| Just as he breathed his last, Proculeius arrived from Caesar; for
when Antony gave himself his wound, and was carried in to Cleopatra,
one of his guards, Dercetaeus, took up Antony's sword and hid it; and,
when he saw his opportunity, stole away to Caesar, and brought him the
first news of Antony's death, and withal showed him the bloody
Harbour at Alexandria
Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly.
This sword but shown to Caesar, with this tidings,
Shall enter me with him.
Enter DERCETAS, with the sword of
Wherefore is that? and what art thou that darest
Appear thus to us?
I am call'd Dercetas;
Mark Antony I served, who best was worthy
Best to be served: whilst he stood up and spoke,
He was my master; and I wore my life
To spend upon his haters. If thou please
To take me to thee, as I was to him
I'll be to Caesar; if thou pleasest not,
I yield thee up my life.
What is't thou say'st?
I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead.
The breaking of so great a thing should make
A greater crack: the round world
Should have shook lions into civil streets,
And citizens to their dens: the death of Antony
Is not a single doom; in the name lay
A moiety of the world.
He is dead, Caesar:
Not by a public minister of justice,
Nor by a hired knife; but that self hand,
Which writ his honour in the acts it did,
Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it,
Splitted the heart. This is his sword;
I robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd
With his most noble blood.