Into his ears I may say, thrusting it;
For piercing steel, and darts envenomed,
Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus,
As tidings of this sight.

Tit.

Hie you, Messala, And I will seek for Pindarus the while.

[Exit MESSALA.

Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius?
Did I not meet thy friends? and did not they

Put on my brows this wreath of victory,

And bid me give it thee? Didst thou not hear their

shouts ?

Alas! thou hast misconstrued everything.

But hold thee; take this garland on thy brow:

Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I
Will do his bidding.—Brutus, come apace,
And see how I regarded Caius Cassius.—
By your leave, gods :-this is a Roman's part:
Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart.

[Stabs himself, and dies.

Alarum. Re-enter MESSALA, with BRUTUS, young CATO, STRATO, VOLUMNIUS, and LUCILIUS.

Bru. Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie?

Mes. Lo! yonder; and Titinius mourning it.
Bru. Titinius' face is upward.

Cato.

He is slain.

Bru. O Julius Cæsar! thou art mighty yet: Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords In our own proper entrails.

Cato.

Brave Titinius!

[Low alarums.

Look, whe'r he have not crown'd dead Cassius!

Bru. Are yet two Romans living such as these ?— The last of all the Romans,3 fare thee well!

It is impossible that ever Rome

Should breed thy fellow.-Friends, I owe more tears
To this dead man than you shall see me pay.—

I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time.—
Come, therefore, and to Thassos send his body:
His funerals shall not be in our camp,
Lest it discomfort us.-Lucilius, come ;-
And come, young Cato; let us to the field.—
Labeo, and Flavius, set our battles on:-
'Tis three o'clock; and, Romans, yet ere night,
We shall try fortune in a second fight.

SCENE IV. Another Part of the Field.

[Exeunt.

Alarum. Enter, fighting, Soldiers of both Armies; then BRUTUS, CATO, LUCILIUS, and Others.

Bru. Yet, countrymen, O! yet hold up your heads. Cato. What bastard doth not? Who will go with me? I will proclaim my name about the field.

I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!

[Charging the enemy.

A foe to tyrants and my country's friend;

I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!

* THE last of all the Romans,] So every old copy; and there has been much contention as to The or Thou: we follow the folios where the meaning cannot be mistaken. The prima facie evidence is that Shakespeare wrote "The last of all the Romans", and surely it is not worth while to disturb the old text, where, in fact, nothing is gained by it. The Corr. fol. 1632 reads as we have given the passage.

Bru. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I; Brutus, my country's friend: know me for Brutus.

[Exit, charging the enemy. CATO is overpowered, and falls.
Luc. O, young and noble Cato! art thou down?

Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius,
And mayst be honour'd, being Cato's son.
First Sold. Yield, or thou diest.
Luc.

Only I yield to die :

There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight.

[Offering money.

Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death.
First Sold. We must not.-A noble prisoner!

Second Sold. Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta'en.
First Sold. I'll tell the news:-Here comes the general.--

Enter ANTONY.

Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord.

Ant. Where is he?

Luc. Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough.

I dare assure thee that no enemy

Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus :

The gods defend him from so great a shame!

When you do find him, or alive, or dead,

He will be found like Brutus, like himself.

Ant. This is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure you,
A prize no less in worth. Keep this man safe;

Give him all kindness: I had rather have
Such men my friends, than enemies. Go on,
And see whe'r Brutus be alive or dead;
And bring us word, unto Octavius' tent,
How everything is chanc'd.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V. Another Part of the Field.

Enter BRUTUS, DARDANIUS, CLITUS, STRATO, and VOLUMNIUS.

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;
Hark thee, Clitus.-

It is a deed in fashion.

[Whispering him.

Cli. What! I, my lord? No, not for all the world.

Bru. Peace then! no words.
Cli.

Bru. Hark thee, Dardanius!
Dar.

Cli. O, Dardanius!

Dar. O, Clitus!

I'll rather kill myself.

Shall I do such a deed?

[Whispering him.

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;
And, this last night, here in Philippi field.

I know my hour is come.

Vol.

Not so, my lord.

Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius.

[Low alarums.

Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes;
Our enemies have beat us to the pit:

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 pray thee,
Hold thou my sword-hilts whilst I run on it.
Vol. That's not an office for a friend, my lord.

[Alarum still.

Cli. Fly, fly, my lord! there is no tarrying here.
Bru. Farewell to you;-and you;-and you, Volum-

nius.

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.

[Alarum. Cry within, Fly, fly, fly!

Cli. Fly, my lord, fly!

Bru.

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,