was i' the morning: but next day I told him of myself; which was as much As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fellow Be nothing of our strife; if we contend, Out of our question wipe him. You have broken The article of your oath; which you shall never Have tongue to charge me with. Soft, Caesar! No, Lepidus, let him speak: The honour is sacred which he talks on now, Supposing that I lack'd it. But, on, Caesar; The article of my oath. To lend me arms and aid when I required them; The which you both denied. Neglected, rather; And then when poison'd hours had bound me up From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may, I'll play the penitent to you: but mine honesty Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power Work without it. Truth is, that Fulvia, To have me out of Egypt, made wars here; For which myself, the ignorant motive, do So far ask pardon as befits mine honour To stoop in such a case. 'Tis noble spoken. If it might please you, to enforce no further The griefs between ye: to forget them quite Were to remember that the present need Speaks to atone you. Worthily spoken, Mecaenas. Or, if you borrow one another's love for the instant, you may, when you hear no more words of Pompey, return it again: you shall have time to wrangle in when you have nothing else to do. Thou art a soldier only: speak no more. That truth should be silent I had almost forgot. You wrong this presence; therefore speak no more. Go to, then; your considerate stone. I do not much dislike the matter, but The manner of his speech; for't cannot be We shall remain in friendship, our conditions So differing in their acts. Yet if I knew What hoop should hold us stanch, from edge to edge O' the world I would pursue it. Give me leave, Caesar,-- Speak, Agrippa. Thou hast a sister by the mother's side, Admired Octavia: great Mark Antony Is now a widower. Say not so, Agrippa: If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof Were well deserved of rashness. I am not married, Caesar: let me hear Agrippa further speak. To hold you in perpetual amity, To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts With an unslipping knot, take Antony Octavia to his wife; whose beauty claims No worse a husband than the best of men; Whose virtue and whose general graces speak That which none else can utter.