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Mes. Myself have letters of the self-same tenour. Bru. With what addition :
Mess. That by proscription, and bills of outlawry,
Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree ;
Cas. Cicero one?
Ay, Cicero is dead,
Bru. No, Messala.
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,
Mes. Even so great men great losses should endure.
Cas. I have as much of this in art* as you,
think Of marching to Philippi presently?
Cas. I do not think it good.
That it is :
'Tis better, that the enemy seek us :
Hear me, good brother.
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
Good night; Early to-morrow will we rise, and henee.
Bru. Lucius, my gown. (Exit Lucius.] Fare
well, good Messala ;
O my dear brother!
Every thing is well.
Good night, good brother.
Farewell, every one. Exeunt Cas. Tit, and Mes.
Re-enter LUCIUS, with the Gown.
Luc. Here in the tent.
What, thou speak’st drowsily?
Luc. Varro, and Claudius !
Enter VARRO and CLAUDIUS.
Var. Calls my
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 for
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. [Musick, and a Song. This is a sleepy tune :-0 murd'rous slumber! Lay'st thou thy leaden maces upon my boy, That plays thee musick?-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 turn'd 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.
thy leaden mace --] A mace is the ancient term for a