1. SCENE I. CAESAR'S Camp before Alexandria.
A rarer spirit never
Did steer humanity. But you, gods, will give us
Some faults to make us men. Caesar is touch'd.
When such a spacious mirror's set before him,
He needs must see himself.
I have follow'd thee to this!--But we do lance
Diseases in our bodies: I must perforce
Have shown to thee such a declining day
Or look on thine; we could not stall together
In the whole world: but yet let me lament,
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts,
That thou, my brother, my competitor
In top of all design, my mate in empire,
Friend and companion in the front of war,
The arm of mine own body, and the heart
Where mine his thoughts did kindle,--that our stars,
Unreconciliable, should divide
Our equalness to this.--Hear me, good friends,--
But I will tell you at some meeter season.
[Enter a Messenger.]
The business of this man looks out of him;
We'll hear him what he says.--Whence are you?
A poor Egyptian yet. The queen, my mistress,
Confin'd in all she has, her monument,
Of thy intents desires instruction,
That she preparedly may frame herself
To the way she's forc'd to.
Bid her have good heart:
She soon shall know of us, by some of ours,
How honourable and how kindly we
Determine for her; for Caesar cannot learn
To be ungentle.
So the gods preserve thee!
Come hither, Proculeius. Go and say
We purpose her no shame: give her what comforts
The quality of her passion shall require
Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke
She do defeat us; for her life in Rome
Would be eternal in our triumph: go,
And with your speediest bring us what she says,
And how you find her.
Caesar, I shall.
Gallus, go you along.--
Where's Dolabella, to second Proculeius?