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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.

[Exit Messala. Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius?

Did I not meet thy friends? and did not they
Put on my brows this wreath of victory,

And bid me give 't thee? Didst thou not hear their shouts ?

Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing.

But hold thee, take this garland on thy brow;

Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I
Will do his bidding.-Brutus, come apace,
And see how I regarded Caius Cassius.-
By your leave, gods :-This is a Roman's part:
Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart.

[Dies.

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.

Brave Titinius!

Cato.
Look, whe'r he have not crown'd dead Cassius !

Bru. 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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

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;
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!

[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 overpowered, 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.

Only I yield to die:

Luc. There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight;

[Offering money.

Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death.

1 Sold. We must not.-A noble prisoner!

2 Sold. Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta'en. 1 Sold. I'll tell the news.-Here comes the gene

ral:

Enter Antony.

Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord,

Ant. Where is he?

Luc. Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough: 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 safe,
Give him all kindness: I had rather have
Such men my friends, than enemies. Go on,
And see whe'r* Brutus be alive, or dead :
And bring us word, unto Octavius' tent,
How every thing is chanc'd.

• Whether.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Another part of the field.

Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and Volumnius.

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!

Dar.

Cli. O, Dardanius!

Dar. O, Clitus!

[Whispers him.

I do such a deed?

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 :

The ghost of Cæsar 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, Volumnius.

Thou see'st the world, Volumnius, how it goes;
Our enemies have beat us to the pit:

It is more worthy to leap in ourselves,

Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius,
Thou know'st, that we two went to school together;
Even for that our love of old, I pray thee,
Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst 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 tarrying here.
Bru. Farewell to you ;-and you ;-and you, Vo-
lumnius.-

Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep;
Farewell to thee too, Strato.-Countrymen,
My heart doth joy, that yet, in all my life,
I found no man, but he was true to me.
I shall have glory by this losing day,
More than Octavius, and Mark Antony,
By this vile conquest shall attain unto,

So, fare you well at once; for Brutus' tongue

Hath almost ended his life's history:

Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest, That have but labour'd to attain this hour.

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[Alarum. Cry within, Fly, fly, fly. Cli. Fly, my lord, fly.

Bru.

Hence; I will follow thee.

[Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius, and Volumnius.

I pr'ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord:
Thou art a fellow of a good respect;

Thy life hath had some smatch 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. Farewell, good Strato.-Cæsar, now be still: I kill'd not thee with half so good a will.

Alarum.

[He runs on his sword and dies.

Retreat. Enter Octavius, Antony,

Messala, Lucilius, and their Army.

Oct. What man is that?

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