Antony and Cleopatra

Listen. The earth tells me to stop walking upon it, as it’s ashamed to carry me. Friends, come here. I’m completely lost. I have a ship full of treasure. Take that. Divide it. Escape and make peace with Caesar.

Flee? Not us.

I have already fled from my true self. I’ve told cowards to turn their backs on me and run. Friends, go. I’ve decided on a plan that doesn’t require your assistance. Leave. My treasure’s in the harbor; take it. Oh, I followed something I’m ashamed to look at now! Even my hair revolts. The white hairs blame the brown hairs for being irresponsible, and the brown ones blame the white ones for being spineless and foolish. Friends, go. I’ll give you letters of introduction to some friends of mine who will help you. Please, don’t be sad, and don’t tell me how reluctant you are. Take your cues from my own despair. Abandon the person that has abandoned himself. Go to the harbor immediately! I’ll give you the title to that ship and its treasure. Just give me a moment, please—only a moment. I’ve relinquished my authority, so please—I’ll see you all before long.