[Actus Quintus. Scene I.]
Enter Cæſar, Agrippa, Dollabella, Menas, with
his Counſell of Warre.
Go to him Dollabella, bid him yeeld.
Being ſo fruſtrate, tell him,
He mockes the pawſes that he makes.
Cæſar, I ſhall.
Enter Decretas with the ſword of Anthony.
Wherefore is that? And what art thou that dar'ſt
Appeare thus to vs?
I am call'd Decretas,
Marke Anthony I ſeru'd, who beſt was worthie
Beſt to be ſeru'd: whil'ſt he ſtood vp, and ſpoke
He was my Maſter, and I wore my life
To ſpend vpon his haters. If thou pleaſe
To take me to thee, as I was to him,
Ile be to Cæſar: if yu pleaſeſt not, I yeild thee vp my life.
What is't thou ſay'ſt?
I ſay (Oh Cæſar) Anthony is dead.
The breaking of ſo great a thing, ſhould make
A greater cracke. The round World
Should haue ſhooke Lyons into ciuill ſtreets,
And Cittizens to their dennes. The death of Anthony
Is not a ſingle doome, in the name lay
A moity of the world.
He is dead Cæſar,
Not by a publike miniſter of Iuſtice,
Nor by a hyred Knife, but that ſelfe-hand
Which writ his Honor in the Acts it did,
Hath with the Courage which the heart did lend it,
Splitted the heart. This is his Sword,
I robb'd his wound of it: behold it ſtain'd
With his moſt Noble blood.
Looke you ſad Friends,
The Gods rebuke me, but it is Tydings
To waſh the eyes of Kings.
And ſtrange it is,
That Nature muſt compell vs to lament
Our moſt perſiſted deeds.
His taints and Honours, wag'd equal with him.
A Rarer ſpirit neuer
Did ſteere humanity: but you Gods will giue vs
Some faults to make vs men. Cæſar is touch'd.
When ſuch a ſpacious Mirror's ſet before him,
He needes muſt ſee him ſelfe.
I haue followed thee to this, but we do launch
Diſeaſes in our Bodies. I muſt perforce
Haue ſhewne to thee ſuch a declining day,
Or looke on thine: we could not ſtall together,
In the whole world. But yet let me lament
With teares as Soueraigne as the blood of hearts,
That thou my Brother, my Competitor,
In top of all deſigne; my Mate in Empire,
Friend and Companion in the front of Warre,
The Arme of mine owne Body, and the Heart
Where mine his thoughts did kindle; that our Starres
Vnreconciliable, ſhould diuide our equalneſſe to this.
Heare me good Friends,
But I will tell you at ſome meeter Seaſon,
The buſineſſe of this man lookes out of him,
Wee'l heare him what he ſayes.
Enter an Ægyptian.
Whence are you?
A poore Egyptian yet, the Queen my miſtris
Confin'd in all, ſhe has her Monument
Of thy intents, deſires, inſtruction,
That ſhe preparedly may frame her ſelfe
To'th'way ſhee's forc'd too.
Bid her haue good heart,
She ſoone ſhall know of vs, by ſome of ours,
How honourable, and how kindely Wee
Determine for her. For Cæſar cannot leaue to be vngentle
So the Gods preſerue thee. Exit.
Come hither Proculeius. Go and ſay
We purpoſe her no ſhame: giue her what comforts
The quality of her paſſion ſhall require;
Leaſt in her greatneſſe, by ſome mortall ſtroke
She do defeate vs. For her life in Rome,
Would be eternall in our Triumph: Go,
And with your ſpeedieſt bring vs what ſhe ſayes,
And how you finde of her.
Cæſar I ſhall. Exit Proculeius.
Gallus, go you along: where's Dolabella, to ſe-
Let him alone: for I remember now
How hee's imployd: he ſhall in time be ready.
Go with me to my Tent, where you ſhall ſee
How hardly I was drawne into this Warre,
How calme and gentle I proceeded ſtill
In all my Writings. Go with me, and ſee
What I can ſhew in this. Exeunt.