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Enter Trebonius and Casca.
Tre. It is but change, good Casca: for Octavius Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power, As Cassius' legions are by Antony.
Casca. These tidings will well comfort Cassius.
Tre. Where did you leave him?
Casca. All disconsolate,
Tre. Is not that he that lies upon the ground?
Casca. He lies not like the living. Oh my heart I
Tre. Is not that he?
Casca. No, this was he, Trebonius; But Cassius is no more! Oh, setting sun! As in thy red rays thou dost sink, to-night; So in his red blood, Cassius' day is set; The sun of Rome is set! our day is gone; Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done. Mistrust of my success hath done this deed.
Tre. Mistrust of good success hath done this deed.
Casca. What, Pindarus! where art thou, Pindarus?
Tre. Seek him, whilst I go meet the noble Brutus, With tidings of this sight.
Casca. Hie you, Trebonius,
By your leave, gods This is a Roman's part.
[Stabs himself. Alarum.
Enter Brutus, Trebonius, Decius, Cinna, and
Bru. Where, where, Trebonius, doth his body lie?
Tre. Lo, yonder, and Casca mourning it.
Bru. Casca's face is upward.
Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more tears
Field at PhiMppi.
Enter several Soldiers, with Trebonius Prisoner, meeting Antony.
1 Sold. Here comes the general: Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord.
Ant. Where is he?
Tre. Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough.
Ant. This is not Brutus, friend, but I assure you
Such men my friends than enemies. Go on,
And see if Brutus be alive or dead;
And bring us word unto Octavius' tent,
How every thing hath chanc'd. [Exeunt.
Enter Brutus, Decius, Metellus, and Cinna.
Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest here. Slaying is the word; v
It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Decius.
Dec. What I, my lord? no, not for all the world.
Bru. Peace then, no words.
Dec. I'll rather kill myself.
Bru. Come hither, good Metellus; list a word.
Met. What says my lord?
Bru. Why, this, Metellus;
Met. Not so, my lord.
Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Metellus.
It is more worthy to leap in ourselves,
Met. That's not an office for a friend, my lord.
Bru. Why, then, farewell;
Thus Brutus always strikes for liberty.
Poor slavish Rome, farewell.
Caesar, now be still;
I kill'd not thee with halfso good a will. Oh!
[He runs on his Sword, and dies.
Enter Antony and Octavius, with Trebonius Prisoner.
Ant. Whom mourn you over ?
Met. 'Tis Brutus.
Tie. So Brutus should be found. Thank
Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all,
Oct. According to his virtue let us use him;