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Caf. What would you more? Pompey, good night.
Good brother,

Let me request you off; our graver bufinefs
Frowns at this levity. Gentle Lords, let's part;
You fee, we have burnt our cheeks. Strong Enobarbus
Is weaker than the wind; and mine own tongue
Splits what it speaks; the wild difguife hath almoft
Antickt us all. What needs more words? good night.
Good Antony, your hand.

Pomp. I'll try you on the fhore.

Ant. And fhall, Sir; give's your hand.

Pomp. Oh, Antony, you have my father's houfe. But, what! we're friends; come down into the boat. Eno. Take heed you fall not, Menas.

Men. I'll not on shore.

No, to my cabin-thefe drums!

Thefe trumpets, flutes! what!

Let Neptune hear, we bid a loud farewel

To thefe great fellows. Sound, and be hang'd, found out.

[Sound a flourish,

Eno. Hoo, fays 'a! there's my cap..

Mer, Hoa!.

noble captain, come.

with drums.

[Exeunt.

ACT

A C T III.

SCENE, a Camp in a Part of Syria.

Enter Ventidius, as after Conqueft; the dead body of Pacorus borne before him, Silius, Roman Soldiers, and Attendants.

NOW

VENTIDI U S.

JOW, darting Parthia, art thou ftrack; and now Pleas'd Fortune does of Marcus Craffus' death Make me revenger. Bear the King's fon's body Before our hoft; thy Pacorus, Orodes,

Pays this for Marcus Craffus.

Sil. Noble Ventidius,

Whilft yet with Parthian blood thy fword is warm,
The fugitive Parthians follow: fpur through Media,
Mefopotamia, and the fhelters whither

The routed fly. So thy grand captain Antony
Shall fet thee on triumphant chariots, and
Put garlands on thy head.

Ven. Oh Silius, Silius,

I've done enough. A lower place, note well,

May make too great an act: for learn this, Silius,

Better to leave undone, than by our deed

Acquire too high a fame, when he, we ferve, 's away. Cæfar and Antony have ever won

More in their officer, than perfon.

Soffius,

One of my place in Syria, his Lieutenant,

For quick accumulation of renown,

Which he atchiev'd by the minute, loft his favour.
Who does i'th' wars more than his captain can,
Becomes his captain's captain; and ambition,
(The foldier's virtue) rather makes choice of loss,
Than gain which darkens him.

I could

I could do more to do Antonius good,

But 'twould offend him; and in his offence
Should my performance perish.

Sil. Thou haft, Ventidius, that, without the which A foldier and his fword grants fcarce diftinction: Thou wilt write to Antony?

Ven. I'll humbly fignify what in his name,
That magical word of war, we have effected;
How with his banners, and his well-paid ranks,
The ne'er-yet-beaten horfe of Parthia
We've jaded out o'th' field.

Sil. Where is he now?

Ven. He purpofeth to Athens; with what hafte The weight we must convey with's will permit, We fhall appear before him. On, there;pafs along

SCENE changes to Rome.

[Exeunt.

Enter Agrippa at one door, Enobarbus at another.

Agr.

W 7Hat, are the brothers parted?

d

Eno. They have dispatch'd with Pompey, he is gone.

The other three are fealing.

Octavia weeps,

To part from Rome: Cæfar is fad: and Lepidus,
Since Pompey's feaft, as Menas fays, is troubled:
With the green fickness.

Agr. "Tis a noble Lepidus.

Eno. A very fine one; oh, how he loves Cafar!
Agr. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony
Eno. Cæfar? why, he's the Jupiter of men.
Agr. What's Antony, the God of Jupiter?
Eno. Speak you of Cæfar? oh! the non-pareil!
Agr. Oh Antony, oh thou Arabian bird!

Eno. Would you praife Cafar, fay,Cæfar; go no

further.

Agr. Indeed, he plied them both with excellent praifes. Eno. But he loves Cæfar beft, yet he loves Antony : Ho! hearts, tongues, figure, fcribes, bards, poets, cannot

Think, fpeak, caft, write, fing, number, ho!
His love to Antony. But as for Cæfar,

Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder-
Arg. Both he loves.

Eno. They are his fhards, and he their beetle; fo--This is to horfe; adieu, noble Agrippa.

[Trumpets. Agr. Good fortune, worthy foldier, and farewel.

Enter Cæfar, Antony, Lepidus, and Octavia.

Ant. No further, Sir.

Caf. You take from me a great part of myself:
Use me well in't. Sifter, prove fuch a wife
As my thoughts make thee, and my farthest bond
Shall pafs on thy approof. Moft noble Antony,
Let not the piece of virtue, which is fet (17)
Betwixt us, as the cement of our love,

To keep it builded, be the ram to batter
The fortrefs of it: for better might we

Have lov'd without this mean, if on both parts
This be not cherisht.

Ant. Make me not offended

In your diftruft.

Caf. I've faid.

Ant. You shall not find,

Though you be therein curious, the leaft caufe
For what you feem to fear; fo the Gods keep you,
And make the hearts of Romans ferve your ends!

(17) Let not the Piece of Virtue, which is fet
Betwixt us, as the Cement of our Love,

To keep it builded, be the Ram to batter
The Fortune of it

There is no Confonance of Metaphor preferved in the Close of this Sentence; Love is here prefented under the Image of a Fabrick; and Cement, builded, and the Ram to batter, have all an Agreement with this Image: but what Analogy is there to this, in the Word Fortune? Or what Idea can the Fortune of a Building furnish? I corrected fome years ago, in Print, by Conjecture, Forirefs: and, to my Satisfaction, fo foon as I was Mafter of the firft Folio Edition, upon confulting it, I found, I had ftruck out the true Reading.

We

We will here part.

Caf. Farewel, my dearest fifter, fare thee well;
The elements be kind to thee, and make

Thy fpirits all of comfort! fare thee well.
Octa. My noble brother!

Ant. The April's in her eyes: it is love's fpring,
And these the showers to bring it on; be chearful.
Octa. Sir, look well to my husband's house; and-
Caf. What Octavia.

Octa. I'll tell you in your ear.

Ant. Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can Her heart inform her tongue; the swan's down-feather, That ftands upon the fwell at full of tide,

And neither way inclines.

Eno. Will Cafar weep?

Agr. He has a cloud in's face.

Eno. He were the worfe for that, were he a horse; So is he, being a man.

Agr. Why, Enobarbus?

When Antony found Julius Cæfar dead,

He cried almost to roaring; and he wept,

When at Philippi he found Brutus flain.

Eno. That year, indeed, he was troubled with a rheum;

What willingly he did confound, he wail'd;

Believe't, 'till I wept too. (18)

Caf. No, fweet Octavia,

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You fhall hear from me ftill; the time shall not
Out-go my thinking on you.

18) Believe't, till I weep too.] I have ventured to alter the Tenfe of the Verb here, against the Authority of all the Copies. There was no Senfe in it, I think, as it ftood before. Enobarbus would fay," Indeed, Antony feemed very free of his Tears that "Year; and believe me, bewailed all the Mifchiefs he did, till "I myself wept too." This appears to me very farcaftical. Antony's Tears, he would infer, were diffembled: but Enobarbus wept in real Compaffion of the Havock and Slaughters committed on his Countrymen.

Ant.

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