Antony and Cleopatra

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Bliss, Sands, 1898 - 139 pages
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Page 136 - 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.
Page 40 - ... helm A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackle Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, That yarely frame the office. From the barge.. A strange invisible perfume hits the sense Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast Her people out upon her; and Antony, Enthron'd in the market-place, did sit alone, Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy, Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, And made a gap in nature.
Page 111 - That which is now a horse, even with a thought The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct, As water is in water. EROS. It does, my lord. ANT. My good knave Eros, now thy captain is Even such a body. Here I am Antony; Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.
Page 137 - With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate Of life at once untie: poor venomous fool, Be angry, and dispatch.
Page 82 - Egypt, thou knew'st too well, My heart was to thy rudder tied by the strings, And thou shouldst tow me after : o'er my spirit Thy full supremacy thou knew'st, and that Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods Command me. Clco. O, my pardon ! Ant. Now I must To the young man send humble treaties, dodge And palter in the shifts of lowness ; who With half the bulk o' the world pla/d as I pleas'd, Making and marring fortunes.
Page 136 - 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.
Page 40 - Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety : other women cloy The appetites they feed ; but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies.
Page 139 - If they had swallow'd poison, 'twould appear By external swelling : but she looks like sleep, As she would catch another Antony In her strong toil of grace.
Page 120 - No more, but e'en a woman; and commanded By such poor passion as the maid that milks, And does the meanest chares.
Page 29 - We, ignorant of ourselves, Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers Deny us for our good ; so find we profit, By losing of our prayers.

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