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 every thing 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; It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus.

[Whispering. 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.

[Whispers him.

Shall I do such a deed?

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' fields.
I know my hour is come.

Vol.
Not so, my lord.
Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius.
Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes;
Our enemies have beat us to the pit:

It is more worthy to leap in ourselves,

[Low Alarums.

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,
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?

Stra. Give me your hand first: fare you well, my

lord.

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

[He runs on his Sword, and dies.

Alarum. Retreat. Enter OCTAVIUS, ANTONY, MESSALA, LUCILIUS, and their Army.

Oct. What man is that?

Mes. My master's 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 only overcame himself,

And no man else hath honour by his death.

Luc. So Brutus should be found.-I thank thee,

Brutus,

That thou hast prov'd Lucilius' saying true.

Oct. All that serv'd Brutus, I will entertain them.
Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?
Stra. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you.
Oct. Do so, good Messala.

Mes. How died my master, Strato?

Stra. I held the sword, and he did run on it. Mes. Octavius, then take him to follow thee, That did the latest service to my master.

Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all:
All the conspirators, save only he,

Did that they did in envy of great Cæsar;
He, only, in a general honest thought
And common good to all, made one of them.
His life was gentle; and the elements

So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up,
And say to all the world, "This was a man"!"

Oct. According to his virtue let us use him,
With all respect, and rites of burial.
Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie,
Most like a soldier, order'd honourably.—
So, call the field to rest; and let's away,
To part the glories of this happy day.

[Exeunt.

3 And say to all the world, "This was a man!"] This passage bears a striking resemblance to a portion of a stanza in Drayton's "Barons' Wars," first printed under that title, and in that form of stanza, in 1603. The point is more particularly illustrated in the "Introduction" to this tragedy. Drayton commenced his poetical career in 1591: at least such is the date of his earliest known work, "The Harmonie of the Church," reprinted by the Percy Society; and in Mr. P. Cunningham's interesting volume, (printed for the Shakespeare Society,) "Extracts from the Revels' Accounts," is stated the novel fact, in connection with Drayton's history, that he was in the pay of Prince Henry, being allowed an annuity of 107. per annum. Sylvester, we learn on the same authority, was paid 201. per annum.

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