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1 Which' much enforcd, shews a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again.

Caf. Hach Calius liv'd
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.
Caf. Do you confess so much? give me your hand. .
Bru. And my heart too.

Cas. O Brutus!
Bru. What's the matter?

Caf. Have not you love enough to bear with me,
When that raih humour which my mother gave me
Makes me forgetful?

Bru. Yes, Cassius, and from henceforth
When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you fo. 2

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Enter Lucilius and Titinius,
Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders

Prepare (a)

and leave you so.

Enter Lucius and Titinius, and a Poet.
Poet. Let me go in to see the Generals.
There is some grudge between 'em, ʼtis not meet
They be alone.

Luc. You shall not come to them.
Poet. Nothing but death shall stay me.
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 Cynick rhime !
Bru. Get you hence, firrah ; fawcy fellow, hence.
Caf. Bear with him, Brutus, 'cis his fashion.

Bru. I'll know his humour, when he knows his time;
What shcald the wars do with these jingling fools ?
Companion, hence.

Caf. Away, away, be gone.
Brü. Lucilius and Titirius, &c.

[Exit Port,

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Prepare to lodge their companies to-night.
Caf. And come your selves, and bring

Messala with you Immediately to us. [Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius.

Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine.
Caf. I did not think you could have been so angry.
Bru. O Casius, I am sick of many griefs.

Caf. Of your philofophy you make no use,
If you give place to accidental evils.

Bru. No man bears forrow better Portia's dead.
Caf. Ha! Portia! -
Bru. She is dead.

Caf. How 'scap'd I killing, when I croft you fo?
O insupportable and touching loss !
Upon what sickness?

Bru. Impatient of my absence,
And grief, that young Oetavius with Mark Antony
Have made themselves so strong; (for with her deach
That tidings came) with this she fell distract,
And (her attendants absent) fwallow'd fire,

Caf. And dy'd so?
Bru. Even fo.
Caf. 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.

Caf. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge.
Fill, Lucius, 'till the wine o'er-fwell the cup;
I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love.

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Bru. Come in, Titinius į welcome, good Melala !
Now fit we close about this taper here,
And call in question our necessities.

Caf. Oh Portia ! art thou gone ?
Bru. No more, I pray you.
R 2


Messala, I have here received letters,
That young Otavius, and Mark Antony,
Come down upon us with a mighty power,
Bending their expedition tow'rd Philippi.

Mes. My self have letters of the self-fame tenour.
Bru. With what addition ?

Mes. That by proscriptions, and bills of outlawry
Oétavius, Antony, and Lepidus
Have put to death an hundred Senators.

Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree;
Mine speak of sev’nty Senators, that dy'd
By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.
Caf. Cicero one?

Mes. Cicero is dead; and by that order of profcription. Had you your letters from your wife, my Lord ?

Bru. No, Mesala.
Mef. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?
Bru. Nothing, Mesjala.
Mef. That, methinks, is strange.
Bru. Why ask you? hear you ought of her in yours?
Mef. 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, farewel Portia' - we must die, Mefjala. With meditating that she must die once, I have the patience to endure it now.

Mef. Ev'n so great men great losses should endure.

Cal. 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?

Caf. 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 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 encreaseth 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 a-float,
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.

Caf. Then with your will, go on ; we will along
Our selves, 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.

Caf. No more ; good-night ;
Early to-morrow we will rise, and hence,

Enter Lucius.
Bru. Lucius, my gown; /now farewel, good Mesala,

(Exit Lucius. Good-night, Titinius : noble, noble Gassius, R 3

Good2 farewel,

Good-night, and good repose.

Caf. O my dear brother!
This was an ill beginning of the night :
Never come such division 'tween our souls !
Let it not, Brutus.

Re-enter Lucius with the Gown.
Bru. Ev'ry thing is well.
Tit. Mef. Good-night, Lord Brutus.
Bru. Farewel, every one.

[Exeunt. 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 seep on cushions in my tent.

Luc. Varro and Claudius.

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Enter Varro and Claudius.
Var. Calls my Lord ?

Bru. I pray you; Sirs, lye in my tent and sleep;
It may be, I shall raise you by and by,
On business to my brother Cassius.

[.pleasure. Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch your

Bru. I will not have it so; lye down, good Širs :
It may be I shall otherwise bethink me.
Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for fo;
I put it in the pocket of my gown.
Luc. I was sure your Lordship did not give it me.

Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful.
Can'st thou hold up thy heavy eyes a while,
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.


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