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Boy! Lucius ! Varro! Claudius! Sirs ! awake!
Luc. The strings, my Lord, are falfe.
Bru. He thinks, he is ftill at his instrument.
Luc. My Lord !
Bru. Didit thou dream, Lucius, that thou fo criedft out?
Luc My Lord, I do not know that I did cry.
Bru. Yes, that thou didft; didst thou see any thing?
Luc. Nothing, my Lord.
Bru. Sleep again, Lucius ; firrah, Claudius, fellow!
Varro! awake. (16)
Var. My Lord !
Clau. My Lord !
Bru. Why did you fo cry out, Sirs, in your sleep?
Both. Did we, my
Bri. Ay, saw you any thing?
Var. No, my Lord, I saw nothing.
Clau. Nor I, my Lord.
Bru. Go, and commend me to my brother Caffius;
Bid him set on his Pow'rs betimes before,
And we will follow.
Both. It shall be done, my Lord.
(16) Thou! awake.] The Accent is so unmusical and harsh, 'tis impoffible, the Poet could begin his Verse thus. · Brutus, cerfainly, was intended to speak to both his other Men: who both awake, and answer, at an inftant.
А ст V. SCENE, the Fields of Philippi, with the
Enter Octavius, Antony, and their Army.
OW, Antony, our hopes are answered.
You faid, the enemy would not come down,
But keep the hills and upper regions ;
It proves not so; their battles are at hand,
They mean to warn us at Philippi here,
Answering, before we do demand of them.
Ant. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know
Wherefore they do it; they could be content
To visit other places, and come down
With fearful bravery; thinking, by this face,
To falten in our thoughts that they have courage.
But 'tis not fo.
Enter a Messenger.
Mel: Prepare you, Generals ;;
The enemy comes on in gallant Mew;
Their bloody fign of battle is hung out,
And something to be done immediately.
Ant. Oétavius, lead your battle foftly on,
Upon the left hand of the even field.
Osta. Upon the right hand I, keep thou the left.
Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent?
Ofn. I do not cross you ; but I will do so. [Marcha
Drum. Enter Brutus, Caffius, and their army.
Bru. They stand, and would have parley.
Caf. Stand fast, T ius, we must out and talk.
Ofta. Mark Antony, fhall we give sign of battle?
Anț, No, Cæfar, we will answer on their charge.
Make forth, the Generals would have some words.
Osta. Stir not until the signal.
Brú. Words before blows : is it so, countrymen ?
Osta. Not that we love words better, as you do.
Bru. Good words are better than bad strokes, Ota-
vius, Ant. In your bad ftrokes, Brutus, you give good
Witness the hole you made in Cæsar's heart,
Crying, “ long live ! hail, Cæsar!"
The posture of your blows are yet unknown;
But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees,
And leave them honeyless.
Ant. Not stingless too.
Bru. O yes, and foundless too :
For you have stoln their buzzing, Antony ;
And very wisely threat, before you sting.
Ant. Villains ! you did not so, when your
Hack'd one another in the sides of Cæfar.
You shew'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like hounds,
And bow'd like bond-men, kissing Cafar's feet;
Whilft damned Casca, like a cụr behind,
Struck Cæfar on the neck. Oflatterers !
Caf. Flatterers! now, Brutus, thank yourself;
This tongue had not offended fo to-day,
If Casus might have ruld.
Oča. Come, .come, the cause. If arguing make us
The proof of it will turn to redder drops.
Behold, I draw a fword againft confpirators ;
When think you, that the sword goes up again?
Never, 'till Cæsar's three and twenty wounds (17)
(17) Three and thirty wounds..] Thus all the Editions implicitly; but i have ventur'd to reduce this Number to tbree and twenty
Be well aveng'd; or till another Cæfar
Have added Naughter to the sword of traitors.
Bru. Cæsar, thou canst not die by traitors' hands, Unless thou bring'it them with thee.
Ofta. So I hope ;
I was not born to die on Brutus' sword.
Bru. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy Strain,
Young man, thou couldît not die more honourable.
Caf. A peevish school-boy, worthless of such honour, Join'd with a masker and a reveller.
Ant. Old Cassius still !
Octa. Come, Antony, away ; Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your
teeth : If
you dare fight to-day, come to the field ; If not, when you have stomachs.
[Exe. Ostavius, Antony, and army. Caf. Why, now blow wind, fwell billow, and swim
bark ! The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. Bru. Lucilius, hark, a word with you.
[Lucilius and Messala sand forth.
Luc. My Lord. [Brutus speaks apart to Lucilius.
Mes. What says my General?
This is my birth-day; as this very day
Was Calius born. Give me thy hand, Me falo;
Be thou my witness, that, against my will,
As Pompey was, am I compeli'd to set
Upon one battle all our liberties.
You know, that I held Epicurus strong,
And his opinion ; now I change my mind;
And partly credit things, that do prefage.
Coming from Sardis, on our foremost enfigu
Two mighty eagles fell; and there they perch'd ;
Gorging and feeding from our foldiers' hands,
from the joint Authorities of Appian, Plutarch, and Suetonius : and, I am persuaded, the Error was not from the Poet but his 'Trania cribers. VOL. VII.
Who to Philippi here conforted us :
This morning are they fled away and gone,
And, in their steads, do ravens, crows and kites
Fly o’er our heads; and downward look on us,
As we were sickly prey; their shadows seem
A canopy most fatal, under which
Our army lies ready to give the ghoft.
Mes. Believe not so.
Caf. I but believe it partly;
For I am fresh of spirit, and resolvid
To meet all peril very constantly.
Bru. Even so, Lucilius.
Caf. Now, moft noble Brutus,
The Gods to-day stand friendly; that we may,
Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age !
But since th' affairs of men rest still incertain,
Let's reason with the worst that
If we do lose this battle, then is this
The very last time we shall speak together.
What are you then determined to do?
Bru. Ev'n by the rule of that philofophy,
By which I did blame Cato for the death
Which he did give himself; I know not how,
But I do find it cowardly, and vile,
For fear of what might fall, so to prevent
The time of life ; arming myself with patience,
To stay the providence of some high powers,
That govern us below.
Cas. Then, if we lose this battle,
You are contented to be led in triumph
Thorough the streets of Rome?
Bru. No, Cafius, no ; think not, thou noble Roman, That ever Brutns will go bound to Rome ; He bears too great a mind. But this fame day Must end that Work, the Ides of March begun; And, whether we shall meet again, I know not ; Therefore our everlasting farewel take; For ever, and for ever, farewel, Caffius! If we do meet again, why, we shall smile ; If not, why, then this parting was well made.