The other three are sealing. Octavia weeps
To part from Rome: Cæsar is sad; and Lepidus,
Since Pompey's feast, as Menas says, is troubled
With the green sickness.

Agr.

'Tis a noble Lepidus.

Eno. A very fine one: O, how he loves Cæsar!

Agr. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark An

tony!

Eno. Cæsar? Why, he's the Jupiter of men.

Agr. What's Antony? The god of Jupiter.

Eno. Spake you of Cæsar? How? the nonpa

reil!

Agr. O Antony! O thou Arabian bird 26!

Eno. Would you praise Cæsar, say,-Cæsar;-go no further.

Agr. Indeed, he ply'd them both with excellent praises.

Eno. But he loves Cæsar best;-Yet he loves Antony:

Ho! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets,

cannot

Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho, his love To Antony. But as for Cæsar,

Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder.

Agr.

Both he loves.

Eno. They are his shards, and he their beetle. So,

This is to horse.-Adieu, noble Agrippa.

[Trumpets.

Agr: Good fortune, worthy soldier; and fare

well.

Enter CESAR, ANTONY, LEPIDUS, and OCTAVIA.

Ant. No further, sir.

Cas. You take from me a great part of myself;
Use me well in it.-Sister, prove such a wife
As my thoughts make thee, and as my furthest band
Shall pass on thy approof. Most noble Antony,
Let not the piece of virtue, which is set
Betwixt us, as the cement of our love,
To keep it builded, be the ram, to batter
The fortress of it: for better might we

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

Though you be therein curious, the least cause
For what you seem to fear: So, the gods keep you,
And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends!
We will here part.

Cas. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well; The elements be kind to thee, and make

Thy spirits all of comfort! fare thee well.

Octa. My noble brother!

Ant. The April's in her eyes: It is love's spring, And these the showers to bring it on.-Be cheerful. Octa. Sir, look well to my husband's house; and

Cæs. Octavia?

What,

Ant. Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can

Her heart inform her tongue: the swan's down

feather,

That stands upon the swell at full of tide,

And neither way inclines.

Eno. Will Cæsar weep?

[Aside to Agrippa.

He has a cloud in's face.

Agr.

Eno. He were the worse for that, were he a

horse 27;

So is he, being a man.

Agr.

Why, Enobarbus?

When Antony found Julius Cæsar dead,
He cried almost to roaring: and he wept,

When at Philippi he found Brutus slain.

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

rheum;

What willingly he did confound, he wail'd:

Believe it, till 1 weep too 28.

I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love:
Look, here I have you; thus I let you go,

And give you to the gods.

Cæs.

Adieu; be happy!

Lep. Let all the number of the stars give light

To thy fair way!

Cæs.

Farewell, farewell! [kisses Octavia.

Cleo. Go to, go to:-Come hither, sir.

Alex.

Enter a Messenger.

Good majesty,

Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you,

But when you are well pleas'd.

Cleo.

That Herod's head

I'll have: But how? when Antony is gone

Through whom I might command it.-Come thou

I look'd her in the face; and saw her led
Between her brother and Mark Antony.

Cleo. Is she as tall as me 29?

Mess.

She is not, madam.

Cleo. Didst hear her speak? Is she shrill-tongu'd,

or low?

Mess. Madam, I heard her speak; she is lowvoic'd.

Cleo. That's not so good:-he cannot like her long. Char. Like her? O Isis! 'tis impossible.

Cleo. I think so, Charmian: Dull of tongue, and dwarfish!

What majesty is in her gait? Remember,

If e'er thou look'dst on majesty.

Mess.

She creeps;

Her motion and her station are as one:

She shows a body rather than a life;

A statue, than a breather.

I do perceive't:-There's nothing in her yet:

The fellow has good judgement.

Char.

Cleo. Guess at her years, I pr'ythee.

Mess.

She was a widow.

Cleo.

Excellent.

Madam,

Widow?-Charmian, hark.

Mess. And I do think, she's thirty.

Cleo. Bear'st thou her face in mind? is it long, or

round?