Part 13

Exit Seruant.

Bru. I know that we shall haue him well to Friend

Cassi. I wish we may: But yet haue I a minde That feares him much: and my misgiuing still Falles shrewdly to the purpose. Enter Antony.

Bru. But heere comes Antony: Welcome Mark Antony

Ant. O mighty Caesar! Dost thou lye so lowe? Are all thy Conquests, Glories, Triumphes, Spoiles, Shrunke to this little Measure? Fare thee well. I know not Gentlemen what you intend, Who else must be let blood, who else is ranke: If I my selfe, there is no houre so fit As Caesars deaths houre; nor no Instrument Of halfe that worth, as those your Swords; made rich With the most Noble blood of all this World. I do beseech yee, if you beare me hard, Now, whil'st your purpled hands do reeke and smoake, Fulfill your pleasure. Liue a thousand yeeres, I shall not finde my selfe so apt to dye. No place will please me so, no meane of death, As heere by Caesar, and by you cut off, The Choice and Master Spirits of this Age

Bru. O Antony! Begge not your death of vs: Though now we must appeare bloody and cruell, As by our hands, and this our present Acte You see we do: Yet see you but our hands, And this, the bleeding businesse they haue done: Our hearts you see not, they are pittifull: And pitty to the generall wrong of Rome, As fire driues out fire, so pitty, pitty Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part, To you, our Swords haue leaden points Marke Antony: Our Armes in strength of malice, and our Hearts Of Brothers temper, do receiue you in, With all kinde loue, good thoughts, and reuerence

Cassi. Your voyce shall be as strong as any mans, In the disposing of new Dignities

Bru. Onely be patient, till we haue appeas'd The Multitude, beside themselues with feare, And then, we will deliuer you the cause, Why I, that did loue Caesar when I strooke him, Haue thus proceeded

Ant. I doubt not of your Wisedome: 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 Caska, yours; Though last, not least in loue, yours good Trebonius. Gentlemen all: Alas, what shall I say, My credit now stands on such slippery ground, That one of two bad wayes you must conceit me, Either a Coward, or a Flatterer. That I did loue thee Caesar, O 'tis true: If then thy Spirit looke vpon vs now, Shall it not greeue thee deerer then thy death, To see thy Antony making his peace, Shaking the bloody fingers of thy Foes? Most Noble, in the presence of thy Coarse, Had I as many eyes, as thou hast wounds, Weeping as fast as they streame forth thy blood, It would become me better, then to close In tearmes of Friendship with thine enemies. Pardon me Iulius, heere was't thou bay'd braue Hart, Heere did'st thou fall, and heere thy Hunters stand Sign'd in thy Spoyle, and Crimson'd in thy Lethee. O World! thou wast the Forrest to this Hart, And this indeed, O World, the Hart of thee. How like a Deere, stroken by many Princes, Dost thou heere lye? Cassi. Mark Antony

Ant. Pardon me Caius Cassius: The Enemies of Caesar, shall say this: Then, in a Friend, it is cold Modestie

Cassi. I blame you not for praising Caesar so. But what compact meane you to haue with vs? Will you be prick'd in number of our Friends, Or shall we on, and not depend on you? Ant. Therefore I tooke your hands, but was indeed Sway'd from the point, by looking downe on Caesar. Friends am I with you all, and loue you all, Vpon this hope, that you shall giue me Reasons, Why, and wherein, Caesar was dangerous

Bru. Or else were this a sauage Spectacle: Our Reasons are so full of good regard, That were you Antony, the Sonne of Caesar, You should be satisfied

Ant. That's all I seeke, And am moreouer sutor, that I may Produce his body to the Market-place, And in the Pulpit as becomes a Friend, Speake in the Order of his Funerall

Bru. You shall Marke Antony

Cassi. Brutus, a word with you: You know not what you do; Do not consent That Antony speake in his Funerall: Know you how much the people may be mou'd By that which he will vtter

Bru. By your pardon: I will my selfe into the Pulpit first, And shew the reason of our Caesars death. What Antony shall speake, I will protest He speakes by leaue, and by permission: And that we are contented Caesar shall Haue all true Rites, and lawfull Ceremonies, It shall aduantage more, then do vs wrong

Cassi. I know not what may fall, I like it not

Bru. Mark Antony, heere take you Caesars body: You shall not in your Funerall speech blame vs, But speake all good you can deuise of Caesar, And say you doo't by our permission: Else shall you not haue any hand at all About his Funerall. And you shall speake In the same Pulpit whereto I am going, After my speech is ended

Ant. Be it so: I do desire no more

Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow vs.

Exeunt.

Manet Antony.

O pardon me, thou bleeding peece of Earth: That I am meeke and gentle with these Butchers. Thou art the Ruines of the Noblest man That euer liued in the Tide of Times. Woe to the hand that shed this costly Blood. Ouer thy wounds, now do I Prophesie, (Which like dumbe mouthes do ope their Ruby lips, To begge the voyce and vtterance of my Tongue) A Curse shall light vpon the limbes of men; Domesticke Fury, and fierce Ciuill strife, Shall cumber all the parts of Italy: Blood and destruction shall be so in vse, And dreadfull Obiects so familiar, That Mothers shall but smile, when they behold Their Infants quartered with the hands of Warre: All pitty choak'd with custome of fell deeds, And Caesars Spirit ranging for Reuenge, With Ate by his side, come hot from Hell, Shall in these Confines, with a Monarkes voyce, Cry hauocke, and let slip the Dogges of Warre, That this foule deede, shall smell aboue the earth With Carrion men, groaning for Buriall. Enter Octauio's Seruant.

You serue Octauius Caesar, do you not? Ser. I do Marke Antony

Ant. Caesar did write for him to come to Rome

Ser. He did receiue his Letters, and is comming, And bid me say to you by word of mouth- O Caesar! Ant. Thy heart is bigge: get thee a-part and weepe: Passion I see is catching from mine eyes, Seeing those Beads of sorrow stand in thine, Began to water. Is thy Master comming? Ser. He lies to night within seuen Leagues of Rome

Ant. Post backe with speede, And tell him what hath chanc'd: Heere is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, No Rome of safety for Octauius yet, Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet stay a-while, Thou shalt not backe, till I haue borne this course Into the Market place: There shall I try In my Oration, how the People take The cruell issue of these bloody men, According to the which, thou shalt discourse To yong Octauius, of the state of things. Lend me your hand.

Exeunt.