When that the poor have cried, Cesar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honorable man.
You all did see that on the Lupercal,

I thrice presented him a kingly crown,

Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;

And sure he is an honorable man.

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.

You all did love him once, not without cause;
What cause witholds you then to mourn for him?
O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason!-Bear with me:
My heart is in the coffin there with Cesar,

And I must pause 'till it come back to me.

1 Cit. Methinks, there is much reason in his sayings. 2 Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter,

Cesar has had great wrong.

3 Cit. Has he, masters?

I fear there will a worse come in his place.

4 Cit. Mark'd ye his words? He would not take the

crown:

Therefore 'tis certain, he was not ambitious.

1 Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it

2 Cit. Poor soul! his eyes are red as fire with weeping.. 3 Cit. There's not a nobler man in Rome, than Antony. 4 Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to speak.

Ant. But yesterday the word of Cesar might

Have stood against the world: now lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reverence.

O masters! if I were dispos'd to stir

Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
Who, you all know, are honorable men:
I will not do them wrong; I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you,
Than I will wrong such honorable men.

But here's a parchment, with the seal of Cæsar,
I found it in his closet, 'tis his will:

Let but the commons hear this testament,

(Which pardon me, I do not mean to read,)

And they would go and kiss dear Cesar's wounds,
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood;

Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,

And dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy,

Unto their issue.

4 Cit. We'll hear the will: Read it, Mark Antony.

Cit. The will, the will; we will hear Cesar's will.
Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it;
It is not meet you know how Cesar lov'd you.

You are not wood, you are not stones, but men;
And, being men, hearing the will of Cesar,
It will inflame you, it will make you mad :
Tis good you know not that you are his heirs;
For if you should, O, what would come of it!

4 Cit. Read the will; we will hear it, Antony; You shall read us the will; Cesar's will.

Ant. Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile ? I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it.

I fear I wrong the honorable men,

Whose daggers have stabb'd Cesar: I do fear it. 4 Cit. They were traitors: Honorable men!

Cit. The will! the testament!

2 Cit. They were villains, murderers: The will! read the will!

Ant. You will compel me then to read the will?-
Then make a ring about the corpse of Cesar,
And let me shew you him that made the will.
Shall I descend? And will you give me leave?
Cit. Come down.

2 Cit. Descend.

[He comes down from the Pulpit.

3 Cit. You shall have leave.

4 Cit. A ring; stand round.

1 Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body.
2 Cit. Room for Antony;—most noble Antony.
Ant. Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off.

Cit. Stand back! room! bear back!

Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle: I remember

The first time ever Cesar put it on;

'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent;
That day he overcame the Nervii:-

Look! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through:
See, what a rent the envious Casca made:

Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd;
And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cesar follow'd it!
As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no;
For Brutus, as you know, was Cesar's angel:
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cesar lov'd him!
This was the most unkindest cut of all:

For when the noble Cesar saw him stab,

Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms,

Quite vanquish'd him; then burst, his mighty heart;
And in his mantle muffling up his face,

Even at the base of Pompey's statue,

Which all the while ran blood, great Cesar fell.
O, what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.
O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel
The dint of pity: these are gracious drops.
Kind souls, what, weep you, when you but behold
Our Cesar's vesture wounded? Look you here,
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.
1 Cit. O piteous spectacle!

2 Cit. O noble Cesar!

3 Cit. O woeful day!

4 Cit. O traitors, villains!

1 Cit. O most bloody sight!

2 Cit. We will be revenged: revenge; about,—seek,— burn,-fire,-kill,-slay!-let not a traitor live.

Ant. Stay, countrymen.

1 Cit. Peace there :-Hear the noble Antony.

2 Cit. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die with him. Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny.

They, that have done this deed, are honorable;

What private griefs they have, alas, I know not,

That made them do it; they are wise and honorable,
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.

I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts,

I am no orator, as Brutus is:

But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man,

That love my friend; and that they know full well
That gave me public leave to speak of him.
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,
To stir men's blood: I only speak right on;
I tell you that, which you yourselves do know;

Show you sweet Cesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths,
And bid them speak for me: But were I Brutus,

And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cesar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.

BURIAL OF IMOGEN BY THE PEASANTS, BELARIUS, ARVIRAGUS, AND GUIDERIUS.

Enter ARVIRAGUS, bearing IMOGEN, as dead, in his arms.

Bel. Look, here he comes!

And brings the dire occasion in his arms,
Of what we blame him for.

Arv. The bird is dead

That we have made so much on. I had rather
Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty;
To have turned my leaping time into a crutch,
Than have seen this.

Guid. Oh sweetest, fairest lily!

My brother wears thee not the one half so well,
As when thou grew'st thyself.

Bel. O, melancholy!

Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find

The ooze, to shew what coast thy sluggish crare

Might easiliest harbor in ?-Thou blessed thing!

Jove knows, what man thou might'st have made; but I,
Thou dy'st, a most rare boy, of melancholy!-

How found you him?

Arv. Stark, as you see;

Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,

Not as death's dart, being laughed at: his right cheek
Reposing on a cushion.

Guid. Where?

Arv. O' the floor,

His arms thus leagu'd. I thought he slept; and put
My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
Answered my steps too loud.

Guid. Why, he but sleeps:

If he be gone, he 'll make his grave a bed;
With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
And worms will not come to thee.

Arv. With fairest flowers,

Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack
The flower, that 's like thy face, pale primrose; nor
The azur'd hair-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom, not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath. The ruddock would,
With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming

Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
Without a monument!) bring thee all this;

Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,
To winter-ground thy corse.-

Guid. Pr'ythee have done;

And do not play in wench-like words with that

Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
And not protract with admiration what
Is now due debt. To the grave.

Arv. Say, where shall we lay him?
Guid. By good Euriphile, our mother.
Arv. Be 't so:

And let us Polydore, though now our voices

Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground,
As once our mother; use like note, and words,
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

Guid. Cadwal,

I cannot sing; I'll weep and word it with thee:
For notes of sorrow out of tune, are worse
Than priests and fanes that lie.

Arv. We'll speak it then.

Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less: for Cloter Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys;

And, though he came our enemy, remember,

He was paid for that: though mean and mighty, rotting
Together, have one dust; yet reverence,

(That angel of the world) doth make distinction

Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely;
And though you took his life, as being our foe,

Yet bury him as a prince.

Guid. Pray you, fetch him hither.

Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,
When neither are alive.

Arv. If you 'll go fetch him,

We'll say our song the whilst.-Brother begin.

[Exit BELARIUS.

Guid. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the East;

My father hath a reason for 't.

Arv. "T is true.

Guid. Come on then, and remove him.

Arv. So, begin.

SONG.

Guid. Fear no more the heat o' the surr,

Nor the furious winter's rages;

Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:

Golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe, and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.