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
With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome.

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:
Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest;
Cæsar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving.
Say I love Brutus and I honour him;

130 Say I fear'd Cæsar, honour'd him, and lov'd him.
If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony
May safely come to him and be resolv'd
How Cæsar hath deserv'd to lie in death,
Mark Antony shall not love Cæsar dead
135 So well as Brutus living, but will follow
The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus
Thorough the hazards of this untrod state
With all true faith. So says my master Antony.

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

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? 150 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: If I myself, there is no hour so fit

155 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, 160 Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, I shall not find myself so apt to die:

165

No place will please me so, no mean of death,
As here by Cæsar, and by you cut off,
The choice and master spirits of this age.

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:
170 Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful;

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

180

Of brothers' temper, do receive you in

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
The multitude, beside themselves with fear,
And then we will deliver you the cause

Why I, that did love Cæsar when I struck him,
Have thus proceeded.

Ant.

I doubt not of your wisdom. 185 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;

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,
That one of two bad ways you must conceit me,
Either a coward or a flatterer.

195 That I did love thee, Cæsar, O, 'tis true!

If then thy spirit look upon us now,

Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death,
To see thy Antony making his peace,
Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes,
200 Most noble! in the presence of thy corse?
Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds,
Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood,
It would become me better than to close
In terms of friendship with thine enemies.