With the moft boldest and beft hearts of Rome.
Bru. Soft, who comes here? A friend of Antony's.
Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel;
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down;
And, being proftrate, thus he bade me say:
Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honeft;
Cæfar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving:
Say, I love Brutus, and I honour hin;
Say, I fear'd Cæfar, honour'd him, and lov'd him.
If Brutus will vouchfafe, that Antony
May fafely come to him, and be refolv'd
How Cæfar hath deferv'd to lie in death,
Mark Antony fhall not love Cæfar dead
So well as Brutus living; but will follow
The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus,
Thorough the hazards of this untrod state,
With all true faith. So fays my mafter Antony.
Bru. Thy mafter is a wife and valiant Roman;
I never thought him worse.
Tell him, fo pleafe him come unto this place,
He fhall be fatisfied; and, by my honour,
Serv. I'll fetch him presently.
Bru. I know, that we fhall have him well to friend.
Caf. I wish we may : but yet have I a mind, That fears him much; and my mifgiving ftill Falls fhrewdly to the purpose.
Bru. But here comes Antony.-Welcome, Mark
Ant. O mighty Cæfar! Doft thou lie fo low?
Are all thy conquefts, glories, triumphs, fpoils,
Shrunk to this little meafure?-Fare thee well.-
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend,
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank:
If I myself, there is no hour fo fit
As Cæfar's death's hour; nor no instrument
Of half that worth, as thofe your fwords, made rich
With the most noble blood of all this world.
I do befeech ye, if you bear me hard,
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke,
Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thoufand years,
I fhall not find myself fo apt to die :
No place will please me fo, no mean of death,
As here by Cæfar, and by you cut off,
The choice and master spirits of this age.
Bru. O Antony! beg not your death of us.
Though now we must appear bloody and cruel,
As by our hands, and this our present act,
You fee we do; yet fee you but our hands,
And this the bleeding bufinefs they have done :
Our hearts you fee not, they are pitiful;
And pity to the general wrong of Rome
(As fire drives out fire, fo pity, pity)
Hath done this deed on Cæfar. For your part,
To you our fwords have leaden points, Mark Antony:
Our arms, in ftrength of malice, and our hearts,
Of brothers' temper, do receive you in
With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence.
Caf. Your voice fhall be as ftrong as any man's,
In the difpofing of new dignities.
Bru. Only be patient, 'till we have appeas'd
The multitude, befide themselves with fear,
And then we will deliver you the cause,
Why I, that did love Cæfar when I ftruck him,
Have thus proceeded.
Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom.
Let each man render me his bloody hand:
First, Marcus Brutus, will I fhake with you ;-
Next, Caius Caffius, do I take your hand ;-
Now, Decius Brutus, yours;-Now yours, Metellus;
Yours, Cinna; and, my valiant Cafca, yours ;-
Though laft, not leaft in love, yours, good Trebonius.
Gentlemen all,-alas! what fhall I say?
My credit now ftands on fuch flippery ground,
That one of two bad ways you must conceit me,
Either a coward, or a flatterer.-
That I did love thee, Cæfar, O, 'tis true:
If then thy fpirit look upon us now,
Shall it not grieve thee, dearer than thy death,
To fee thy Antony making his peace,
Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes,
Moft noble! in the prefence of thy corfe?
Had I as many eyes as thou haft wounds,
Weeping as faft as they ftream forth thy blood,
It would become me better, than to close
In terms of friendship with thine enemies.
Pardon me, Julius !-Here waft thou bay'd, brave
Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters ftand,
Sign'd in thy fpoil, and crimfon'd in thy lethe.
O world! thou waft the foreft to this hart;
And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee.-
How like a deer, ftrucken by many princes,
Doft thou here lie?
Caf. Mark Antony,
Ant. Pardon me, Caius Caffius: The enemies of Cæfar fhall fay this; Then in a friend, it is cold modefty.
Caf. I blame you not for praising Cæfar fo; But what compact mean you to have with us? Will you be prick'd in number of our friends; Or fhall we on, and not depend on you?
Ant. Therefore I took your hands; but was, indeed, Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Cæfar. Friends am I with you all, and love you all; Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons, Why, and wherein, Cæfar was dangerous. Bru. Or elfe were this a favage fpectacle: Our reafons are fo full of good regard, That were you, Antony, the fon of Cæfar, You should be fatisfied.
Ant. That's all I feek:
And am moreover fuitor, that I may
Produce his body to the market-place;
And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend,
Speak in the order of his funeral.
Bru. You fhall, Mark Antony.
Caf. Brutus, a word with you.-
You know not what you do; Do not confent, [Afide.
That Antony speak in his funeral:
Know you how much the people may be mov'd
By that which he will utter?
Bru. By your pardon ;
I will myself into the pulpit firft,
And fhew the reafon of our Cæfar's death:
What Antony fhall fpeak, I will protest
He fpeaks by leave and by permiffion;
And that we are contented, Cæfar fhall
Have all true rites, and lawful ceremonies.
It shall advantage more, than do us wrong.
Caf. I know not what may fall; I like it not.
Bru. Mark Antony, here, take you Cæfar's body.
You fhall not in your funeral fpeech blame us,
But fpeak all good you can devife of Cæfar;
And fay, you do't by our permiffion;
Elfe fhall you not have any hand at all
About his funeral: And you shall speak
In the fame pulpit whereto I am going,
After my fpeech is ended.
Ant. Be it fo;
Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us.
Ant. O pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers! Thou art the ruins of the nobleft man,
That ever lived in the tide of times.
Woe to the hand that shed this coftly blood!
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,—
Which, like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips,
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue ;-
A curfe fhall light upon the limbs of men ;
Domestic fury, and fierce civil ftrife,
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy:
Blood and destruction shall be so in use,
And dreadful objects fo familiar,
That mothers fhall but smile, when they behold
Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war;
All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds :
And Cæfar's fpirit, ranging for revenge,
With Até by his fide, come hot from hell,
Shall in thefe confines, with a monarch's voice;
Cry Havoc, and let flip the dogs of war;
That this foul deed fhall fmell above the earth
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