CAESAR. What would you more? Pompey, good night. Good brother, Let me request you off. Our graver business Frowns at this levity.—Gentle lords, let’s part. You see we have burnt our cheeks. Strong Enobarb Is weaker than the wine, and mine own tongue Splits what it speaks. The wild disguise hath almost Anticked us all. What needs more words. Good night. Good Antony, your hand. POMPEY. I’ll try you on the shore. ANTONY. And shall, sir. Give’s your hand. POMPEY. O Antony, You have my father’s house. But, what? We are friends. Come, down into the boat. ENOBARBUS. Take heed you fall not. [_Exeunt Pompey, Caesar, Antony and Attendants._] Menas, I’ll not on shore. MENAS. No, to my cabin. These drums, these trumpets, flutes! What! Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell To these great fellows. Sound and be hanged, sound out! [_Sound a flourish with drums._] ENOBARBUS. Hoo, says ’a! There’s my cap! MENAS. Hoo! Noble captain, come. [_Exeunt._] ACT III SCENE I. A plain in Syria. Enter Ventidius as it were in triumph, with Silius and other Romans, Officers and Soldiers; the dead body of Pacorus borne before him. VENTIDIUS. Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck, and now Pleased Fortune does of Marcus Crassus’ death Make me revenger. Bear the king’s son’s body Before our army. Thy Pacorus, Orodes, Pays this for Marcus Crassus. SILIUS. Noble Ventidius, Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm, The fugitive Parthians follow. Spur through Media, Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither The routed fly. So thy grand captain Antony Shall set thee on triumphant chariots, and Put garlands on thy head. VENTIDIUS. O Silius, Silius, I have done enough. A lower place, note well, May make too great an act. For learn this, Silius: Better to leave undone than by our deed Acquire too high a fame when him we serve’s away. Caesar and Antony have ever won More in their officer, than person. Sossius, One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant, For quick accumulation of renown, Which he achieved by th’ minute, lost his favour. Who does i’ th’ wars more than his captain can Becomes his captain’s captain; and ambition, The soldier’s virtue, rather makes choice of loss Than gain which darkens him. I could do more to do Antonius good, But ’twould offend him, and in his offence Should my performance perish. SILIUS. Thou hast, Ventidius, that Without the which a soldier and his sword Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to Antony? VENTIDIUS. I’ll humbly signify what in his name, That magical word of war, we have effected; How, with his banners, and his well-paid ranks, The ne’er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia We have jaded out o’ th’ field. SILIUS. Where is he now? VENTIDIUS. He purposeth to Athens, whither, with what haste The weight we must convey with ’s will permit, We shall appear before him.—On there, pass along! [_Exeunt._] SCENE II. Rome. An Ante-chamber in Caesar’s house. Enter Agrippa at one door, Enobarbus at another.