_Car._ O stay, ye _Romans_, By the Religion which you owe those gods That lead ye on to Victories, by those glories Which made even pride a virtue in ye.
_Dru._ Stay: What's thy Will, _Caratach_?
_Car._ Set down the body, The body of the noblest of all _Romans_, As ye expect an offering at your Graves From your friends sorrows, set it down awhile. That with your griefs an enemy may mingle; A noble enemy that loves a Soldier; And lend a tear to virtue, even your foes, Your wild foes, as you call'd us, are yet stor'd With fair affections, our hearts fresh, our spirits, Though sometime stubborn, yet when virtue dies, Soft and relenting as a Virgins prayers, Oh set it down.
_Car._ Thou hallowed relique, thou rich Diamond Cut with thine own dust; thou for whose wide fame The world appears too narrow, mans all thoughts, Had they all tongues, too silent; thus I bow To thy most honour'd ashes: though an enemy, Yet friend to all thy worths: sleep peaceably; Happiness crown thy soul, and in thy earth Some Lawrel fix his seat, there grow, and flourish, And make thy grave an everlasting triumph. Farewell all glorious Wars, now thou art gone, And honest Arms adieu: all noble battels Maintain'd in thirst of honour, not of bloud, Farewell for ever.
_Heng._ Was this _Roman_, Uncle, So good a man?
_Car._ This worthy _Roman_ Was such another piece of endless honor, Such a brave soul dwelt in him: their proportions And faces were not much unlik, boy, excellent nature, See how it works into his eyes, mine own boy.
_Heng._ The multitudes of these men, and their fortunes, Could never make me fear yet: one mans goodness--
_Car._ O now thou pleasest me: weep still, my child, As if thou saw'st me dead; with such a flux Or flood of sorrow: still thou pleasest me. And worthy soldiers, pray receive these pledges, These hatchments of our griefs, and grace us so much To place 'em on his Hearse. Now if ye please, Bear off the noble burden; raise his pile High as _Olympus_, make heaven to wonder To see a star upon earth out-shining theirs. And ever loved, ever living be Thy honoured and most sacred memory.
_Dru._ Thou hast done honestly, good _Caratach_, And when thou diest, a thousand virtuous _Romans_ Shall sing thy soul to heaven. Now march on, soldiers.