SCENE V. Another part of the field. Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and Vo lumnius. Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock. Cli. Statilius show'd the torch-light; but, my lord, He came not back; he is or ta'en, or slain. Bru. Sit thee down, Clitus: Slaying is the word; It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. [Whispering. Cli. What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world. Bru. Peace then, no words. Cli. I'll rather kill myself. Bru. Hark thee, Dardanius! Cli. O, Dardanius! Dar. O, Clitus! [Whispers him. I do such a deed? Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to thee? Dar. To kill him, Clitus: Look, he meditates. Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, That it runs over even at his eyes. Bru. Come hither, good Volumnius: list a word. Vol. What says my lord? Bru. Why, this, Volumnius: The ghost of Cæsar hath appear'd to me Two several times by night: at Sardis, once; I know, my hour is come. Vol. Not so, my lord. Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. Thou see'st the world, Volumnius, how it goes; It is more worthy to leap in ourselves, Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius, Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep; 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. Cli. Fly, my lord, fly. Bru. Hence; I will follow thee. [Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius, and Volumnius. I pr'ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord: Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it: Bru. Farewell, good Strato.-Cæsar, now be still : I kill'd not thee with half so good a will. Alarum. [He runs on his sword and dies. Retreat. Enter Octavius, Antony, Messala, Lucilius, and their Army. Oct. What man is that? Mes. My master's man.-Strato, where is thy ma ster? Stra. 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. Luc. So Brutus should be found.-I thank thee, Brutus, That thou hast prov'd Lucilius' saying true. Oct. All that serv'd Brutus, I will entertain them. Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me? Stra. Ay, if Messala will prefert me to you. Oct. Do so, Messala. Mes. How died my master, Strato? Stra. I held the sword, and he did run on it. Mes. Octavius, then take him to follow thee, That did the latest service to my master. Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all: Did that they did in envy of great Cæsar; Oct. According to his virtue let us use him, Receive into my service. [Exeunt. + Recommend. Of this tragedy many particular passages deserve regard, and the contention and reconcilement of Brutus and Cassius is universally celebrated; but I have never been strongly agitated in perusing it, and think it somewhat cold and unaffecting, compared with some other of Shakspeare's plays: his adherence to the real story, and to the Roman manners, seems to have impeded the natural vigour of his genius. JOHNSON. |