There is some grudge between them, 'tis not meet Luc. [Within.] You shall not come to them. Cas. How now? What's the matter? Poet. For shame, you generals; What do you mean? Love, and be friends, as two such men should be; Cas. Ha, ha; how vilely doth this cynick rhyme! · time: What should the wars do with these jigging fools? Cas. 2 Away, away, be gone. Enter LUCILIUS and TITINIUS. [Exit Poet. Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders Prepare to lodge their companies to-night. Cas. And come yourselves, and bring Messala with you Immediately to us. Bru. [Exeunt LUCILIUS and TITINIUS. Lucius, a bowl of wine. Cas. I did not think, you could have been so angry, 2 Fellow. Cus. Of your philosophy you make no use, If you give place to accidental evils. Bru. No man bears sorrow better:-Portia is dead. Cas. Ha! Portia? Bru. She is dead. Cas. How scap'd I killing, when I cross'd you so?— O insupportable and touching loss! Upon what sickness ? Bru. Impatient of my absence; And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony Have made themselves so strong;-for with her death That tidings came;-With this she fell distract,' Cas. And died so? Bru. Even so. Cas. O ye immortal gods! Enter LUCIUS, with Wine and Tapers. Bru. Speak no more of her.-Give me a bowl of Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge:Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup; I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. [Drinks. Re-enter TITINIUS, with MESSALA. Bru. Come in, Titinius:-Welcome, good Messala. Now sit we close about this taper here, And call in question our necessities. 3 Force. Cas. Portia, art thou gone? Bru. No more, I pray you.→ Messala, I have here received letters, That young Octavius, and Mark Antony, Mes. Myself have letters of the self-same tenour. Mes. That by proscription, and bills of outlawry, Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, Have put to death an hundred senators. Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree; Mes. Ay, Cicero is dead, And by that order of proscription. Had you your letters from your wife, my lord? Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her? Mes. That, methinks, is strange. Bru. Why ask you? Hear you aught of her in yours? Mes. No, my lord. Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell: For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. Bru. Why, farewell, Portia.-We must die, Messala: With meditating that she must die once,4 • At some time. I have the patience to endure it now. Mes. Even so great men great losses should endure. Cas. I have as much of this in art as you, But yet my nature could not bear it so. Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do you Of marching to Philippi presently? Cas. I do not think it good. Bru. Cas. think Your reason? This it is: 'Tis better, that the enemy seek us: Se shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, Bru. Good reasons must, of force, give place to better. The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground, For they have grudg'd us contribution: By them shall make a fuller number up, Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encourag'd; These people at our back. Cas. Hear me, good brother. Bru. Under your pardon.-You must note beside, That we have try'd the utmost of our friends, Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe: The enemy increaseth every day, We, at the height, are ready to decline. There is a tide in the affairs of men, 5 Theory. Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; And we must take the current when it serves, Cas. Then, with your will, go on; We'll along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi. Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our talk, And nature must obey necessity; Which we will niggard with a little rest. There is no more to say? Cas. No more. Good night; Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence. Bru. Lucius, my gown. [Exit LUCIUS.] Farewell, good Messala; Good night, Titinius:-Noble, noble Cassius, Good night, and good repose. Cas. O my dear brother! This was an ill beginning of the night: Never come such division 'tween our souls! Farewell, every one. [Exeunt CAS. TIT. and MES. Tit. Mes. Good night, lord Brutus. Bru. Re-enter LUCIUS, with the Gown. Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument? Lac. Here in the tent. |