Bru. No man bears sorrow better:-Portia is dead. Cas. Ha! Portia? Bru. She is dead. Cas. How scap'd. I killing, when I cross'd you so? O insupportable and touching loss! Upon what sickness? Bru. Impatient of my absence; And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony Have made themselves so strong;-for with her death That tidings came;-With this she fell distract, Enter LUCIUS, with Wine and Tapers. Bru. Speak no more of her.-Give me a bowl of wine: In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. [Drinks. Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge:Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup; I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. ` [Drinks. Re-enter TITINIUS, with MESSala. Bru. Come in, Titinius:-Welcome, good Mes sala. Now sit we close about this taper here, And call in question our necessities. Mes. Myself have letters of the self-same tenour. Bru. With what addition? Mes. 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. With meditating that she must die once,' Mes. Even so great men great losses should endure. But yet my nature could not bear it so. Cas. I do not think it good. Bru. Cas. you think Your reason? That it is: once,] i. e. at some time or other. in art-] That is, in theory. '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 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. note 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, 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! Bru. Cas. Good night, my lord. Every thing is well. Good night, good brother. 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. 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. It Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch your pleasure. Bru. I will not have it so: lie down, good sirs; 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 forgetful. Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, Bru. 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:-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 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? Speak to me, what thou art. Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 5 thy leaden mace-] A mace is the ancient term for a sceptre. |