Bru. Do fo; and let no man abide this deed,

But we the Doers.

Enter Trebonius.

Caf. Where is Antony?

Tre. Fled to his Houfe amaz'd.

Men, wives, and children, ftare, cry out, and run, As it were Dooms-day.

Bru. Fates! we will know your pleasures; That we fhall die, we know: 'tis but the time, And drawing days out, that men stand upon.

Caf. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life, Cuts off fo many years of fearing death.

Bru. Grant That, and then is death a benefit:
So are we Cafar's friends, that have abridg'd

His time of fearing death. (11) Stoop, Romans, ftoop;
And let us bathe our hands in Cafar's blood
Up to the elbows, and befmear our swords;
Then walk we forth even to the Market-place,

(11) Stoop, Romans, stoop,] Mr. Pope, in both his Editions, has, from these Words, arbitrarily taken away the Remainder of this Speech from Brutus, and placed it to Cafca: because, he thinks, nothing is more inconfiftent with Brutus's mild and philofophical Character. And as he often finds Speeches in the later Editions, he says, put into wrong Mouths; he thinks, this Liberty is not unreasonable. 'Tis true, a diligent Editor may find many fuch Errors committed even in the first printed Copies; but it has not often been Mr. Pope's good Fortune to hit upon them. I dare warrant, the Printers made no Blunder in this Inftance; and therefore I have made bold to restore the Speech to its right Owner. Brutus efteem'd the Death of Casar a Sacrifice to Liberty: and, as fuch, gloried in his heading the Enterprize. Besides, our Poet is strictly copying a Fact in Hiftory. Plutarch, in the Life of Cafar, says, "Brutus and his "Followers, being yet hot with the Murther, march'd in a Body "from the Senate-houfe to the Capitol, with their drawn Swords, " with an Air of Confidence and Affurance." And, in the Life of Brutus, "Brutus and his Party betook themselves to "the Capitol, and in their way fhewing their Hands all bloody, "and their naked Swords, aim'd Liberty to the People."

And,

And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads,
Let's all cry, "peace! freedom! and liberty!
Caf. Stoop then, and wash-how many ages hence
[Dipping their words in Cæfar's blood.

Shall this our lofty Scene be acted o'er,

In States unborn, and accents yet unknown?
Bru. How many times fhall Cæfar bleed in sport,

in That now on Pompey's Bafis lies along,
No worthier than the duft?

Caf. 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, fhall we forth?

Caf. Ay, every man away.

Brutus fnall lead, and we will grace his heels
With the most boldeft, and beft hearts of Rome.

Enter a Servant.

[kneeling

Bru. Soft, who comes here? A friend of Antony's.
Ser. Thus, Brutus, did my mafter bid me kneel;
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down;
And, being proftrate, thus he bad me fay.
Brutus is noble, wife, valiant and honeft;
Cæfar was mighty, royal, bold and loving;
Say, I love Brutus, and I honour him;

Say, I fear'd Cæfar, honour'd him, and lov'd him.
If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony
May fafely come to him, and be refolv'd
How Cefar hath deferv'd to lie in death:
Mark Antony fhall not love Cæfar dead,
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 fays my mafter Antony.
Bru. Thy mafter is a wife and valiant Roman;
I never thought him worse.

Tell him, fo please him come unto this place,
He fhall be fatisfied; and, by my honour,

Depart untouch'd.

Serv. I'll fetch him presently.

Bru. I know, that we fhall have him well to friend. Caf. I wish, we may: but yet have I a mind, That fears him much; and my misgiving ftill Falls fhrewdly to the purpose.

Enter Antony.

Bru. But here comes Antony.

tony.

Welcome, Mark An

Ant. O mighty Cæfar! doft thou lye fo low?
Are all thy conquefts, glories, triumphs, fpoils,
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 fo fit

As Cafar's death's hour; nor no inftrument

Of half that worth as those your fwords, made rich
With the most noble blood of all this world.

I do beseech ye, if ye bear me hard,

Now, whilft your purpled hands do reek and smoak,
Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years,

I fhall not find myself fo apt to die:

No place will please me fo, no meane of death,
As here by Cafar, 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 mult appear bloody and cruel,
As, by our hands, and this our present act,
You fee, we do; yet fee you but our hands,
And this the bleeding business they have done :
Our hearts you fee not, they are pitiful;
And pity to the general wrong of Rome
(As fire drives out fire, fo pity, pity ;)

Hath done this deed on Cæfar: For your part,
To you our fwords have leaden points, Mark Antony;
Our arms exempt from malice; and our hearts,
Of brothers' temper, do receive you in

With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence.
Caf. Your voice fhall be as ftrong as any man's
In the difpofing of new dignities.

Bru. Only be patient, "till we have appeas'd

The

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

Why I, that did love Cæfar when I ftrook him,
Proceeded thus.

Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom.

Let each man render me his bloody hand;
Firft, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you;
Next, Caius Caffius, do I take your hand;
Now, Decius Brutus, yours; now yours, Metellus;
Yours, Cinna; and, my valiant Cafca, yours;
Tho' laft, not leaft in love, yours, good Trebonius.
Gentlemen all-alas, what fhall I say?
My credit now ftands on such flippery ground,
That one of two bad ways you must conceit me,
Either a coward or a flatterer.

That I did love thee, Cafar, oh, 'tis true;
If then thy spirit look upon us now,
Shall it not grieve thee, dearer than thy death,
To fee thy Antony making his peace,
Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes,
Moft Noble! in the prefence of thy corse?
Had I as many eyes, as thou haft wounds,
Weeping as fast as they ftream forth thy blood,
It would become me better, than to close
In terms of friendship with thine enemies.

Pardon me, Julius-here waft thou bay'd, brave hart;
Here didft thou fall, and here thy hunters ftand
Sign'd in thy fpoil, (12) and crimson'd in thy death.
O world! thou waft the foreft to this hart,

And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee.

(12) And crimson'd in thy Death.] All the old Copies, tha I have seen, read, Lethe. The Dictionaries, indeed, acknowledge no fuch Word: and as the L might have mistakingly been form'd from an obfcure D, not taking the Ink equally in all Parts, I have fuffer'd the more known Word to ftand in the Text; tho', indeed, I am not without Sufpicion of our Poet's having either coin'd the other Term, or copied it from some obfolete Author, who had adopted it from the Lethum of the Latines; which, 'tis well known, was usedf or Death, as well as Destruction, Ruin, Havock, &c.

How

How like a deer, ftricken by many Princes,
Doft thou here lye?

Caf. Mark Antony

Ant. Pardon me, Caius Caffius: The enemies of Cæfar fhall fay this: Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty.

Caf. I blame you not for praifing Cafar fo, But what compact mean you to have with us? Will you be prick'd in number of our friends, Or fhall we on, and not depend on you?

Ant. Therefore I took your hands; but was, indeed, Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Cæfar. Friends am I with you all, and love you all;

Upon this hope, that you fhall give me reasons,
Why, and wherein Cafar was dangerous.
Bru. Or elfe this were a favage spectacle.
Our reasons are fo full of good regard,
That were you, Antony, the Son of Cafer,
You fhould be fatisfied.

Ant. That's all I feek;

And am moreover fuitor, that I may
Produce his body to the market-place,
And in the Pulpit, as becomes a friend,
Speak in the order of his funeral.

Bru. You fhall, Mark Antony.
Caf. Brutus, a word with you.

You know not what you do; do not confent,"

That Antony speak in his funeral :

Know you, how much the People may be mov'd
By That which he will utter?

Bru. By your pardon,

I will myself into the Pulpit firft,

[Afide.

And fhew the reafon of our Cafar's death.
What Antony fhall speak, I will protest
He speaks by leave, and by permiffion;
And that we are contented, Cæfar fhall
Have all due rites, and lawful ceremonies :
It fhall advantage more, than do us wrong.
Caf. I know not what may fall, I like it not.
Bru. Mark Antony, here, take you Cafar's body:

You