Eno. Caesar? why he's the Iupiter of men
Ant. What's Anthony, the God of Iupiter?
Eno. Spake you of Caesar? How, the non-pareill?
Agri. Oh Anthony, oh thou Arabian Bird!
Eno. Would you praise Caesar, say Caesar go no further
Agr. Indeed he plied them both with excellent praises
Eno. But he loues Caesar best, yet he loues Anthony:
Hoo, Hearts, Tongues, Figure,
Scribes, Bards, Poets, cannot
Thinke speake, cast, write, sing, number: hoo,
His loue to Anthony. But as for Caesar,
Kneele downe, kneele downe, and wonder
Agri. Both he loues
Eno. They are his Shards, and he their Beetle, so:
This is to horse: Adieu, Noble Agrippa
Agri. Good Fortune worthy Souldier, and farewell.
Enter Caesar, Anthony, Lepidus, and Octauia.
Antho. No further Sir
Caesar. You take from me a great part of my selfe:
Vse me well in't. Sister, proue such a wife
As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest Band
Shall passe on thy approofe: most Noble Anthony,
Let not the peece of Vertue which is set
Betwixt vs, as the Cyment of our loue
To keepe it builded, be the Ramme to batter
The Fortresse of it: for better might we
Haue lou'd without this meane, if on both parts
This be not cherisht
Ant. Make me not offended, in your distrust