Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords: Then walk we forth, even to the market-place, 110 And waving our red weapons o'er our heads, Let's all cry, "Peace, freedom, and liberty!" 115 120 Cas. Stoop then, and wash. How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted over In states unborn and accents yet unknown! Bru. How many times shall Cæsar bleed in sport, That now on Pompey's basis lies along No worthier than the dust! Cas. So oft as that shall be, So often shall the knot of us be call'd The men that gave their country liberty. Dec. What, shall we forth? Cas. Ay, every man away: Brutus shall lead, and we will grace his heels Enter a Servant. Bru. Soft! who comes here? A friend of Antony's. Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel; 125 Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down; And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say : 130 Say I fear'd Cæsar, honour'd him, and lov'd him. Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman; 140 I never thought him worse. 145 Tell him, so please him come unto this place, He shall be satisfied and, by my honour, Depart untouch'd. Serv. I'll fetch him presently. [Exit. 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 Re-enter ANTONY. Bru. But here comes Antony. Welcome, Mark Antony. 155 As Cæsar's death's hour, nor no instrument Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, 165 No place will please me so, no mean of death, Bru. O Antony, beg not your death of us. 1 And pity to the general wrong of Rome - Hath done this deed on Cæsar. For your part, To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony: 175 Our arms in strength of malice, and our hearts Of brothers' temper, do receive you in 180 With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any man's In the disposing of new dignities. Bru. Only be patient till we have appeas'd Why I, that did love Cæsar when I struck him, wisdom. Ant. 190 Though last, not least in love, yours, good Trebonius. Gentlemen all, — alas, what shall I say? My credit now stands on such slippery ground, 195 That I did love thee, Cæsar, O, 'tis true! Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death, |