There's
Dolabella
sent from Caesar; call him.
Shakespeare
Now boast thee, death, in thy possession lies
A lass unparallel'd. Downy windows, close;
And golden Phoebus never be beheld
Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry;
I'll mend it and then play-
Enter the guard, rushing in
FIRST GUARD. Where's the Queen?
CHARMIAN. Speak softly, wake her not.
FIRST GUARD. Caesar hath sent-
CHARMIAN. Too slow a messenger. [Applies an asp]
O, come apace, dispatch. I partly feel thee.
FIRST GUARD. Approach, ho! All's not well: Caesar's beguil'd.
SECOND GUARD.
There's Dolabella sent from Caesar; call him.
FIRST GUARD. What work is here! Charmian, is this well done?
CHARMIAN. It is well done, and fitting for a princes
Descended of so many royal kings.
Ah, soldier! [CHARMIAN dies]
Re-enter DOLABELLA
DOLABELLA. How goes it here?
SECOND GUARD. All dead.
DOLABELLA. Caesar, thy thoughts
Touch their effects in this. Thyself art coming
To see perform'd the dreaded act which thou
So sought'st to hinder.
[Within: 'A way there, a way for Caesar! ']
Re-enter CAESAR and all his train
DOLABELLA.
