And here my naked breast; within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth;
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:
Strike, as thou didst at Cæsar; for, I know,

When thou didst hate him worse, thou lovedst him better
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.

Bru. Sheath your dagger:

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb
That carries anger, as the flint bears fire;
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again.

Cas. Hath Cassius lived

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth him?
Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.
Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.
Bru. And my heart too.

Cas. O Brutus!

Bru. What's the matter?

Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour which my mother gave me,

Makes me forgetful?

Bru. Yes, Cassius; and henceforth,

When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,

He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. [Noise within,

Poet. [within]. Let me go in to see the generals;

There is some grudge between them; 'tis not meet

They be alone.

Luc. [within]. You shall not come to them.
Poet. [within]. Nothing but death shall stay me.
Enter POET.

Cas. How now? What's the matter?

Poet. For shame, you generals; What do you mean?
Love, and be friends, as two such men should be;
For I have seen more years, I'm sure, than ye.

Cas. Ha, ha; how vilely doth this cynic rhyme !
Bru. Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hence.
Cas. Bear with him, Brutus; 'tis his fashion.
Bru. I'll know his humour when he knows his time:
What should the wars do with these jigging fools?
Companion, hence.

*

Cas. Away, away, be gone.

Enter LUCILIUS and TITINIUS.

Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders

Prepare to lodge their companies to-night.

[Exit POET.

Cas. And come yourselves, and bring Messala with you,

Immediately to us.

[Exeunt LUCILIUS and TITINIUS. *Fellow.

Bru. Lucilius, a bowl of wine.

Cas. I did not think you could have been so angry.
Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.

Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use,

If you give place to accidental evils.

Bru. No man bears sorrow better:-Portia is dead.
Cas. Ha! Portia ?

Bru. She is dead.

Cas. How 'scaped 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.

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.

Re-enter TITINIUS, with MESSALA.

Bru. Come in, Titinius :-Welcome, good Messala.

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.

Mess. Myself have letters of the self-same tenour.
Bru. With what addition ?

Mess. That by proscription, and bills of outlawry,
Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus,

Have put to death a 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?

Mess. 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 yours?

[Drinks.

[Drinks.

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 you think Of marching to Philippi presently?

Cas. I do not think it good,

Bru. Your reason?

Cas. This it is:

"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 forced affection;

For they have grudged us contribution:
The enemy, marching along by them,
By them shall make a fuller number up,

Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encouraged;
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 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,

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;

* Theory.

Good night, Titinius:-Noble, noble Cassius,
Good night, and good repose.

Cas. O my dear brother,

This was an ill beginning of the night:

Never come such division 'tween our souls!

Let it not, Brutus.

Bru. Everything is well.

Cas. Good night, my lord.

Bru. Good night, good brother.

Tit. Mes. Good night, lord Brutus.

Bru. Farewell, every one.

[Exeunt CASSIUS, TITINIUS, and MESSALA. 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'erwatch'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 forgetful,

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.

[Music and a Song.

This is a sleepy tune:-O murd'rous slumber!
Lay'st thou thy leaden mace* upon my boy,
That plays thee music?-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.

* Sceptre,

Let me sec, let me see;-Is not the leaf turn'd down,
Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.

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 anything?

Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,

That makest my blood cold, and my hair to stare?
Speak to me what thou art.

Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus.

Bru. Why comest thou?

[He sits down.

Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi.
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:

Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.

[GHOST vanishes.

Boy! Lucius!-Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake!—
Claudius!

Luc. The strings, my lord, are false.

Bru. He thinks, he still is at his instrument.

Lucius, awake.

Luc. My lord!

Bru. Thou didst dream, Lucius, that thou so cry'dst out?
Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did cry.

Bru. Yes, that thou didst: Didst thou see anything?
Luc. Nothing, my lord.

Bru. Sleep again, Lucius.-Sirrah, Claudius!

Fellow thou! awake.

Var. My lord.

Clau. My lord.

Bru. Why did you so cry out, Sirs, in your sleep?

Var. Clau. Did we, my lord?

Bru. Ay: Saw you anything?

Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing.

Clau. Nor I, my lord.

Bru. Go, and commend me to my brother Cassius; Bid him set on his powers betimes before,

And we will follow.

Var. Clau. It shall be done, my lord.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I.-The Plains of Philippi.

Enter OCTAVIUS, ANTONY, and their Army.

Oct. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered; You said, the enemy would not come down, But keep the hills and upper regions;