Volume Vii Part 23 (1/2)

1ST SOLDIER. I prythee leave these rhymes, and tell us where thy master is?

CLOWN. Faith, where you shall not be, Unless ye go with me.

But shall I tell them so?

O, no, sir, no, no, no.

The man hath many a foe, As far as I do know: You do not flout me, I hope.

See how this liquor fumes, And how my force presumes.

You would know where Lord Anthony is? I perceive you.

Shall I say he is in yond farmhouse? I deceive you.

Shall I tell you this wine is for him? The G.o.ds forfend, And so I end. Go, fellow-fighters, there's a bob for ye.

2D SOLDIER. My masters, let us follow this clown, for questionless this grave orator is in yonder farmhouse[144]. But who cometh yonder?

_Enter_ OLD ANTHONY.

ANTHONY. I wonder why my peasant stays so long, And with my wonder hasteth on my woe, And with my woe I am a.s.sailed with fear, And with my fear await with faintful breath The final period of my pains by death.

1ST SOLDIER. Yond's the man we seek for, soldiers. Unsheathe your swords, and make a riddance of Marius' ancient enemy.

CLOWN. Master, fly, fly, Or else you shall die!

A plague on this wine, Hath made me so fine!

And will you not be gone?

Then I'll leave you alone, And sleep upon your woe, With a lamentable heigh-ho.

[_Exit_.

ANTHONY. Betrayed at last by witless oversight!

Now, Anthony, prepare thyself to die.

Lo, where the monstrous ministers of wrath Menace thy murder with their naked swords.

2D SOLDIER. Anthony, well-met: the consul Marius, with other confederate senators, have adjudged thee death, therefore prepare thyself, and think we favour thee in this little protraction.

ANTHONY. Immortal powers, that know the painful cares That wait upon my poor distressed heart, O, bend your brows, and level all your looks Of dreadful awe upon these daring men!

And thou, sweet niece of Atlas, on whose lips And tender tongue the pliant muses sit, Let gentle course of sweet aspiring speech, Let honey-flowing terms of weary woe, Let fruitful figures and delightful lines Enforce a spring of pity from their eyes, Amaze the murd'rous pa.s.sions of their minds, That they may favour woful Anthony.

O countrymen, what shall become of Rome, When reverend duty droopeth through disgrace?

O countrymen, what shall become of Rome, When woful nature, widow of her joys, Weeps on our walls to see her laws depress'd?

O Romans, hath not Anthony's discourse Seal'd up the mouths of false seditious men, a.s.soil'd[145] the doubts and quaint controls of power, Relieved the mournful matron with his pleas?

And will you seek to murder Anthony?

The lions brook with kindness their relief; The sheep reward the shepherd with their fleece; Yet Romans seek to murder Anthony.

1ST SOLDIER. Why, what enchanting terms of art are these, That force my heart to pity his distress?

2D SOLDIER. His action, speech, his favour and his grace, My rancour rage and rigour doth deface.

3D SOLDIER. So sweet his words, that now of late, meseems, His art doth draw my soul from out my lips.

ANTHONY. What envious eyes, reflecting nought but rage, What barbarous heart, refresh'd with nought but blood, That rends not to behold the senseless trees In doly[146] season drooping without leaves?

The shepherd sighs upon the barren hills, To see his bleating lambs with faintful looks Behold the valleys robb'd of springing flowers, That whilom wont to yield them yearly food.