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,
And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire.

Cas. And died so?

Bru. Even so.

Cas. O ye immortal gods!

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.
Cas. Portia, art thou gone?
Bru.
No more, I pray you.-
Messala, I have here received letters,
That young Octavius, and Mark Antony,
Come down upon us with a mighty power,
Bending their expedition toward Philippi.

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;
Mine speak of seventy senators, that died
By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.
Cas. Cicero one?

Mes.

Ay, Cicero is dead,
And by that order of proscription.-

Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?
Bru. No, Messala.

Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?
Bru. Nothing, Messala.

Mes.

That, methinks, is strange.

Bru. Why ask you? Hear you aught of her in

your's?

Mes. No, my lord.

Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell: For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. Bru. Why, farewell, Portia.-We must die, Messala:

With meditating that she must die once,'
I have the patience to endure it now.

Mes. Even so great men great losses should endure.
Cas. 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 presently?
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,
Doing himself offence; whilst we, lying still,
Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness.

Bru. Good reasons must, of force, give place to
better.

The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground,
Do stand but in a forc'd affection;
For they have grudg'd us contribution:
The enemy, marching along by them,
By them shall 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,

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:

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 shallows, and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat;

And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.

Cas.

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.

O my dear brother!

This was an ill beginning of the night:
Never come such division 'tween our souls!

Tit. Mes. Good night, lord Brutus.

Bru.

Farewell, every one.

[Exeunt CAS. TIT. and MES.

Re-enter LUCIUS, with the Gown.

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

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.

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.

Luc. I was sure, your lordship did not give it me. Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much for

getful.

Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile,

And touch thy instrument a strain or two?
Luc. Ay, my lord, an it please you.

Bru.

It does, my boy :

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

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 maces 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 CESAR.

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?

Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare? Speak to me, what thou art.

Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus.

5 thy leaden mace-] A mace is the ancient term for a sceptre.