I dare assure thee, that no Enemy
Shall ever take alive the Noble Brutus:
The Gods defend him from so great a shame,
When you do find him or alive, or dead,
He will be found like Brutus, like himself.

Ant. This is not Brutus, Friend, but I assure you,
A prize no less'in worth; keep this Man fafe,
Give him all kindness. I had rather have
Such Men my Friends, than Enemies. Go on,
And see where Brutus be alive or dead,
And bring us word unto Oétavius Tent,
How every thing is chanc'd.

[Exeunt. Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and Volumnius. Bru. Come, poor remains of Friends, rest on this Rock,

Cli. Statillius shew'd the Torch-light, but, my Lord, He came not back, he is, or ta’en, or slain.

Bru. Sit thee down, Clitss; 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 my felf.
Bru. Hark thee, Dardanius!
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, lift a word.
Vol. What says my Lord?

Bru. Why this, Volumnias ;
The Ghost of Cæfar hath appear'd to me
Two several times by Night; at Sardis, once;
And this last Night, here in Philippi-Fields.
I know my hour is come.
- Vol. Not so, my Lord.

Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumniss.
Thou seeft the World, Volumnius, how it goes,
Qur Enemies have beat us to the Pit : Low Alarum.


It is more worthy, to leap in our selves,
Thao tarry 'till they push us. Good Volumnius,
Thou knowest that we two went to School together ;
Even for that, our love of old, I prethce
Hold thou my. Sword's Hilt, while I run on it.
Vol. That's not an office for a Friend, my Lord.

| Alarum still. Cli. Fly, fly, my Lord, there is no carrying here.

Bru. Farewet to you, and you, and you, Volimniss.
Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep;
Farewel to thee, to Strato, Countrymen;
My Heart doch Joy, that yit in all my Lise,
I found no Man, but he was true to me,
I shall have Glory by this losing Day,
More than O&tavius and Mark Antony,
By this vile Conquest thall attain unto,
So fare you well at once, for Brutus Tongue
Hath almost ended his Life's History.
Night hangs upon mine Eyes, my B ones would rest,
That have but labour'd, to atcain this Hour.

[Alarum. Cry within, Fly, fly, fly. Cli. Fly, my Lord, ily

Bru. Hence; I will follow;
I prethee, Strato, stay thou by thy Lord,
Thou art a Fellow of a good refpe&;
Thy Life hath had some smarch of Honour in it.
Hold then my Sword, and turn away thy Face,
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?

Stra. Give me your Hand first. Fare you well, my Lord.

Bru. Farewel, good Strato-Cæfar, now be still, I kill'd not thee with half so good a Will.

[He runs on his sword and dies. Alarum. Retreat. Enter Antory, O&avius, Mellala, Luci

lius, and the Army. Oata. What Man is that? Mef. My Master's Man. Strato, where is thy Mafter?

Stra. Free from the Bondage you are in, Messala;
The Conquerors can but make a Fire of him:
For Brutus only overcame himself,
And no Man else hath Honour by his Death.


Luc. So Brutus should be found. I thank thee, Brutus, That.thou hast prov'd Lucillius faying true.

Oeta. All that serv'd Brutus I will entertain them,
Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?

Stra. Ay, if Meffala will prefer me to you.
Oeta. Do so, good Mellala.
Mes. How died my Lord, Strato?
Stra. I held the Sword, and he did run on it.

Mer. Oetavius, then take him to follow thee,
That did the latest Service to my Master..

Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all;
All the Conspirators save only he,
Did that they did, in envy


great Cafar:
He, only in a general honest thought,
And common good to all, made one of them.
His Life was gentle, and the Elements
So mixt in him, that Nature might stand up,
And say to all the World; this was a Man.

Oeta. According to his Virtue, let us use him,
With all respect, and rites of Burial.
Within my Tent his Bones to Night Ihall lye,
Most like a soldier, ordered honourably.
So call the Field to rest, and let's away,
the Glories of this happy Day.

[Excunt omnes.

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