Ant.
O pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth!
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers.
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man
That ever lived in the tide of times.
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!
Over thy wounds now do I prophesie,
(Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips,
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue)
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men;
Domestick fury, and fierce civil strife,
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy;
Blood and destruction shall be so in use,
And dreadful objects so familiar,
That mothers shall but smile, when they behold
Their infants quarter'd by the hands of war.
All pity choak'd with custom of fell deeds;
And Cæsar's Spirit, ranging for revenge,
With Ate by his side come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice,
Cry Havock, and let slip the dogs of war;
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial. Enter Octavius's Servant.
You serve Octavius Cæsar, do you not?

Ser.
I do, Mark Antony.

Ant.
Cæsar did write for him to come to Rome.

Ser.
He did receive his letters, and is coming,
And bid me say to you by word of mouth—
O Cæsar! [Seeing the body.

Ant.
Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep;
Passion I see is catching, for mine eyes
Seeing those beds of sorrow stand in thine,
Began to water. Is thy master coming?

Ser.
He lyes to-night within seven leagues of Rome.

Ant.
Post back with speed, and tell him what hath chanc'd.
Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome,
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet;
Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet stay a while,
Thou shalt not back, 'till I have born this corse
Into the market-place: there shall I try
In my Oration, how the people take
The cruel issue of these bloody men;
According to the which, thou shalt discourse
To young Octavius of the state of things.
Lend me your hand. [Exeunt with Cæsar's body.

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