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54

CLEOPATRA TO THE ASP.

“Dost thou not see my baby at my breast,
That sucks the nurse asleep?”

Lie thou where Life hath lain,
And let thy swifter pain
His rival prove;
Till, like the fertile Nile,
Death buries, mile for mile,
This waste of Love.
Soft! Soft! A sweeter kiss
Than Antony's is this!
O regal Shade,
Luxurious as sleep
Upon thy bosom deep
My heart is laid.