Did I not meet thy friends? and did not they
Put on my brows this wreath of victory,
And bid me give it thee? Didst thou not hear their shouts?
Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing!
But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow;
Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I
Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace,
And see how I regarded Caius Cassius.
By your leave, gods:–this is a Roman’s part
Come, Cassius’ sword, and find Titinius’ heart.
Kills himself
Alarum. Re-enter MESSALA, with BRUTUS, CATO, STRATO, VOLUMNIUS, and LUCILIUS
BRUTUS Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie?
MESSALA Lo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it.
BRUTUS Titinius’ face is upward.
CATO He is slain.
BRUTUS O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet!
Thy spirit walks abroad and turns our swords
In our own proper entrails.
Low alarums
CATO Brave Titinius!
Look, whether he have not crown’d dead Cassius!
BRUTUS Are yet two Romans living such as these?
The last of all the Romans, fare thee well!
It is impossible that ever Rome
Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more tears
To this dead man than you shall see me pay.
I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time.
Come, therefore, and to Thasos send his body:
His funerals shall not be in our camp,
Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come;
And come, young Cato; let us to the field.
Labeo and Flavius, set our battles on:
‘Tis three o’clock; and, Romans, yet ere night
We shall try fortune in a second fight.
Exeunt
Scene 4
Another part of the field.
Alarum. Enter fighting, Soldiers of both armies; then BRUTUS, CATO, LUCILIUS, and others
BRUTUS Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads!
CATO What bastard doth not? Who will go with me?
I will proclaim my name about the field:
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!
A foe to tyrants, and my country’s friend;
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!
BRUTUS And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I;
Brutus, my country’s friend; know me for Brutus!
Exit
LUCILIUS O young and noble Cato, art thou down?
Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius;
And mayst be honour’d, being Cato’s son.
First Soldier Yield, or thou diest.
LUCILIUS Only I yield to die:
There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight;
Offering money
Kill Brutus, and be honour’d in his death.
First Soldier We must not. A noble prisoner!
Second Soldier Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta’en.
First Soldier I’ll tell the news. Here comes the general.
Enter ANTONY
Brutus is ta’en, Brutus is ta’en, my lord.
ANTONY Where is he?
LUCILIUS Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough:
I dare assure thee that no enemy
Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus:
The gods defend him from so great a shame!
When you do find him, or alive or dead,
He will be found like Brutus, like himself.
ANTONY This is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure you,
A prize no less in worth: keep this man safe;
Give him all kindness: I had rather have
Such men my friends than enemies. Go on,
And see whether Brutus be alive or dead;
And bring us word unto Octavius’ tent
How every thing is chanced.
Exeunt
Scene 5
Another part of the field.
Enter BRUTUS, DARDANIUS, CLITUS, STRATO, and VOLUMNIUS
BRUTUS Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock.
CLITUS Statilius show’d the torch-light, but, my lord,
He came not back: he is or ta’en or slain.
BRUTUS Sit thee down, Clitus: slaying is the word;
It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus.
Whispers
CLITUS What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world.
BRUTUS Peace then! no words.
CLITUS I’ll rather kill myself.
BRUTUS Hark thee, Dardanius.
Whispers
DARDANIUS Shall I do such a deed?
CLITUS O Dardanius!
DARDANIUS O Clitus!
CLITUS What ill request did Brutus make to thee?
DARDANIUS To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates.
CLITUS Now is that noble vessel full of grief,
That it runs over even at his eyes.
BRUTUS Come hither, good Volumnius; list a word.
VOLUMNIUS What says my lord?
BRUTUS Why, this, Volumnius:
The ghost of Caesar hath appear’d to me
Two several times by night; at Sardis once,
And, this last night, here in Philippi fields:
I know my hour is come.
VOLUMNIUS Not so, my lord.
BRUTUS Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius.
Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes;
Our enemies have beat us to the pit:
Low alarums
It is more worthy to leap in ourselves,
Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius,
Thou know’st that we two went to school together:
Even for that our love of old, I prithee,
Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it.
VOLUMNIUS That’s not an office for a friend, my lord.
Alarum still
CLITUS Fly, fly, my lord; there is no tarrying here.
BRUTUS Farewell to you; and you; and you, Volumnius.
Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep;
Farewell to thee too, Strato. Countrymen,
My heart doth joy that yet in all my life
I found no man but he was true to me.
I shall have glory by this losing day
More than Octavius and Mark Antony
By this vile conquest shall attain unto.
So fare you well at once; for Brutus’ tongue
Hath almost ended his life’s history:
Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest,
That have but labour’d to attain this hour.
Alarum. Cry within, ‘Fly, fly, fly!’
CLITUS Fly, my lord, fly.
BRUTUS Hence! I will follow.
Exeunt CLITUS, DARDANIUS, and VOLUMNIUS
I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord:
Thou art a fellow of a good respect;
Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it:
Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face,
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?
STRATO Give me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord.
BRUTUS Farewell, good Strato.
Runs on his sword
Caesar, now be still:
I kill’d not thee with half so good a will.
Dies
Alarum. Retreat. Enter OCTAVIUS, ANTONY, MESSALA, LUCILIUS, and the army
OCTAVIUS What man is that?
MESSALA My master’s man. Strato, where is thy master?
STRATO Free from the bondage you are in, Messala:
The conquerors can but make a fire of him;
For Brutus only overcame himself,
And no man else hath honour by his death.
LUCILIUS So Brutus should be found. I thank thee, Brutus,
That thou hast proved Lucilius’ saying true.
OCTAVIUS All that served Brutus, I will entertain them.
Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?
STRATO Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you.
OCTAVIUS Do so, good Messala.
MESSALA How died my master, Strato?
STRATO I held the sword, and he did run on it.
MESSALA Octavius, then take him to follow thee,
That did the latest service to my master.
ANTONY This was the noblest Roman of them all:
All the conspirators save only he
Did that they did in envy of great Caesar;
He only, in a general honest thought
And common good to all, made one of them.
His life was gentle, and the elements
So mix’d in him that Nature might stand up
And say to all the world ‘This was a man!’
OCTAVIUS According to his virtue let us use him,
With all respect and rites of burial.
Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie,
Most like a soldier, order’d honourably.
So call the field to rest; and let’s away,
To part the glories of this happy day.
Exeunt