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As Cassius' legions are by Antony.
Tit. These tidings will well comfort Cassius.
No, this was he, Messala ;
Our day is gone;
done! Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. Mes. Mistrust of good success hath done this
deed. O hateful error, melancholy's child! Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men The things that are not? O error, soon conceived, Thou never comest unto a happy birth, But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee.
Tit. What, Pindarus! Where art thou, Pindarus :
Mes. Seek him, Titinius; whilst I go to meet
Hie you, Messala,
And I will seek for Pindarus the while.
Alarum. Re-enter MESSALA, with BRUTUS, YOUNG
CATO, STRATO, VOLUMNIUS, and LUCILIUS.
Bru. Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie?
He is slain.
[low alarums, Cato.
Bru. Are yet two Romans living such as these?
Should breed thy fellow.–Friends, I owe more
Another part of the field. Alarum. Enter, fighting, SOLDIERS of both armies ;
then BRUTUS, CATO, LUCILIUS, and others. Bru. Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your
[charges the enemy. Bru. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I; Brutus, my country's friend : know me for Brutus. [Exit, charging the enemy.
Caio is overpowered, and falls.
Lucil. O young and noble Cato, art thou down?
I Sol. Yield, or thou diest.
Only I yield to die : There is so much, that thou wilt kill me straight;
[offering money. Kill Brutus, and be honor'd in his death.
1 Sol. We must not.-A noble prisoner ! 2 Sol. Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta'en. 1 Sol. I'll tell the news. Here comes the ge
Brutus is ta’en, Brutus is ta’en, my
lord. Ant. Where is he?
Lucil. Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough:
do find him, or alive or dead, He will be found like Brutus, like himself. Ant. This is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure
ii. e. worthy of him
And bring us word, unto Octavius' tent,
Another part of the field. Enter BRUTUS, DARDANIUS, CLITUS, Strato, and
Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this
rock. Cli. Statilius show'd the torch-light; but, my
lord, He came not back : he is or ta'en or slain.
Bru. Sit thee down, Clitus : slaying is the word ; It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus !
[whispering. Cli. What, I, my lord ? No, not for all the world. Bru. Peace then; no words. Cli.
I'll rather kill myself. Bru. Hark thee, Dardanius ! [whispers him. Dar.
Shall I do such a deed ? Cli. O Dardanius! Dar. O Clitus ! Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to thee? Dar. To kill him, Clitus : look, he meditates.
Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, That it runs over even at his eyes.
Bru. Come hither, good Volumnius! list a word. Vol. What says my
lord ? Bru.
Why, this, Volumnius :