CÆSAR. What more assurance may our state defend, Than love of those that do on us attend? ANTONY. There is no hatred more, if it be mov'd, Than theirs whom we offend, and once belov'd. CÆSAR. Better it is to die than be suspicious. ANTONY. 'Tis wisdom yet not to be credulous. CÆSAR. The quiet life, that carelessly is led, Is not alonely happy in this world; But death itself doth sometime pleasure us. That death, that comes unsent for or unseen, And suddenly doth take us at unware, Methinks is sweetest; and, if heaven were pleas'd, I could desire that I might die so well. The fear of evil doth afflict us more Than th' evil itself, though it be ne'er so sore. [_Exeunt._ _A Chorus of_ CÆSAR'S _Friends_. O fair sun, that gently smiles From the orient-pearled isles, Gilding these our gladsome days With the beauty of thy rays: Free fro' rage of civil strife, Long preserve our Cæsar's life, That from sable Afric brings Conquests, whereof Europe rings. And fair Venus, thou of whom The Æneades are come, Henceforth vary not thy grace From Iulus' happy race. Rather cause thy dearest son, By his triumphs new-begun, To expel fro' forth the land Fierce war's quenchless firebrand. That of care acquitting us (Who at last adore him thus), He a peaceful star appear, From our walls all foes to clear. And so let his warlike brows Still be deck'd with laurel-boughs, And his statues newly set With many a fresh-flower'd coronet. So in every place let be Feasts and masques, and mirthful glee, Strewing roses in the street, When their emperor they meet. He his foes hath conquered, Never leaving till they fled, And (abhorring blood) at last Pardon'd all offences past. "For high Jove the heavens among (Their support that suffer wrong) Doth oppose himself again' Bloody-minded, cruel men. "For he shorteneth their days, Or prolongs them with dispraise: Or (his greater wrath to show) Gives them over to their foe." Cæsar, a citizen so wrong'd Of the honour him belong'd, To defend himself from harms Was enforc'd to take up arms. For he saw that envy's dart (Pricking still their poisoned heart. For his sudden glory got), Made his envious foe so hot. Wicked envy, feeding still Foolish those that do thy will; For thy poisons in them pour Sundry passions every hour. And to choler doth convert Purest blood about the heart. Which (o'erflowing of their breast) Suff'reth nothing to digest. "Other men's prosperity Is their infelicity; And their choler then is rais'd, When they hear another prais'd..