Page:Julius Caesar (1919) Yale.djvu/61

Julius Cæsar, III. i  

Bru. But here comes Antony. Welcome, Mark Antony.

Ant. O mighty Cæsar! dost thou lie so low? 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 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 ye bear me hard, Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, I shall not find myself so apt to die: 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: Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful; And pity to the general wrong of Rome— As fire drives out fire, so pity pity— Hath done this deed on Cæsar. For your part, To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony: Our arms in strength of malice, and our hearts  152 let blood: bled, for medical purposes rank: diseased from surfeiting 159 Live: if I live 160 apt: ready, fit 161 mean: means 162 by Cæsar: beside Cæsar 174 malice: power (but not wish) to harm; cf. n. 