Bru. Do fo: and let no man abide this deed, But we the Doers.

SCENE II.

Enter Trebonius.

Caf. Where is Antony?

Tre. Fled to his houfe amaz’d.

Men, wives, and children, ftare, cry out, and run, As it were Dooms-day.

Bru. Fates! we will know your pleasures; That we fhall die, we know; 'tis but the time, And drawing days out, that men ftand upon.

Caf. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life, Cuts of fo many years of fearing death.

Bru. Grant that, and then is death a benefit: So are we Cafar's friends, that have abridg'd His time of fearing death. Stoop, Remans, ftoop And let us bathe our hands in Cafar's blood

Up to the elbows, and besmear our fwords: Then walk we forth ev'n to the Market-place, And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads, Let's all cry,

"Peace! Freedom! and Liberty!"

Caf. Stoop then, and wash. How many ages hence [Dipping their fwords 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 fport,
That now on Pompey's Bafis lies along,
No worthier than the duft?

Caf. So oft as that fhall be,

So often fhall 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 boldeft, and beft hearts of Rome.

Enter a Servant.

Bru. Soft, who comes here? A friend of Antony's: Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my mafter bid me kneel; Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down; kneeling. And, being proftrate, thus he bade me fay. Brutus is noble, wif, valiant and honeft; Cafar was mighty, bold, royal 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 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 master Antony. Bru. Thy mafter is a wife and valiant Roman y E 2 I never

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 presently.

[Exit Servant.

Bru. I know, that we shall 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
Antony.

Ant. O mighty Cafar! 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 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 beseech ye, if ye bear me hard,

Now, whilft your purpled hands do reek and smoke,
Fulfil your pleafure. Live a thousand years,
I fhall not find myself fo apt to die:

No place will please me fo, no mean 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 must appear bloody and cruel,
As, by our hands, and this our present act,
You fee, we do; yet fee you but our hands,

3 who else is rank;] Who elfe may be fuppofed to have

overtopped his equals. and grown too high for the publick fafety.

And

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 Cafar. For your part,

To 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 Cefar when I ftrook him,
Proceeded thus.

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 Cafea, yours;
Tho' laft, not least 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,

4 Our ams exempt from maIce-] This is the reading only of the modern editions, yet

perhaps the true reading. The old copy has,

Our arms in ftrength of malice.
Weeping

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 fland
Sign'd in thy fpoil, and crimson'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, ftricken 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 praifing 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, ing deed,

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 reasons,
Why, and wherein Cafar was dangerous.

Bru. Or elfe this were a favage fpectacle.
Our reasons are fo full of good regard,
That were you, Antony, the Son of Cefar,
You fhould 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.

5-crimfn'd in thy Lethe.] Mr. Theobald fays, The dictionaries acknowledge no fuch word as Lethe; yet he is not without fuppofition, that Shakespeare coin'd the word; and yet for all that, the

L. might be a D. imperfectly rate, therefore he will have death infread of it. After all this pother, Lethe was a common French word, fignifying death or deftruction, from the Latin lethum. WAR.

Bru.