Shrunk to this little measure?

Fare thee well.

150

I know not, gentlemen, what you intend,

Who else must be let blood, who else is rank:

If I myself, there is no hour so fit

As Cæsar's death's hour, nor no instrument

Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich With the most noble blood of all this world.

I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard,

Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke,

Fulfil your pleasure.

Live a thousand years,
I shall not find myself so apt to die:
No place will please me so, no mean of death,
As here by Cæsar, 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 see we do, yet see you but our hands
And this the bleeding business they have done :
Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful;
And pity to the general wrong of Rome—
As fire drives out fire, so pity pity-
Hath done this deed on Cæsar.

For your part,

To you our swords have leaden points, Mark

Antony :

Our arms in strength of malice, and our hearts

Of brothers' temper, do receive you in
With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence.

Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any man's In the disposing of new dignities.

Bru. Only be patient till we have appeased The multitude, beside themselves with fear,

152. rank, morbidly fullblooded.

174. in strength of malice,

160

170

180

nerved with the hatred just displayed towards Cæsar, but which is innocuous to Antony.

And then we will deliver you the cause

Why I, that did love Cæsar when I struck him,
Have thus proceeded.

Ant.

I doubt not of your wisdom. Let each man render me his bloody hand: First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you; Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand; Now, Decius Brutus, yours; now yours, Metellus ; Yours, Cinna; and, my valiant Casca, yours; Though last, not least in love, yours, good Trebonius.

Gentlemen all,-alas, what shall I say?

My credit now stands on such slippery ground,
That one of two bad ways you must conceit me,
Either a coward or a flatterer.

That I did love thee, Cæsar, O, 'tis true:

If then thy spirit look upon us now,

Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death,
To see thy Antony making his peace,
Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes,
Most noble! in the presence of thy corse?
Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds,
Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood,
It would become me better than to close
In terms of friendship with thine enemies.
Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bay'd, brave
hart;

Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand,
Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy lethe.
O world, thou wast the forest to this hart;
And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee.

181. deliver, relate to. 196. dearer, more deeply. 204. bay'd, driven to bay.

206. Sign'd in thy spoil, bearing the badge or brand of Cæsar's ruin, i.e. stained with

190

200

his blood. Hunters customarily stained their hands with the blood of the slain deer.

206. lethe, slaughter (Lat. 'letum,' often spelt 'lethum,' death, especially violent death).

How like a deer, strucken by many princes,

Dost thou here lie!

Cas. Mark Antony,

Ant.

Pardon me, Caius Cassius:
The enemies of Cæsar shall say this;
Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty.

Cas. I blame you not for praising Cæsar so;
But what compáct mean you to have with us?
Will you be prick'd in number of our friends,
Or shall 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 Cæsar.
Friends am I with you all and love you all,
Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons
Why and wherein Cæsar was dangerous.

Bru. Or else were this a savage spectacle:

Our reasons are so full of good regard
That were you, Antony, the son of Cæsar,
You should be satisfied.

Ant.

That's all I seek:

And am moreover suitor 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 shall, Mark Antony.

Cas.

Brutus, a word with you.

[Aside to Bru.] You know not what you do: do

not consent

That Antony speak in his funeral :

Know you how much the people may be moved
By that which he will utter?

Bru.

216. prick'd, marked on the

list.

224. so full of good regard,

By your pardon;

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220

230

derived from such lofty considerations.

228. Produce, bear forth.

I will myself into the pulpit first,

And show the reason of our Cæsar's death:
What Antony shall speak, I will protest
He speaks by leave and by permission,
And that we are contented Cæsar shall
Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies.
It shall advantage more than do us wrong.

Cas. I know not what may fall; I like it not.
Bru. Mark Antony, here, take you Cæsar's body.
You shall not in your funeral speech blame us,
But speak all good you can devise of Cæsar,
And say you do 't by our permission;
Else shall you not have any hand at all
About his funeral: and you shall speak
In the same pulpit whereto I am going,
After my speech is ended.

Ant.

I do desire no more.

Be it so;

Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us. [Exeunt all but Antony. Ant. O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of

earth,

That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man

That ever lived in the tide of times.

Woe to the hand that shed this costly 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 curse shall light upon the limbs of men;
Domestic fury and fierce civil strife

257. the tide of times, the onward flow or course of the ages.

262. limbs. The commentators have stumbled at this word, and suggested in its place 'line' (Warburton), 'lives'

240

250

260

or 'lymmes,' i.e. blood-hounds (Johnson), 'minds' (Dyce), etc. But Antony contemplates the physical manglings and maimings of man which will be wrought by civil war.

Shall cumber all the parts of Italy;

Blood and destruction shall be so in use
And dreadful objects so familiar

That mothers shall but smile when they behold
Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war ;
All pity choked with custom of fell deeds:
And Cæsar's spirit, ranging for revenge,
With Ate by his side come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice
Cry 'Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war;
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.

Enter a Servant.

You serve Octavius Cæsar, do you not?
Serv. I do, Mark Antony.

Ant. Cæsar did write for him to come to Rome.
Serv. He did receive his letters, and is coming;
And bid me say to you by word of mouth—
O Cæsar!

[Seeing the body. Ant. Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep. Passion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes,

Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine,

Began to water.

Is thy master coming?

Serv. He lies to-night within seven leagues of Rome.

Ant. Post back with speed, and tell him what hath chanced:

Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome,
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet;
Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay awhile;
Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corse

271. Ate, a goddess of discord.

273. 'Havoc,' 'no quarter.' ib. let slip, a technical term

270

280

290

of the chase for releasing hounds. 283. Passion, feeling.

289. Rome, with a play on

' room.'