This may be mockery, but after she has let Thyreus kiss her she goes on: ‘Your Cæsar’s father oft, When he hath mus’d of taking kingdoms in, Bestow’d his lips on that unworthy place, As it rain’d kisses.’ She reminds herself of this, fresh from Antony, who had just told her of Octavius’s offer to protect her if she would give up the ‘grizled head’ of her lover. After Antony’s death she finds ‘nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.’ She tells Proculeius before he surprises her that she would gladly look Cæsar in the face, but she tries to stab herself, for, ‘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 unto me! rather on Nilus’ mud Lay me stark naked, and let the water-flies Blow me into abhorring! rather make My country’s high pyramides my gibbet, And hang me up in chains!’ She asks Dolabella what Cæsar means to do with her, and when she learns that she is to be taken to Rome she recurs to the horror of the triumph. ‘Now, Iras, what think’st thou? Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shalt be shown In Rome, as well as I: mechanick slaves With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall Uplift us to the view; in their thick breaths, Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded, And forced to drink their vapour. _Iras_. The gods forbid! _Cleopatra_. Nay, ’tis most certain, Iras: saucy lictors Will catch at us, like strumpets; and scald rhymers Ballad us out o’ tune; the quick comedians, Extemporally will stage us, and present Our Alexandrian revels; Antony Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness I’ the posture of a whore.’ This was a motive for death, but it was not all. She reproves herself because she let Iras die first, because Antony will ‘make demand of her, and spend that kiss Which is my heaven to have’; and Antony is her last word. Charmian declares her to be ‘a lass unparallel’d,’ of ‘royal eyes.’ It is impossible to shut this woman up within the limits of what we call a character, but why should we attempt it? Why cannot we be content with what we have before us? Shakespeare never defined his people to himself. In Cleopatra we have a new combination of the simple, eternal elements, a combination subtle, and beyond analysis. What celestial lights begin to play over this passion as the drama goes on! * * * * *