Charmian:— The queen's dark laugh is dreadful as the night. Iras:— As dark as fortune in these latter days. Charmian:— Fortune? my fate, that hurries us to our place... Iras:— By this mad feast, the funeral of delight. Charmian:— The queen's shrill laugh sounds like a spent wind's flight. Iras:— Her hopeless revels dazzle and amaze: Charmian:— As when a dying flame through night doth blaze:
Iras:— Ay, ere it sinks in the black infinite. Charmian:— Such pleasure is the gods' contemptuous grant. Iras:— And pleasure's term by it shall quicklier come. Charmian:— Hark, mid sad mirth that lull, significant: Iras:— And, like a dirge, the music's faltering strain. Charmian:— Soon shall the music, like the rest, fall dumb: Iras:— And desolate Memphian silences remain.