And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads,
Let's all cry, 86
peace! freedom! and liberty!
Caf. Stoop then, and wash-how many ages hence [Dipping their favords in Cæfar's blood,
Shall this our lofty Scene be acted o'er,
In States unborn, and accents yet unknown?
Bru. How many times fhall Cæfar bleed in sport,
That now on Pompey's Bafis lies along,
No worthier than the duft?
Caf. So oft as that shall be,
So often shall the knot of us be call'd
The men that gave their country liberty.
Dec. What, fhall we forth?
Caf. Ay, every man away.
Brutus fhall lead, and we will grace his heels
With the most boldest, and best hearts of Rome.
Bru. Soft, who comes here? A friend of Antony's.
Ser. Thus, Brutus, did my mafter bid me kneel;
Thus did Mark Anthony bid me fall down ;
And being proftrate, thus he bad me fay.
Brutus is noble, wife, valiant and honest;
Cafar was mighty, royal, bold and loving;
Say, I love Brutus, and I honour him;
Say, I fear'd Cafar, honour'd him, and lov'd him.
If Brutus will vouchfafe that Antony
May fafely come to him, and be refolv'd
How Cafar 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 master Antony.
Bru. Thy mafter is a wife and valiant Reman ;
I never thought him worse.
Tell him, fo please him come unto this place,
He fhall be fatisfied; and, by my honour,
Depart untouch'd.
Serv. I'll fetch him prefently.
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 still Falls fhrewdly to the purpose.
Bru. But here comes Antony. Welcome, Mark AnTM tony.
Ant. O mighty Cafar! doft thou lye fo low?
Are all thy conquefts, glories, triumphs, fpoils,
Shrunk to this little measure?- -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 Cafar's death's hour; nor no inftrument
Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich
With the most noble blood of all this world.
I do befeech
Now, whilft your purpled hands do reak and fmoak, Fulfil your pleafure. Live a thousand years,
I fhall not find myself fo apt to die :
*No } lace will please me fo, no meane of death,
As here by Cafar, and by you cut off,
The choice and mafter fpirits of this age.
Bru. O Antony! beg not your death of us:
Though now we muft appear bloody and cruel,
As, by our hands, and this our prefent 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 Cefar: For your part,
Το you our fwords have leaden points, Mark Antony;
Our arms exempt from 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 ftrook him,
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;
Tho' last, not leaft in love, yours, good Trebonius.
Gentlemen all- -alas, what fhall I fay?
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, Cafar, oh, '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 fast 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 hart
Here didst thou fall, and here thy hunters stand
Sign'd in thy fpoil, (12) and crimfon'd in thy death.
O world! thou waft the foreft to this hart,.
And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee.
(12) And crimson'd in thy Death.] All the old Copies, that I have feen, read, Letbe. The Dictionaries, indeed, acknowledge no fuch Word: and as the L might have mistakingly been form'd from an obscure D, not taking the Ink'equally in all Parts, I have suffer'd the more known Word to ftand in the Text; tho', indeed, I am not without Sufpicion of our Poet's having either coin'd the other Term, or copied it from fome obfolete Author, who had adopted it from the Letbum of the Latines; which, 'tis well known, was used for Death, as well as Destruction, Ruin, Havock, &c.
How like a deer, ftricken by many Princes,
Doft thou here lye?
Ant. Pardon me, Caius Caffius:
The enemies of Cafar fhall fay this:
Then, in a friend, it is cold modefty.
Caf. I blame you not for praifing Cæfar fo,
But what compact mean you to have with us?
Will you
be priek'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 fhall give me reafons,
Why, and wherein Cafar was dangerous.
Bru. Or elfe this were a favage fpectacle.
Our reafons are fo full of good regard,
That were you, Antony, the Son of Cafar,
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 consent,
That Antony fpeak 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 first,
And fhew the reafon of our Cæfar's death.
What Antony fhall fpeak, I will protest
He speaks by leave, and by permiffion;
And that we are contented, Cafar shall
Have all due rites, and lawful ceremonies:
It fhall 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 speech 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 fhall fpeak
In the fame pulpit whereto I am going,
After my speech is ended.
Ant. Be it fo;
I do defire no more.
Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us.
Ant. O pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth! That I am meek and gentle with thefe butchers. Thou art the ruins of the noblest man,
That ever lived in the tide of times.
Woe to the hand, that shed this coftly blood!
Over thy wounds now do I prophefie,
(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 ;
Domeftick fury, and fierce civil ftrife,
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy;
Blood and deftruction fhall be fo in use,
And dreadful objects fo familiar,
That mothers fhall but fmile, when they behold
Their infants quarter'd by the hands of war:
All pity choak'd with custom of fell deeds;
And Cafar's fpirit, ranging for revenge,
With Até by his fide come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines, with a Monarch's voice,
Cry Havock, and let flip the Dogs of war;
That this foul deed fhall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.
Enter Octavius's Servant.
You ferve Octavius Cæfar, do you not?
Ser. I do, Mark Antony.
Ant. Cæfar did write for him to come to Rome.
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