CLOWN. Very many, men and women too. I heard of one of them no longer than yesterday—a very honest woman, but something given to lie; as a woman should not do but in the way of honesty—how she died of the biting of it, what pain she felt. Truly she makes a very good report o’ th’ worm; but he that will believe all that they say shall never be saved by half that they do. But this is most falliable, the worm’s an odd worm. CLEOPATRA. Get thee hence. Farewell. CLOWN. I wish you all joy of the worm. [_Sets down the basket._] CLEOPATRA. Farewell. CLOWN. You must think this, look you, that the worm will do his kind. CLEOPATRA. Ay, ay, farewell. CLOWN. Look you, the worm is not to be trusted but in the keeping of wise people; for indeed there is no goodness in the worm. CLEOPATRA. Take thou no care; it shall be heeded. CLOWN. Very good. Give it nothing, I pray you, for it is not worth the feeding. CLEOPATRA. Will it eat me? CLOWN. You must not think I am so simple but I know the devil himself will not eat a woman. I know that a woman is a dish for the gods if the devil dress her not. But truly, these same whoreson devils do the gods great harm in their women, for in every ten that they make, the devils mar five. CLEOPATRA. Well, get thee gone. Farewell. CLOWN. Yes, forsooth. I wish you joy o’ th’ worm. [_Exit._] Enter Iras with a robe, crown, &c. CLEOPATRA. Give me my robe. Put on my crown. I have Immortal longings in me. Now no more The juice of Egypt’s grape shall moist this lip. Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear Antony call. I see him rouse himself To praise my noble act. I hear him mock The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men To excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come! Now to that name my courage prove my title! I am fire and air; my other elements I give to baser life.—So, have you done? Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips. Farewell, kind Charmian. Iras, long farewell. [_Kisses them. Iras falls and dies._] Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall? If thou and nature can so gently part, The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch, Which hurts and is desired. Dost thou lie still? If thus thou vanishest, thou tell’st the world It is not worth leave-taking. CHARMIAN. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain, that I may say The gods themselves do weep! CLEOPATRA. This proves me base. If she first meet the curled Antony, He’ll make demand of her, and spend that kiss Which is my heaven to have.—Come, thou mortal wretch, [_To an asp, which she applies to her breast._] With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate Of life at once untie. Poor venomous fool, Be angry and dispatch. O couldst thou speak, That I might hear thee call great Caesar ass Unpolicied! CHARMIAN. O eastern star! CLEOPATRA. Peace, peace! Dost thou not see my baby at my breast That sucks the nurse asleep? CHARMIAN. O, break! O, break! CLEOPATRA. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle— O Antony!—Nay, I will take thee too.