How Cæsar hath deserv'd to lie in death, Tell him, so please him come unto this place, Serv. I'll fetch him presently. [Exit Servant. Bru. I know, that we shall have him well to friend. Cas. I wish, we may; but yet have I a mind, That fears him much; and my misgiving still Falls shrewdly to the purpose. Re-enter Antony. Bru. But here comes Antony.-Welcome, Mark Antony. Ant. O mighty Cæsar! Dost thou lie so low? Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, 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;1 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, No place will please me so, no mean of death, (1) Grown too high for the public safety. 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, Bru. Only be patient, till we have appeas'd 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, Shail it not grieve thee, dearer than thy death, In terms of friendship with thine enemies. hart; Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand, Cas. Mark Antony, Cas. I blame you not for praising Cæsar so; But what compact 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, in deed, Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Cæsar. Ant. Bru. You shall, Mark Antony. Brutus, a word with you You know not what you do; Do not consent, That Antony speak in his funeral: [Aside. 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 show the reason of our Cæsar's death: 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 desire no more. Be it so; Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us. [Exeunt all but Antony. Ant. O, pardon me, thou piece of bleeding earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers! Thou art the ruins of the noblest man, That ever lived in the tidel of times. Wo to the hand that shed this costly blood! Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips Domestic fury, and fierce civil strife, And dreadful objects so familiar, That mothers shall but smile, when they behold (1) Course. Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice, Enter a Servant. You serve Octavius Cæsar, do you not? 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 chanc'd: Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet stay a while; Enter Lend your hand. [Exeunt, with Cæsar's body. (1) The signal for giving no quarter. (2) To let slip a dog at a deer, &c. was the echnical phrase of Shakspeare's time. |