, and their tongues rot That speak against us! And when one of her attendants observes, that "Herod of Jewry dared not look upon her but when she were well pleased," she immediately replies, "That Herod's head I'll have."[71] When Proculeius surprises her in her monument, and snatches her poniard from her, terror, and fury, pride, passion, and disdain, swell in her haughty soul, and seem to shake her very being. CLEOPATRA. Where art thou, death? Come hither, come! come, come and take a queen Worth many babes and beggars! PROCULEIUS. O temperance, lady? CLEOPATRA. Sir, I will eat no meat; I'll not drink, sir: If idle talk will once be necessary. I'll not sleep neither; this mortal house I'll ruin, Do Caesar what he can! Know, sir, that I Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court, Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eye Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up, And show me to the shouting varletry Of censuring Rome? Rather a ditch in Egypt Be gentle grave to me! Rather on Nilus' mud Lay me stark naked, and let the water-flies Blow me into abhorring! Rather make My country's high pyramids my gibbet, And hang me up in chains!