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.