From which advantage shall we cut him off, 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 : 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; 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. Which we will niggard with a little rest. There is no more to say! ? Cas. No more. Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence. Good night. Bru. Lucius, my gown. [Exit LUCIUS.] Farewell, good Messala: Good night, Titinius:- Noble, noble Cassius, Good night, and good repose. Cas. O, my dear brother! This was an ill beginning of the night: Never come such division 'tween our souls! 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. 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 shåll 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. And touch thy instrument a strain or two? 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; Enter the Ghost of CESAR. [He sits down. How ill this taper burns!-Ha! who comes here? It comes upon me: - Art thou any thing? Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. Bru. Why com'st thou ? Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi. Bru. Well; Then I shall see thee again? Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. [Ghost vanishes. Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philippi then.— Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest: Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. Boy! Lucius!-Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake! - Luc. The strings, my lord, are false. Bru. He thinks, he still is at his instrument. Lucius, awake. Luc. My lord! Bru. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so cry'dst out? thy leaden mace-] A mace is the ancient term for a sceptre. Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did cry. Bru. Yes, that thou didst: Didst thou see any thing? Luc. Nothing, my lord. Bru. Sleep again, Lucius.—Sirrah, Claudius! Fellow thou! awake. Var. My lord. Clau. My lord. Bru. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep? Var. Clau. Did we, my lord? Bru. Ay; Saw you any thing? Nor I, my lord. Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing. Clau. Bru. Go, and commend me to my brother Cassius; Bid him set on his powers betimes before, Enter OCTAVIUS, ANTONY, and their Army. Oct. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered: It proves not so their battles are at hand; Ant. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know 6 warn us-] To warn is to summon, With fearful bravery, thinking, by this face, To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage; Mess. Enter a Messenger. Prepare you, generals: The enemy comes on in gallant show: Oct. Upon the right hand I, keep thou the left. Oct. I do not cross you; but I will do so. [March. Drum. Enter BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and their Army; LUCILIUS, TITINIUS, MESSALA, and Others. Bru. They stand, and would have parley Cas. Stand fast, Titinius: We must out and talk. Oct. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle? Ant. No, Cæsar, we will answer on their charge. Make forth, the generals would have some words. Oct. Stir not until the signal. Bru. Words before blows: Is it so, countrymen? Oct. Not that we love words better, as you do. Bru. Good words are better than bad strokes, Oc tavius. Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good words: Witness the hole you made in Cæsar's heart, Crying, Long live! hail, Cæsar! Cas. Antony, The posture of your blows are yet unknown; Ant. Not stingless too. Bru. O, yes, and soundless too; For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony, |