Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Ant. Who else must be let blood, who else is ranke:
Ant. If I my selfe, there is no houre so fit
Ant. As Cæsars deaths houre; nor no Instrument
Ant. Of halfe that worth, as those your Swords; made rich
Ant. With the most Noble blood of all this World.
Ant. I do beseech yee, if you beare me hard,
Ant. Now, whil'st your purpled hands do reeke and smoake,
Ant. Fulfill your pleasure. Liue a thousand yeeres,
Ant. I shall not finde my selfe so apt to dye.
Ant. No place will please me so, no meane of death,
Ant. As heere by Cæsar, and by you cut off,
Ant. The Choice and Master Spirits of this Age.
Bru. Bru.
Bru. O Antony! Begge not your death of vs:
Bru. Though now we must appeare bloody and cruell,
Bru. As by our hands, and this our present Acte
Bru. You see we do: Yet see you but our hands,
Bru. And
Bru. The Tragedie of Iulius Cæsar.
Bru. And this, the bleeding businesse they haue done: