Pom.
Your hostages I have, so have you mine;
And we shall talk before we fight.

Cæs.
Most meet,
That first we come to words; and therefore have we
Our written purposes before us sent:
Which if thou hast consider'd, let us know
If 'twill tye up thy discontented sword;
And carry back to Sicily much tall youth,
That else must perish here.

Pom.
To you all three,
The senators alone of this great world,
Chief factors for the gods,—I do not know,
Wherefore my father should revengers want,
Having a son, and friends; since Julius Cæsar,
Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted,
There saw you lab'ring for him. What was't
That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire? And what
Made the all-honour'd, honest, Roman Brutus,
With the arm'd rest, courtiers of beauteous freedom,
To drench the capitol; but that they would
Have one man but a man? And that is it,
Hath made me rig my navy; at whose burthen
The anger'd ocean foams; with which I meant
To scourge the ingratitude that despightful Rome
Cast on my noble father.

Cæs.
Take your time.

Ant.
Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy sails,
We'll speak with thee at sea: at land, thou know'st
How much we do o'er-count thee.

&blquo;Pom.
&blquo;At land, indeed,
&blquo;Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house:
&blquo;But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself,
&blquo;Remain in't, as thou may'st.

&blquo;Lep.
&blquo;Be pleas'd to tell us,
&blquo;(For this is from the present) how you take
&blquo;The offers we have sent you.

&blquo;Cæs.
&blquo;There's the point.

&blquo;Ant.
&blquo;Which do not be intreated to, but weigh
&blquo;What it is worth embrac'd.

&blquo;Cæs.
&blquo;And what may follow,
&blquo;To try a larger fortune.

Pom.
You have made me offer
Of Sicily, Sardinia; and I must
Rid all the sea of pirates: then, to send
Measures of wheat to Rome: This 'greed upon,
To part with unhack'd edges, and bear back
Our targe undinted.

Cæs. Ant. Lep.
That's our offer.

Pom.
Know then,
I came before you here, a man prepar'd
To take this offer: But Mark Antony
Put me to some impatience:—Though I lose
The praise of it by telling, you must know,
When Cæsar and your brother were at blows,
Your mother came to Sicily, and did find
Her welcome friendly.

Ant.
I have heard it, Pompey;
And am well study'd for a liberal thanks,
Which I do owe you.

Pom.
Let me have your hand:
I did not think, sir, to have met you here.

Ant.
The beds i'the east are soft: and thanks to you,
That call'd me, timelier than my purpose, hither;
For I have gain'd by't.

Cæs.
Since I saw you last,
There is a change upon you.

Pom.
Well, I know not,
What counts harsh fortune casts upon my face;
But in my bosom shall she never come,
To make my heart her vassal.

Lep.
Well met here.

Pom.
I hope so, Lepidus.—Thus we are agreed:
I crave, our composition may be written,
And seal'd between us.

Cæs.
That's the next to do.

Pom.
We'll feast each other, ere we part; and let us
Draw lots who shall begin.

Ant.
That will I, Pompey.

&blquo;Pom.
&blquo;No, noble Antony, take the lot: but, first,
&blquo;Or last, your fine Egyptian cookery
&blquo;Shall have the fame. I have heard, that Julius Cæsar
&blquo;Grew fat with feasting there.

&blquo;Ant.
&blquo;You have heard much.

&blquo;Pom.
&blquo;I have fair meaning, sir.

&blquo;Ant.
&blquo;And fair words to them.

&blquo;Pom.
&blquo;Then so much have I heard. And I have heard,
&blquo;Apollodorus carry'd—

&blquo;Eno.
&blquo;No more of that:—He did so.

&blquo;Pom.
&blquo;What, I pray you?

&blquo;Eno.
&blquo;A certain queen to Cæsar in a matress.

&blquo;Pom.
&blquo;I know thee now: How far'st thou, soldier?

&blquo;Eno.
&blquo;Well;
&blquo;And well am like to do: for, I perceive,
&blquo;Four feasts are toward.

Pom.
Let me shake thy hand;
I never hated thee: I have seen thee fight,
When I have envy'd thy behaviour.

Eno.
Sir,
I never lov'd you much; but I have prais'd you,
When you have well deserv'd ten times as much
As I have said you did.

Pom.
Enjoy thy plainness,
It nothing ill becomes thee.—
Aboard my galley I invite you all:
Will you lead, lords?

Cæs. Ant. Lep.
Shew us the way, sir.

Pom.
Come. [Exeunt Pompey, Cæsar, Antony, Lepidus, and attendants.

&blquo;* ^noteMen.

&blquo;Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have made this treaty.—You and I have known, sir.&brquo;

&blquo;Eno.

&blquo;At sea, I think.&brquo;

&blquo;Men.

&blquo;We have, sir.&brquo;

&blquo;Eno.

&blquo;You have done well by water.&brquo;

&blquo;Men.

&blquo;And you by land.&brquo;

&blquo;Eno.

&blquo;I will praise any man that will praise me: though it cannot be deny'd, what I have done by land.&brquo;

&blquo;Men.

&blquo;Nor what I have done by water.&brquo;

&blquo;Eno.

&blquo;Yes, something you can deny for your own safety: you have been a great thief by sea.&brquo;

&blquo;Men.

&blquo;And you by land.&brquo;

&blquo;Eno.

&blquo;There I deny my land-service. But give me your hand, Menas; If our eyes had authority, here they might take two thieves kissing.&brquo;

&blquo;Men.

&blquo;All men's faces are true, whatsoe'er their hands are.&brquo;

&blquo;Eno.

&blquo;But there is never a fair woman has a true face.&brquo;

&blquo;Men.

&blquo;No slander; they steal hearts.&brquo;

&blquo;Eno.

&blquo;We came hither to fight with you.&brquo;

&blquo;Men.

&blquo;For my part, I am sorry it is turn'd to a drinking. Pompey doth this day laugh away his fortune.&brquo;

&blquo;Eno.

&blquo;If he do, sure, he cannot weep it back again.&brquo;

&blquo;Men.

&blquo;You have said, sir. We look'd not for Mark Antony here; pray you, is he marry'd to Cleopatra?&brquo;

&blquo;Eno.

&blquo;Cæsar's sister is called Octavia.&brquo;

&blquo;Men.

&blquo;True, sir: she was the wife of Caius Marcellus.&brquo;

&blquo;Eno.

&blquo;But now she is the wife of Marcus Antonius.&brquo;

&blquo;Men.

&blquo;Pray you, sir,—&brquo;

&blquo;Eno.

&blquo;'Tis true.&brquo;

&blquo;Men.

&blquo;Then is Cæsar, and he, for ever knit together.&brquo;

&blquo;Eno.

&blquo;If I were bound to divine of this unity, I would not prophesy so.&brquo;

&blquo;Men.

&blquo;I think the policy of that purpose made more in the marriage, than the love of the parties.&brquo;

&blquo;Eno.

&blquo;I think so too. But you shall find, the band that seems to tye their friendship together, will be the very strangler of their amity: Octavia is of a holy, cold, and still conversation.&brquo;

&blquo;Men.

&blquo;Who would not have his wife so?&brquo;

&blquo;Eno.

&blquo;Not he, that himself is not so; which is Mark Antony. He will to his Egyptian dish again: then shall the sighs of Octavia blow the fire up in Cæsar; and, as I said before, that which is the strength of their amity, shall prove the immediate author of their variance. Antony will use his affection where it is; he marry'd but his occasion here.&brquo;

&blquo;Men.

&blquo;And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you aboard? I have a health for you.&brquo;

&blquo;Eno.

&blquo;I shall take it, sir: we have us'd our throats in Egypt.&brquo;

&blquo;Men.

&blquo;Come; let's away.&brquo;