Pro.
Halt. We must here abide, till Dolabella
Arrive, to tell us how we may proceed,
In the interment of Mark Antony;
Lo! in good time, he comes. Enter Dolabella.

Dol.
Well met, my friends,—
If well we meet upon a cause so mournful.

Pro.
Antony was your friend.

Dol.
He was;—none, once,
So dear to me as Antony;—not Cæsar;
We were so closed within each other's bosoms
The rivets were not found that join'd us fast.
War sunder'd us!—Oh, in his happier day,
His legs bestrid the ocean;—his rear'd arm
Crested the world;—his voice was propertied
As all the tuned spheres, unto his friends;
But when he meant to quail, and strike the orb,
He was as rattling thunder.

Proc.
How stands the order for our march?

Dol.
E'en thus:—
Attend the ceremony, as to serve,
Rather than to command, its order.—They

Who serv'd Mark Antony, e'en to the last,
The best will honour him.—Our Cæsar's troops
Must be subservient;—Antony's adherents
Must fix the order of procession, and
Admit us, or reject us, at their will.

Pro.
I am instructed.

Dol.
I shall go with you.

Pro.
Now, soldiers, march! (Soldiers and their Leaders march out.)

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