The Complete Works of William Shakespeare · William Shakespeare
SCENE V. Another part of the field.
Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato and Volumnius. BRUTUS. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock. CLITUS. Statilius show’d the torch-light; but, my lord, He came not back: he is or ta’en or slain. BRUTUS. Sit thee down, Clitus. Slaying is the word; It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. [_Whispering._] CLITUS. What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world. BRUTUS. Peace then, no words. CLITUS. I’ll rather kill myself. BRUTUS. Hark thee, Dardanius. [_Whispers him._] DARDANIUS. Shall I do such a deed? CLITUS. O Dardanius! DARDANIUS. O Clitus! CLITUS. What ill request did Brutus make to thee? DARDANIUS. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates. CLITUS. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, That it runs over even at his eyes. BRUTUS. Come hither, good Volumnius; list a word. VOLUMNIUS. What says my lord? BRUTUS. Why, this, Volumnius: The ghost of Caesar hath appear’d to me Two several times by night; at Sardis once, And this last night here in Philippi fields. I know my hour is come. VOLUMNIUS. Not so, my lord. BRUTUS. Nay I am sure it is, Volumnius. Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes; Our enemies have beat us to the pit. [_Low alarums._] It is more worthy to leap in ourselves Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius, Thou know’st that we two went to school together; Even for that our love of old, I pr’ythee Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it.
VOLUMNIUS. That’s not an office for a friend, my lord. [_Alarums still._] CLITUS. Fly, fly, my lord! there is no tarrying here. BRUTUS. Farewell to you; and you; and you, Volumnius. Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep; Farewell to thee too, Strato.—Countrymen, My heart doth joy, that yet in all my life I found no man but he was true to me. I shall have glory by this losing day More than Octavius and Mark Antony By this vile conquest shall attain unto. 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. [_Alarums. Cry within, “Fly, fly, fly!”._] CLITUS. Fly, my lord, fly! BRUTUS. Hence! I will follow. [_Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius and Volumnius._] I pr’ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord. Thou art a fellow of a good respect; Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it. Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face, While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato? STRATO. Give me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord. BRUTUS. Farewell, good Strato.—Caesar, now be still: I kill’d not thee with half so good a will. [_He runs on his sword, and dies._] Alarum. Retreat. Enter Antony, Octavius, Messala, Lucilius and the Army.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.