Cæs.
You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know,
It is not Cæsar's natural vice to hate
Our great competitor. From Alexandria
This is the news; He fishes, drinks, and wastes
The lamps of night in revel; is not more man-like
Than Cleopatra; nor the queen of Ptolemy
More womanly than he; hardly gave audience, or
Vouchaf'd to think he had partners. You shall find there
A man, who is the abstract of all faults,
That all men follow.

Lep.
I must not think there are
Evils enough to darken all his goodness.
His faults, in him, seem as hereditary
Rather than purchased; what he cannot change,
Than what he chooses.

Cæs.
You are too indulgent. Grant it not amiss
To give a kingdom for a mirth, to sit
And keep the turn of tipling with a slave;
To reel the streets at noon; say this becomes him;
(As his composure must be rare, indeed,

Whom these things cannot blemish;) Yet is Antony
No way excused; for to confound such time,
That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud
As our state, with his own,—'tis to be chid
As we rate boys, who, ripening into knowledge,
Pawn their experience to their present pleasure,
And so rebel to judgment. Enter a Messenger.

Lep.
Here's more news.

Mess.
Pompey is strong at sea;
And, it appears, he is belov'd of those
That only have fear'd Cæsar: to the ports
The discontents repair, and men's opinions
Give him much wrong'd. Enter another Messenger.

Mess.
Cæsar, I bring thee word,
Menacrates and Menas, famous pirates,
Make the sea serve them:
No vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon
Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes more
Than could his war resisted.

Cæs.
Antony,
Leave thy lascivious wassels: when thou once
From Mutina wert beaten, at thy heel
Did Famine follow; whom thou fought'st against,
Though daintily brought up, with patience more
Than savages could suffer; nor disdain'd
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge;
Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets,
The bark of trees thou browsed'st—and all this
Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek
So much as lank'd not.

Lep.
It is pity of him.

Cæs.
Let his shames quickly
Drive him to Rome. Time is it that we twain
Did shew ourselves i'the field; and, to that end,
Assemble we immediate council: Pompey
Thrives in our idleness.

Lep.
To-morrow, Cæsar,
I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly,
Both what by sea and land I can be able,
To front this present time.

Cæs.
Till which encounter
It is my business too. Farewel.

Lep.
Farewel, my Lord. What you shall know, meantime,
Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, Sir,
To let me be partaker.

Cæs.
Doubt not, Sir;
I knew it for my bond. [Exeunt.

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