Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine.

Caf. I did not think you could have been fo angry.
Bru. O Caffius, I am fick of many griefs.

Caf. Of your philofophy you make no use,
If you give place to accidental evils.

Bru. No man bears forrow better:-Portia is dead.. Caf. Ha! Portia ?

Bru. She is dead.

Caf. How fcap'd I killing, when I crofs'd you fo?O infupportable and touching lofs !Upon what fickness?

Bru. Impatient of my abfence;

And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony
Have made themfelves fo ftrong; for with her death
That tidings came ;-With this fhe fell diftract,
And her attendants abfent, fwallow'd fire.

Caf. And dy'd fo?

Bru. Even fo.

Caf. O ye immortal gods!

Enter LUCIUS, with wine and tapers.

Bru. Speak no more of her.-Give me a bowl of

wine :

[Drinks. Caf. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge :Fill, Lucius, 'till the wine o'er-fwell the cup; I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love.

In this I bury all unkindness, Caffius.

Re-enter TITINIUS, and MESSALA.

Bru. Come in, Titinius:-Welcome, good Meffala.-Now fit we close about this taper here,

And call in queftion our neceffities.

Caf. Portia art thou gone?

Bru. No more, I pray you.

Meffala,

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

Mef. Myfelf have letters of the self-fame tenour. Bru. With what addition?

Mef. That by profcription, and bills of outlawry, Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus,

Have put to death a hundred fenators.

Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree;
Mine fpeak of feventy fenators, that dy'd
By their profcriptions, Cicero being one.
Caf. Cicero one?

Mef. Cicero is dead,

And by that order of profcription

Had you your letters from your

Bru. No, Meffala.

wife, my

lord?

Mef. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?
Bru. Nothing, Meffala.

Mef. That, methinks, is strange?

Bru. Why afk you? Hear you ought of her in yours? Mef. No, my lord.

Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. Mef. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell : For certain fhe is dead, and by strange manner. Bru. Why, farewel, Portia. We muft die, Meffala: With meditating that she must die once,

I have the patience to endure it now.

Mef. Even fo great men great loffes fhould endure. Caf. I have as much of this in art as you,

But

yet my nature could not bear it fo.

Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do you think Of marching to Philippi presently? Caf. I do not think it good.

-Bru.

B

Bru. Your reason?

Caf. This it is:

'Tis better that the enemy feek us:

So fhall he wafte his means, weary his foldiers,
Doing himself offence; whilst we, lying still,
Are full of reft, defence, and nimbleness.

Bru. Good reafons muft, of force, give place to better,
The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground,
Do ftand but in a forc'd affection;

For they have grudg'd us contribution :
The enemy, marching along by them,
By them fhall make a fuller number

up,

Come on refresh'd, new added, and encourag'd;
From which advantage shall we cut him off,
If at Philippi we do face him there,

Thefe people at our back.

Caf. 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 caufe is ripe :

The enemy increafeth 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 hallows, and in miferies.
On Such a full fea are we now afloat;

And we must take the current when it ferves,
Or lofe our ventures.

Caf. Then, with your will, go on; we will along Ourfelves, and meet them at Philippi.

Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our talk, And pature must obey neceffity;

Which we will piggard with a little rest.

There

There is no more to say?

Caf. No more. Good night:

Early to-morrow will we rife, and hence.

୮

Bru. Lucius, my gown. Exit Luc.] Farewel, good Meffala ;

Good night, Titinius :-Noble, noble Caffius,
Good night, and good repose.

Caf. O my dear brother!

This was an ill beginning of the night:
Never come fuch divifion 'tween our fouls!
Let it not, Brutus.

Bru. Every thing is well.

Caf. Good night, my lord.

Bru. Good night, good brother.

Tit. Mef. Good night, lord Brutus.

Bru. Farewel, every one.

Re-enter Lucius, with the gown.

[Exeunt.

Give me the gown. Where is thy inftrument?
Luc. Here in the tent.

Bru. What, thou fpeak'ft drowfily?

Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o'er-watch'd. Call Claudius, and fome other of my men;

I'll have them fleep on cushions in my tent.

Luc. Varro, and Claudius!

Enter VARRO, and CLAUDIUS.

Var. Calls my lord?

Bru. I pray you, firs, lie in my tent and sleep; It may be, I fhall raise you by and by

On business to my brother Caffius.

Far. So pleafe you, we will ftand, and watch your pleasure.

Bru. I will not have it fo: lie down, good firs;

It

may be, I shall otherwise bethink me. Look, Lucius, here's the book I fought for fo; I put it in the pocket of my gown.

Luc. I was fure your lordship did not give it me. Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. Canft thou hold up thy heavy eyes a while, And touch thy inftrument a strain or two? Luc. Ay, my lord, an't please you.

Bru. It does, my boy:

I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing
Luc. It is my duty, fir.

Bru. I fhould not urge thy duty past thy might;
I know, young bloods look for a time of reft.
Luc. I have flept, my lord, already."

Bru. It was well done; and thou fhalt fléep againt I will not hold thee long: If I do live,

I will be good to thee.

[Mufic, and a fong. This is a fleepy tune:-O murd'rous flumber! Lay'ft thou thy leaden mace upon my boy,

That plays thee mufic?-Gentle knave, good night;
I will not do thee fo much wrong to wake thee.
If thou doft nod, thou break'ft thy inftrument;
I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night.
Let me fee, let me fee ;-Is not the leaf turn'd down,
Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.

[He fits down to read.

Enter the Ghost of CESAR.

How ill this taper burns!-Ha! who comes here?
I think, it is the weakness of mine eyes,
Thatshapes this monstrous apparition.

It comes upon me :-Art thou any thing?

Art thou fome god, fome angel, or Some devil, That makt my blood cold, and my hair to stare?

G

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