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