My Honour Was Not Yielded, But Conquered

Leave The Fishing-rod, Great General, To Us Sovereigns Of Pharos And Canopus. Your Game Is Cities And Kings And Continents.

And Make Death Proud To Take Us.

All Strange And Terrible Events Are Welcome, But Comforts We Despise.

[at Marc Antony's Tomb:] Nothing Could Part Us In Life, But Now In Death We Are Likely To Change Places, You The Roman Lying Here In Egyptian Soil, And I, Helpless Woman That I Am, Being Buried In Italy.

Be It Known That We, The Greatest, Are Misthought.