CLEOPATRA. Will it eat me?

CLOWN. You must not think I am so simple but I know the devil himself
will not eat a woman; I know that a woman is a dish for the
gods, if the devil dress her not. But, truly, these same
whoreson devils do the gods great harm in their women, for
in every ten that they make the devils mar five.

CLEOPATRA. Well, get thee gone; farewell.

CLOWN. Yes, forsooth; I wish you joy of the worm.

_Re-enter_ IRAS.

CLEOPATRA. Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have
Immortal longings in me; now no more
The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip.
Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear
Antony call; I see him rouse himself
To praise my noble act; I hear him mock
The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men
To excuse their after wrath; husband, I come:
Now to that name my courage prove my title!
I am fire and air; my other elements
I give to baser life. So; have you done?
Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips.
Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell.

I have chosen this passage not because of its singular beauty, but because