Immediately to us.

[Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius.

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-
Caf. Ha! Porcia!

Bru. She is dead.

-Porcia's dead.

Caf. How 'fcap'd I killing, when I croft 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 themselves fo ftrong: (for with her death That tydings came) With this fhe fell diftra&t,

And (her Attendants abfent) fwallow'd fire.

Caf. And dy'd fo?

Bru. Even fo.

Caf. O ye immortal Gods !

Enter Boy with Wine and Tapers.

Bru. Speak no more of her: give me a bowl of wine. In this I bury all unkindnefs, Caffius.

[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..

Bru. Come in, Titinius;-welcome, good Meffala.

Enter Titinius, and Meffala.

Now fit we clofe about this taper here,
And call in queftion our neceffities.
Caf. O Porcia! art thou gone?
Bru. No more, I pray you.-
Meffala, I have here received letters,
That young Octavius, and Mark Antony,

Come

Come down upon us with a mighty Power,
Bending their expedition tow'rd Philippi.

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

Mef. That by Proscription and bills of Outlawry, Odavius, Antony, and Lepidus

Have put to death an hundred Senators.

Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree;
Mine fpeak of fev'nty Senators 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 wife, my lord?
Bru. No, Meffala.

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

Mef. That, methinks, is ftrange.

Bru. Why afk you? hear you aught 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 ftrange manner. Bru. Why, farewel, Porcia-we must die, Meffala. With meditating that fhe muft die once,

I have the patience to endure it now.

Mef. Ev'n 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 so.

Bru. Well, to our Work alive. What do

Of marching to Philippi prefently?

Caf. I do not think it good.

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; whilft we, lying ftill,
Are full of reft, defence and nimbleness.

Bru. Good reafons muft of force give place to better.

The

The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground,
Do fland 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 refrefht, new added, and encourag'd;
From which advantage fhall we cut him off,
If at Philippi we do face him there,
These People at our back.

Caf. Hear me, good brother

Bru. Under your pardon.-You must note befide, That we have try'd 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 fhallows, and in miferies.
On fuch a full fea are we now a-float:

And we must take the current when it ferves,

Or lofe our ventures.

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

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

Which we will niggard with a little reft.

There is no more to say.

Caf. No more; good-night;

Early to-morrow will we rife, and hence.

Enter Lucius.

Bru. Lucius, my gown; farewel, good Messala,
Good-night, Titinius noble, noble Caffius,
Good-night, and good repofe.

Caf. O my dear brother!

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

Enter

Enter Lucius with the Gown.

Bru. Ev'ry thing is well.

Tit. Meffa. Good-night, lord Brutus.

Bru. Farewel, every one

[Exeunt.

Give me the Gown. Where is thy instrument?

Luc. Here, in the Tent.

Bru. What, thou speak'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!

Var

Enter Varro and Claudius.

ALLS my lord?

C Bru. I pray you, Sirs, lie in my Tent, and

fleep;

It may be, I fhall raise you by and by,
On bufinefs to my brother Caffius.

It

Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch your pleasure.

Bru. I will not have it fó; lie down, good Sirs: 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 ftrain 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, Sir.

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

Bru.

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

I will be good to thee.
This is a fleepy tune-

[Mufic and a Song.

-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. But let me fee-is not the leaf turn'd down, Where I left reading? here it is, I think.

SCENE

[He fits down to read.

VII.

Enter the Ghost of Cæfar.

How ill this taper burns!-ha! who comes here?
I think, it is the weakness of mine eyes,
That fhapes this monftrous apparition!-
It comes upon me-Art thou any thing?
Art thou fome God, fome angel, or fome devil,
That mak'ft my blood cold, and my hair to ftare ?
Speak to me, what thou art.

Ghoft. Thy evil spirit, Brutus.

Bru. Why com'ft thou?

Ghoft. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi. Bru. Then, I fhall fee thee again.—

Ghoft. Ay, at Philippi,

[Exit Ghoft.

Bru. Why, I will fee thee at Philippi then.

Now I have taken heart, thou vanifheft:

Ill Spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.
Boy! Lucius! Varro! Claudius! Sirs! awake!
Claudius!

Luc. The ftrings, my lord, are falfe.

Bru. He thinks, he is ftill at his inftrument. Lucius! awake.

Luc. My lord!

Bru.