Enter Agrippa at one doore, Enobarbus at another.
What are the Brothers parted?
They haue diſpatcht with Pompey, he is gone,
The other three are Sealing. Octauia weepes
To part from Rome: Cæſar is ſad, and Lepidus
Since Pompey's feaſt, as Menas ſaies, is troubled
With the Greene-Sickneſſe.
'Tis a Noble Lepidus.
A very fine one: oh, how he loues Cæſar.
Nay but how deerely he adores Mark Anthony.
Cæſar? why he's the Iupiter of men.
What's Anthony, the God of Iupiter?
Spake you of Cæſar? How, the non-pareill?
Oh Anthony, oh thou Arabian Bird!
Would you praiſe Cæſar, ſay Cæſar|go no further.
Indeed he plied them both with excellent praiſes.
But he loues Cæſar beſt, yet he loues Anthony:
Hoo, Hearts, Tongues, Figure,
Scribes, Bards, Poets, cannot
Thinke ſpeake, caſt, write, ſing, number: hoo,
His loue to Anthony. But as for Cæſar,
Kneele downe, kneele downe, and wonder.
Both he loues.
They are his Shards, and he their Beetle, ſo:
This is to horſe: Adieu, Noble Agrippa.
Good Fortune worthy Souldier, and farewell.
Enter Cæſar, Anthony, Lepidus, and Octauia.
No further Sir.
You take from me a great part of my ſelfe:
Vſe me well in't. Siſter, proue ſuch a wife
As my thoughts make thee, and as my fartheſt Band
Shall paſſe on thy approofe: moſt Noble Anthony,
Let not the peece of Vertue which is ſet
Betwixt vs, as the Cyment of our loue
To keepe it builded, be the Ramme to batter
The Fortreſſe of it: for better might we
Haue lou'd without this meane, if onboth parts
This be not cheriſht.
Make me not offen ded, in your diſtruſt.
I haue ſaid.
You ſhall not finde,
Though you be therein curious, the leſt cauſe
For what you ſeeme to feare, ſo the Gods keepe you,
And make the hearts of Romaines ſerue your ends:
We will heere part.
Farewell my deereſt Siſter, fare thee well,
The Elements be kind to thee, and make
Thy ſpirits all of comfort: fare thee well.
My Noble Brother.
The Aprill's in her eyes, it is Loues ſpring,
And theſe the ſhowers to bring it on: be cheerfull.
Sir, looke well to my Husbands houſe: and——
Ile tell you in your eare.
Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can
Her heart informe her tougue.
The Swannes downe feather
That ſtands vpon the Swell at the full of Tide:
And neither way inclines.
Will Cæſar weepe?
He ha's a cloud in's face.
He were the worſe for that were he a Horſe, ſo is
he being a man.
When Anthony found Iulius Cæſar dead,
He cried almoſt to roa ring: And he wept,
When at Phillippi he found Brutus ſlaine.
That yearindeed, he was trobled with a rheume,
What willingly he did confound, he wail'd,
Beleeu't till I weepe too.
No ſweet Octauia,
You ſhall heare from me ſtill: the time ſhall not
Out-go my thinking on you.
Come Sir, come,
Ile wraſtle with you in my ſtrength of loue,
Looke heere I haue you, thus I let you go,
And giue you to the Gods.
Adieu, be happy.
Let all the number of the Starres giue light
To thy faire way.
Farewell, farewell. Kiſſes Octauia.
Farewell. Trumpets ſound. Exeunt.