see with ceaslesse fluttering
Flocking of seelly flies a brownish cloud
To vintag'd wine yet working in the tonne,
Not parting thence while they swete liquor taste:
After, as smoke, all vanish in the aire,
And of the swarme not one so much appeare.

_Eras._ By this sharp death what profit can you winne?

_Cl._ I neither gaine, nor profit seke therein.

_Er._ What praise shall you of after-ages gett?

_Cl._ Nor praise, nor glory in my cares are sett.

_Er._ What other end ought you respect, then this?

_Cl._ My only ende my onely dutie is.

_Er._ your dutie must vpon some good be founded.

_Cl._ On vertue it, the onlie good, is grounded.

_Er._ What is that _vertue_?

_Cl._ That which vs beseemes.

_Er._ Outrage our selues? who that beseeming deemes?

_Cl._ Finish I will my sorowes dieng thus.

_Er._ Minish you will your glories doing thus.

_Cl._ Good frends I praie you seeke not to reuoke
My fix'd intent of folowing _Antonie_.
I will die. I will die: must not his life,
His life and death by mine be folowed?
Meane while, deare sisters, liue: and while you liue,
Doe often honor to our loued Tombes.
Straw them with flowrs: and sometimes happelie
The tender thought of _Antonie_ your Lorde
And me poore soule to teares shall you inuite,
And our true loues your dolefull voice commend.

_Ch._ And thinke you Madame, we from you will part?
Thinke you alone to feele deaths ougly darte?
Thinke you to leaue vs? and that the same sunne
Shall see at once you dead, and vs aliue?
Weele die with you: and _Clotho_ pittilesse
Shall vs with you in hellish boate imbarque.

_Cl._ Ah liue, I praie you: this disastred woe
Which racks my heart, alone to me belonges:
My lott longs not to you: seruants to be
No shame, no harme to you, as is to me.
Liue sisters, liue, and seing his suspect
Hath causlesse me in sea of sorowes drown'd,
And that I can not liue, if so I would,
Nor yet would leaue this life, if so I could,
Without, his loue: procure me, _Diomed_,
That gainst poore me he be no more incensd.
Wrest out of his conceit that harmfull doubt,
That since his wracke he hath of me conceiu'd
Though wrong conceiu'd: witnesse you reuerent Gods,
Barking _Anubis_, _Apis_ bellowing.
Tell him, my soule burning, impatient,
Forlorne with loue of him, for certaine seale
Of her true loialtie my corpse hath left,