Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Cleo. The lucke of Cæsar, which the Gods giue men
Cleo. To excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come:
Cleo. Now to that name, my Courage proue my Title.
Cleo. I am Fire, and Ayre; my other Elements
Cleo. I giue to baser life. So, haue you done?
Cleo. Come then, and take the last warmth of my Lippes.
Cleo. Farewell kinde Charmian, Iras, long farewell.
Cleo. Haue I the Aspicke in my lippes? Dost fall?
Cleo. If thou, and Nature can so gently part,
Cleo. The stroke of death is as a Louers pinch,
Cleo. Which hurts, and is desir'd. Dost thou lye still?
Cleo. If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world,
Cleo. It is not worth leaue‑taking.
Char. Char.
Char. Dissolue thicke clowd, & Raine, that I may say
Char. The Gods themselues do weepe.
Cleo. Cleo.
Cleo. This proues me base:
Cleo. If she first meete the Curled Anthony,
Cleo. Hee'l make demand of her, and spend that kisse