Shakespeare's First Folio Part 552

I will proclaime my name about the Field.

I am the Sonne of Marcus Cato, hoe.

A Foe to Tyrants, and my Countries Friend.

I am the Sonne of Marcus Cato, hoe.

Enter Souldiers, and fight.

And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I, Brutus my Countries Friend: Know me for Brutus

Luc. O yong and n.o.ble Cato, art thou downe?

Why now thou dyest, as brauely as t.i.tinius, And may'st be honour'd, being Cato's Sonne

Sold. Yeeld, or thou dyest

Luc. Onely I yeeld to dye: There is so much, that thou wilt kill me straight: Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death

Sold. We must not: a n.o.ble Prisoner.

Enter Antony.

2.Sold. Roome hoe: tell Antony, Brutus is tane

1.Sold. Ile tell thee newes. Heere comes the Generall, Brutus is tane, Brutus is tane my Lord

Ant. Where is hee?

Luc. Safe Antony, Brutus is safe enough: I dare a.s.sure thee, that no Enemy Shall euer take aliue the n.o.ble Brutus: The G.o.ds defend him from so great a shame, When you do finde him, or aliue, or dead, He will be found like Brutus, like himselfe

Ant. This is not Brutus friend, but I a.s.sure you, A prize no lesse in worth; keepe this man safe, Giue him all kindnesse. I had rather haue Such men my Friends, then Enemies. Go on, And see where Brutus be aliue or dead, And bring vs word, vnto Octauius Tent: How euery thing is chanc'd.

Exeunt.

Enter Brutus, Dardanius, c.l.i.tus, Strato, and Volumnius.

Brut. Come poore remaines of friends, rest on this Rocke

c.l.i.t. Statillius shew'd the Torch-light, but my Lord He came not backe: he is or tane, or slaine

Brut. Sit thee downe, c.l.i.tus: slaying is the word, It is a deed in fas.h.i.+on. Hearke thee, c.l.i.tus

c.l.i.t. What I, my Lord? No, not for all the World

Brut. Peace then, no words

c.l.i.t. Ile rather kill my selfe

Brut. Hearke thee, Dardanius

Dard. Shall I doe such a deed?

c.l.i.t. O Dardanius

Dard. O c.l.i.tus

c.l.i.t. What ill request did Brutus make to thee?

Dard. To kill him, c.l.i.tus: looke he meditates

c.l.i.t. Now is that n.o.ble Vessell full of griefe, That it runnes ouer euen at his eyes

Brut. Come hither, good Volumnius, list a word

Volum. What sayes my Lord?

Brut. Why this, Volumnius: The Ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me Two seuerall times by Night: at Sardis, once; And this last Night, here in Philippi fields: I know my houre is come

Volum. Not so, my Lord

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

Thou seest the World, Volumnius, how it goes, Our Enemies haue beat vs to the Pit:

Low Alarums.

It is more worthy, to leape in our selues, Then tarry till they push vs. Good Volumnius, Thou know'st, that we two went to Schoole together: Euen for that our loue of old, I prethee Hold thou my Sword Hilts, whilest I runne on it

Vol. That's not an Office for a friend, my Lord.

Alarum still.

Cly. Fly, flye my Lord, there is no tarrying heere

Bru. Farewell to you, and you, and Volumnius.

Strato, thou hast bin all this while asleepe: Farewell to thee, to Strato, Countrymen: My heart doth ioy, that yet in all my life, I found no man, but he was true to me.

I shall haue glory by this loosing day More then Octauius, and Marke Antony, By this vile Conquest shall attaine vnto.

So fare you well at once, for Brutus tongue Hath almost ended his liues History: Night hangs vpon mine eyes, my Bones would rest, That haue but labour'd, to attaine this houre.

Alarum. Cry within, Flye, flye, flye.

Cly. Fly my Lord, flye

Bru. Hence: I will follow: I prythee Strato, stay thou by thy Lord, Thou art a Fellow of a good respect: Thy life hath had some smatch of Honor in it, Hold then my Sword, and turne away thy face, While I do run vpon it. Wilt thou Strato?

Stra. Giue me your hand first. Fare you wel my Lord

Bru. Farewell good Strato. - Caesar, now be still, I kill'd not thee with halfe so good a will.

Dyes.

Alarum. Retreat. Enter Antony, Octauius, Messala, Lucillius, and the Army.

Octa. What man is that?

Messa. My Masters man. Strato, where is thy Master?

Stra. Free from the Bondage you are in Messala, The Conquerors can but make a fire of him: For Brutus onely ouercame himselfe, And no man else hath Honor by his death

Lucil. So Brutus should be found. I thank thee Brutus That thou hast prou'd Lucillius saying true, Octa. All that seru'd Brutus, I will entertaine them.

Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?

Stra. I, if Messala will preferre me to you