y he is in yond farmhouse? I deceive you.
Shall I tell you this wine is for him? The gods 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 assailed 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 passions 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,
Assoil'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.