Met. Is there no voice more worthy than my own, Bru. I kifs thy hand, but not in flattery, Cafar; Caf. Pardon, Cæfar; Cafar, pardon; The skies are painted with unnumber'd fparks, Let me a little fhew it, ev'n in this: That I was constant, Cimber should be banish'd; And constant do remain to keep him fo. Cim. O Cæfar Caf. Hence! Wilt thou lift up Olympus? Caf. (1) Doth not Brutus bootlefs kneel? fions. ((7) (8) -apprehenfive ;] Sufceptible of fear, or other paf but one] One, and only one. bolds on his rank,] Perhaps, holds on his race; continues his course. We commonly fay, To hold a rank, and, To hold on a courfe or way. (1) Doth not Brutus bootlefs kneel?] I would read, Do not Brutus bootlefs kneet! Caf. Caf. Some to the common Pulpits, and cry out, Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement. Bru. People, and Senators! be not affrighted; Fly not, ftand ftill. Ambition's debt is paid. Cafca. Go to the Pulpit, Brutus. Dec. And Caffius too. Bru. Where's Publius? Cin. Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. Met. Stand faft together, left fome friends of Cafar's Should chance Bru. Talk not of standing. Publius, good cheer; There is no harm intended to your person, Nor to no Roman elfe; fo tell them, Publius. Caf. And leave us, Publius, left that the people, Rufhing on us, fhould do your age fome mifchief. Bru. Do fo: and let no man abide this deed, But we the Doers. SCENE II. Enter Trebonius. Cal. Where is Antony? Tre. Fled to his houfe amaz’d. Men, wives, and children, ftare, cry out, and run, As it were Dooms-day, Bru. Fates! we will know your pleasures; That we fhall die, we know; 'tis but the time, And drawing days out, that men ftand upon. Caf. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life, Cuts of fo many years of fearing death. Bru. Grant that, and then is death a benefit: So are we Cafar's friends, that have abridg'd His time of fearing death. (2) Stoop, Romans, ftoop; And (2) In all the editions this fpeech is afcribed to Brutus, than which nothing is more inconfiftent with his mild and philofophi cal character. But (as I often find fpeeches in the later editions put into wrong mouths, different from the first published by the author) I think this liberty not unreasonable. POPE. Stoop, And let us bathe our hands in Cafar's blood hence [Dipping their words in Cæfar's blood. Shall this our lofty Scene be acted o'er, In States unborn, and accents yet unknown? No worthier than the duft? Caf. So oft as that fhall be, So often fhall the knot of us be call'd Caf. Ay, every man away. Brutus fhall lead, and we will grace his heels Enter a Servant.• Bru. Soft, who comes here? A friend of Antony's. Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my mafter bid me kneel Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down; [kneeling. And, being proftrate, thus he bad me fay ; Brutus is noble, wife, valiant and honeft; Stoop, Romans, Stoop;] Mr. Pope has arbitrarily taken away the remainder of this fpeech from Brutus, and placed it to Cafca: becaufe, he thinks, nothing is more inconfiftent with Brutus's mild and philofophical character. I have made bold to restore the fpeech to its right owner. Brutus efteem'd the death of Cæfar a facrifice to liberty: and, as fuch, gloried in his heading the enterprife. Befides, our poet is strictly copying a fact in hiftory. Plutarch, in the life of Cafar, fays, "Brutus and his "followers, being yet hot with the murder, march'd in a body "from the fenate-house to the Capitol, with their drawn fwords, "with an air of confidence and affurance." And, in the life of Brutus,- "Brutus and his party betook themselves to the Ca"pitol, and in their way bering their hands all bloody, and "their naked fwords, proclaim'd liberty to the people.' Dr. Warburton follows Pope. THEOBALD. Cafar Cæfar was mighty, bold, royal and loving; Say, I fear'd Caefar, honour'd him, and lov'd him. Tell him, fo please him come unto this place, Depart untouch'd. Serv. I'll fetch him presently. [Exit Servant. Bru. I know, that we fhall have him well to friend. Caf. I wish, we may but yet have I a mind, That fears him much; and my misgiving ftill Falls fhrewdly to the purpose. SCENE III. Enter Antony. Bru. But here comes Antony. Welcome, Mark Antony. Ant. O mighty Cafar! doft thou lie fo low? Are all thy conquefts, glories, triumphs, fpoils, Shrunk to this little measure ? -fare thee well. I know not, Gentlemen, what you intend, As Cæfar's death's hour; nor no inftrument Of half that worth as thofe your fwords, made rich Now, whilft your purpled hands do reek and fmoke, (3)-who elfe is rank;] Who elfe may be fupposed to have overtopped his equals, and grown too high for the public fafety. Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, No place will please me fo, no mean of death, Bru. O Antony! beg not your death of us: Hath done this deed on Cafar. For your part, With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. Bru. Only be patient, 'till we have appeas'd Ant. I doubt not of your wifdom. Let each man render me his bloody hand. My credit now ftands on fuch flippery ground, (4) Our arms exempt from malice,] This is the reading only of the modern editions, yet perhaps the true reading. The old copy has, Our arms in ftrength of malice. VOL. IX. C That |