Agr.
What, are the Brothers parted?

Eno.
They have dispatcht with Pompey, he is gone,
The other three are Sealing. Octavia weeps
To part from Rome: Cæsar is sad, and Lepidus
Since Pompey's Feast, as Menas says, is troubled
With the Green-sickness.

Agr.
'Tis a noble Lepidus.

Eno.
A very fine one; oh, how he loves Cæsar.

Agr.
Nay but how dearly he adores Mark Antony.

Eno.
Cæsar? why he's the Jupiter of Men.

Agr.
What's Antony, the god of Jupiter?

Eno.
Speak you of Cæsar? Oh! the non-pareil!

Agr.
Oh Antony, oh thou Arabian Bird!

Eno.
Would you praise Cæsar, say Cæsar, go no further.

Agr.
Indeed he plied them both with excellent praises.

Eno.
But he loves Cæsar best, yet he loves Antony:
Ho! Hearts, Tongues, Figure, Scribes, Bards, Poets, cannot
Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number; ho,
His love to Antony. But as for Cæsar,
Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder—

Agr.
Both he loves.

Eno.
They are his Shards, and he their Beetle, so—
This is to Horse; adieu, noble Agrippa. [Trumpets.

Agr.
Good Fortune worthy Soldier, and farewel. Enter Cæsar, Antony, Lepidus, and Octavia.

Ant.
No farther, Sir.

Cæs.
You take from me a great part of my self:
Use me well in't. Sister, prove such a Wife
As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest Bond
Shall pass on thy approof. Most noble Antony,
Let not the piece of Virtue which is set
Betwixt us, as the cement of our Love,
To keep it builded, be the Ram to batter
The Fortune of it; for better might we
Have lov'd without this mean, if on both parts
This be not cherisht.

Ant.
Make me not offended
In your distrust.

Cæs.
I have said.

Ant.
You shall not find,
Though you be therein curious, the least cause
For what you seem to fear, so the Gods keep you,
And make the Hearts of Romans serve your ends:
We will here part.

Cæs.
Farewel, my dearest Sister, fare thee well,
The Elements be kind to thee, and make
Thy Spirits all of comfort; fare thee well.

Oct.
My noble Brother.

Ant.
The April's in her Eyes, it is loves spring,
And these the showers to bring it on; be chearful.

Oct.
Sir, look well to my Husband's House; and—

Cæs.
What Octavia.

Oct.
I'll tell you in your Ear.

Ant.
Her Tongue will not obey her Heart, nor can
Her Heart inform her Tongue, the Swan's Doun-feather,
That stands upon the Swell at full of tide,
And neither way inclines.

Eno.

Will Cæsar weep?

Agr.

He has a Cloud in's Face.

Eno.

He were the worse for that were he a Horse; so is he being a Man.

Agr.
Why Enobarbus?
When Antony found Julius Cæsar dead,
He cryed almost to roaring: And he wept,
When at Philippi he found Brutus slain.

Eno.
That Year indeed, he was troubled with a Rheum,
What willingly he did confound, he wail'd;
Believe't 'till I weep too.

Cæs.
No, sweet Octavia,
You shall hear from me still; the time shall not
Out-go my thinking on you.

Ant.
Come Sir, come,
I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love.
Look here I have you; thus I let you go,
And give you to the Gods.

Cæs.
Adieu, be happy.

Lep.
Let all the number of the Stars give Light
To thy fair way.

Cæs.
Farewel, Farewel. [Kisses Octavia.

Ant.
Farewel. [Trumpets sound. Exeunt.

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