Cas. And come yourselves, and bring Messala with

Immediately to us. [Exeunt Lucilius and TITINIUS.

Lucius, a bowl of wine.
Cas. I did not think you could have been so angry.
Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.

Cas. 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 scaped I killing, when I crossed you so?
O, insupportable and touching loss !-
Upon what sickness?

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,
And, her attendants absent, swallowed fire.

Cas. And died so ?
Bru. Even so.
Cas. O


immortal gods!

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Enter Lucius, with wine and tapers.
Bru. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of

wine ;

In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. [Drinks.

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.

1 This circumstance is taken from Plutarch. It is also mentioned by Valerius Maximus, iv. 6. Portia is, however, reported by Pliny to have died at Rome of a lingering illness while Brutus was abroad.

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No more,

Cas. Portia, art thou gone?


pray you.
Messala, I have here received letters,
That young Octavius, and Mark Antony,
Come down upon us with a mighty power,
Bending their expedition toward Philippi.

Mes. Myself have letters of the self-same tenor.
Bru. With what addition ?

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 ;
Mine speak of seventy senators that died
By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.

Cas. Cicero one?

Ay, Cicero is dead,
And by that order of proscription.-
Had you your letters from your wife, my lord ?

Bru. No, Messala.
Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?
Bru. Nothing, Messala.

That, methinks, is strange. Bru. Why ask you? Hear you aught of her in


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, 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 think Of marching to Philippi presently?

Cas. I do not think it good.

Your reason?

1 i. e. at some time or other. VOL. VI.


2 In art, that is, in theory.


This it is. 'Tis better that the enemy seek us; So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, Doing himself offence; whilst we, lying still, Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness.

Bru. Good reasons must, of force, give place to better.
The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground,
Do stand but in a forced affection ;
For they have grudged us contribution.
The enemy, marching along by them,
By them shall make a fuller number

Come on refreshed, new added, and encouraged ;
From which advantage shall we cut him off,
If at Philippi we do face him there,
These people at our back.

Hear me, good brother.
Bru. Under your pardon.—You must note beside,
That we have tried 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,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows, and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat;
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.

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 ?

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.


O my dear brother!
This was an ill beginning of the night:
Never come such division 'tween our souls !
Let it not, Brutus.

Every thing is well.
Cas. Good night, my lord.

Good night, good brother.
Tit. Mes. Good night, lord Brutus.

Farewell, every one. [Exeunt Cas., Tit., and Mes.

Re-enter Lucius, with the

gown. Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument ?

Luc. Here in the tent.

What, thou speak'st drowsily
Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o'erwatched.
Call Claudius, and some other of my men ;
I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent.
Luc. Varro, and Claudius !

Enter VARRO and CLAUDIUS. Var. Calls


lord ? Bru. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent, and sleep; It may be I shall raise you by and by On business to my brother Cassius. Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch your

pleasure. Bru. I will not have it so: lie down, good sirs ; It may be I shall otherwise bethink me. Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so; I put it in the pocket of my gown.

Servants lie down. Luc. I was sure your lordship did not give it me.

Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful.
Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile,
And touch thy instrument a strain or two ?

Luc. Ay, my lord, an it please you.

It does, my boy: I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.

Luc. It is my duty, sir.

Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy might; I know young bloods look for a time of rest.

Luc. "I have slept, my lord, already.

Bru. It is well done; and thou shalt sleep again ; I will not hold thee long; if I do live, I will be good to thee.

[Music, and a song. This is a sleepy tune :-O murderous slumber ! Lay'st thou thy leaden maced upon my boy, That plays thee music ?—Gentle knave, good night! I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. If thou dost nod, thou break’st thy instrument; I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night. Let me see, let me see.—Is not the leaf turned down, Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.

[He sits down. Enter the Ghost of CÆSAR. How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here? I think it is the weakness of mine eyes, That shapes this monstrous apparition. It comes upon me.—Art thou any thing? Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare? Speak to me, what thou art. Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. Bru.

Why com’st thou ? Ghost. To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.

Bru. Well;
Then I shall see thee again ? ?

Ay, at Philippi.

[Ghost vanishes. Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then.Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest. Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.

I A mace is the ancient term for a sceptre.

2 Shakspeare has on this occasion deserted his original. It does not appear from Plutarch that the ghost of Cæsar appeared to Brutus, but “ a wonderful straunge and monstrous shape of a body." In Plutarch's Life of Cæsar, it is called the ghost, and it is said that “the light of the lampe waxed very dimme."

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