Re-enter TITINIUS, with MESSALA. Welcome, good Messala. Now sit we close about this taper here, And call in question our necessities. No more, I pray you. 165 Messala, I have here received letters, Bending their expedition toward Philippi. Mes. Myself have letters of the selfsame tenor. 170 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; 175 Mine speak of seventy senators that died 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 ? Mes. That, methinks, is strange. 180 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. Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell : 185 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 you think Of marching to Philippi presently? Cas. I do not think it good. Bru. Cas. 190 195 Your reason? This it is: 'Tis better that the enemy seek us: So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. 200 Bru. Good reasons must of force give place to better. Come on refreshed, new-added, and encouraged; 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 tried 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, 210 215 Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; And we must take the current when it serves, Cas. 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. 220 225 Bru. Lucius! [Enter Lucius.] My gown. [Exit Lucius.] Farewell, good Messala : Good night, Titinius: noble, noble Cassius, Good night, and good repose. Cas. 230 O my dear brother! This was an ill beginning of the night: Never come such division 'tween our souls! 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'erwatched. Call Claudius and some other of my men ; I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent. Luc. Varro and Claudius ! Var. Enter VARRO and CLAUDIUS. 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. 240 245 Var. So please you, we will stand and watch your pleasure. Bru. I will not have it so: lie down, good sirs; Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so; 250 [Varro and Claudius 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, And touch thy instrument a strain or two? Luc. Ay, my lord, an 't 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 was well done; and thou shalt sleep again; I will not hold thee long; if I do live, I will be good to thee. 255 260 [Music, and a song. This is a sleepy tune. O murderous slumber, 265 Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy, Enter the Ghost of CÆSAR. How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here? Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, That makest my blood cold and my hair to stare? Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 270 275 Why comest thou? 280 Bru. Bru. Well; then I shall see thee again? Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then. Now I have taken heart thou vanishest: [Exit Ghost. 285 Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. Luc. The strings, my lord, are false. Bru. He thinks he still is at his instrument. Lucius, awake! 290 Luc. My lord? Bru. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so criedst out? |