"
It is, perhaps, worth noting here that Shakespeare lends Cleopatra, as
he afterwards lent Coriolanus, his own delicate senses and neuropathic
loathing for mechanic slaves with "greasy aprons" and "thick breaths
rank of gross diet"; it is Shakespeare too and not Cleopatra who speaks
of death as bringing "liberty." In "Cymbeline," Shakespeare's mask
Posthumus dwells on the same idea. But these lapses are momentary; the
superb declaration that follows is worthy of the queen:
"My resolution's placed, and I have nothing
Of woman in me: now from head to foot
I am marble-constant; now the fleeting moon
No planet is of mine."
The scene with the clown who brings the "pretty worm" is the solid
ground of reality on which Cleopatra rests for a breathing space before
rising into the blue:
"
Cleo. 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.
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