Page 2547 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3
P. 2547
CÆSAR
What is’t thou say’st?
DECRETAS
I say, O Cæsar, Antony is dead.
CÆSAR
The breaking of so great a thing should make
A greater crack. The round world [15]
Should have shook lions into civil streets,
And citizens to their dens. The death of Antony
Is not a single doom, in the name lay
A moiety of the world.
DECRETAS
He is dead, Cæsar,
Not by a public minister of justice, [20]
Nor by a hired knife, but that self hand
Which writ his honour 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 [25]
With his most noble blood.
CÆSAR
Look you sad, friends?
The gods rebuke me, but it is a tidings
To wash the eyes of kings.
AGRIPPA
And strange it is,
That nature must compel us to lament
Our most persisted deeds.
MÆCENAS
His taints and honours [30]
Wag’d equal with him.
