Cæs.
He calls me boy; and chides, as he had power
To beat me out of Ægypt: my messenger

He hath whipp'd with rods; dares me to personal combat,
Cæsar to Antony: Let the old ruffian know,
^{7 note}

Mec.
Cæsar must think,
When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now
Make boot ^{8 note}of his distraction: Never anger
Made good guard for itself.

Cæs.
Let our best heads
Know, that to-morrow the last of many battles
We mean to fight:—Within our files there are
Of those that serv'd Mark Antony but late,
Enough to fetch him in. See it done;
And feast the army: we have store to do't,
And they have earn'd the waste. Poor Antony! [Exeunt.

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