« VorigeDoorgaan »
Enclosed round about with horsemen, that
[Shout. They shout for joy. Cas.
Come down, behold no more.o, coward, that I am, to live so long, To see my best friend ta’en before my face !
Enter Pindarus. Come hither, sirrah : In Parthia did I take thee prisoner : And then I swore thee, saving of thy life, That whatsoever I did bid thee do, Thou should'st attempt it. Come now, keep thine
oath: Now be a freeman ; and, with this good sword, That ran through Cæsar's bowels, search this bosom. Stand not to answer : Here, take thou the hilts ; And, when my face is cover'd, as 'tis now, Guide thou the sword.-Cæsar, thou art reveng'd, Even with the sword that kill'd thee. [Dies.
Pin. So, I am free; yet would not so have been, Durst I have done my will. O Cassius ! Far from this country Pindarus shall run, Where never Roman shall take note of him.
Tit. These tidings will well comfort Cassius.
All disconsolate, With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill.
Mes. Is not that he, that lies upon the ground? Tit. He lies not like the living. O my heart! Mes. Is not that he ?
No, this was he, Messala, But Cassius is no more.-0 setting sun ! As in thy red rays thou dost' sink to night, So in his red blood Cassius' day is set, The sun of Rome is set! Our day is gone; Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are
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 conceiv'd, Thou never com’st 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 The noble Brutus, thrusting this report Into his ears : I may say, thrusting it; For piercing steel, and darts envenomed, Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus, As tidings of this sight. Tit.
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? Mes. Lo, yonder ; and Titinius mourning it. Bru. Titinius' face is upward. Cato,
He is slain. Bru. O Julius Cæsar, thou art mighty yet! Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords In our own proper entrails.
[Low alarums. Cato.
Brave Titinius! Look, whe'r he have not crown'd dead Cassius !
Brú. Are yet two Romans living such as these?-The last of all the Romans, fare thee well! It is impossible, that ever Rome Should breed thy fellow.-Friends, I owe more tears To this dead man, than you shall see me pay. I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. Come, therefore, and to Thassos send his body; His funeral shall not be in our camp, Lest it discomfort us.-Lucilius, come;And come, young Cato; let us to the field. Labeo, and Flavius, set our battles on :'Tis three o'clock; and, Romans, yet ere night We shall try fortune in a second fight.
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 heads ! Cato. What bastard doth not? Who will go with
me? I will proclaim my name about the field :I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho !
A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend;
[Charges the enemy. Bru. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I; Brutus, my country's friend; know me for Brutus.
[Exit, charging the enemy. Cato is over
powered, and falls. Luc. O young and noble Cato, art thou down? Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius; And may'st be honour'd, being Cato's son.
1 Sold. Yield, or thou diest. Luc.
Only I yield to die: There is so much, that thou wilt kill me straight;
[Offering money. Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death.
| Sold. We must not.-A noble prisoner ! 2 Sold. Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta'en. i Sold. I'll tell the news.-Here comes the gene
Ant. Where is he?
Luc. Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough:
Ant. This is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure you,
Another part of the field.
Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and Vo
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.
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,
Bru. Come hither, good Volumnius: list a word.
Why, this, Volumnius:
Not so, my lord.