Mes. Myself have letters of the self-same tenour. Bru. With what addition? Mess. 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, 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,3 Mes. Even so great men great losses should endure. Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do you think Of marching to Philippi presently? Cas. I do not think it good. Bru. Cas. Your reason? That it is: 3 once,] i. e. at some time or other. "Tis better, that the enemy seek us: So 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, 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: increaseth every day, The enemy We, at the height, are ready to decline, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Is bound in shallows, and in miseries. 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, O my dear brother! Cas. Tit. Mes. Good night, lord Brutus. Bru. Re-enter LUCIUS, with the Gown. Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument? Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily? Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o'er-watch'd. Call Claudius, and some other of my men; I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent. 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; [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, Bru. It does, my boy: I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy might; 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:-O murd'rous slumber! Lay'st thou thy leaden mace' 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 CESAR. 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? Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. S sceptre. thy leaden mace — -] A mace is the ancient term for a |