ANTONIUS.
Hail, mighty Man! thou Godlike Cæsar, hail!
Stoop to our Wishes, and vouchsafe to wear
This Crown, presented thee by all Mankind:
Shine on us, like the Sun, in your full Lustre;
While Rome reviv'd lies basking in your Beams,
And flourishes beneath that kindly Heat.
Adorn us with your Pow'r, and make us proud
Of being Subjects to so great a King.

CÆSAR.
I am not call'd your King, but your Dictator: (Cæsar descends from his Seat to the middle of the Stage.
A Name, I hope, that bears as great a Sound;
If not, 'tis no vain Titles that can help it:
Therefore I both refuse, and slight a Crown, (He puts back the Crown with his Hand, at which the People shout for Joy.
Which can add nothing to my Power, or Rome's.
I'm glad, my Friends, you are so easily pleas'd
With my refusing what I think below me;
Were it above me, I should quickly reach it.
Your Kings, it seems, exerted Power so ill,
That you expell'd the hated Name for ever.
But 'tis the Tyranny, not Name, ye fear;
And that my Soul abhors, as much as you.
Witness, ye Gods, I have no other Aim
Than to advance your Good, and my own Honour

ANTONIUS.
Take then this Crown, which seems so much for both; (Offering the Crown once more.
For Pow'r well plac'd, can never be too great.

CÆSAR.
Again! this needs not; 'tis unseemly Joy; (Cæsar refuses it, and they shout a second time.
It looks as if you doubted me before,
And are surpriz'd to find my Moderation.

ANTONIUS.
'Tis I, Sir, am surpriz'd; but 'tis with Grief, (He offers the Crown the third time.
To see you shun a Pow'r, you ought to seek;
At least, reject it not with such Irreverence;
Crowns are the fairest Presents of the Gods.

CÆSAR.
Again! (He refuses it again, and they shout the third time.
Peace, you unmannerly, unthinking Crowd!
Are you so pleas'd? and have I no way left

But this, to be as popular as Pompey?
How have I us'd my Pow'r, that you should fear it?
Then, to be more secure, here take my Life;
I freely offer it to every Roman.
Let out that Blood, you think boils with Ambition,
I'd rather lose it, than out-live my Fame;
Nor would accept of Pow'r, unless to please.
I feel their Pulses, and I find them beat (To Antony aside.
Fev'rish, and high, unfit for my Designs:
Their Reason lost, they rave for Liberty,
Like Lunaticks, confin'd for their own good,
Strive for a fatal Freedom to be ruin'd.

ANTONIUS.
Therefore in pity, Sir, restrain them more.

CÆSAR.
I'll guard them from themselves, their own worst Foes;
And will have Pow'r to do whate'er I please;

Yet bear my Thunder in a gentle Hand.
Like Jove, I'll sit above; but 'tis to show
My Love and Care of all the World below. Enter a Messenger.

MESSENGER.
Some other Sports are in the Field of Mars,
And only wait your Presence.

CÆSAR.
Let us go.
The Ev'ning is far spent, it will be dark;
And I, thou know'st, have not been well to day. (To Brutus. Exeunt Cæsar, and Antony.

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