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
Octa. Do so, good Messala
Messa. How dyed my Master Strato? Stra. I held the Sword, and he did run on it
Messa. Octauius, then take him to follow thee, That did the latest seruice to my Master
Ant. This was the Noblest Roman of them all: All the Conspirators saue onely hee, Did that they did, in enuy of great Caesar: He, onely in a generall honest thought, And common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle, and the Elements So mixt in him, that Nature might stand vp, And say to all the world; This was a man
Octa. According to his Vertue, let vs vse him Withall Respect, and Rites of Buriall. Within my Tent his bones to night shall ly, Most like a Souldier ordered Honourably: So call the Field to rest, and let's away, To part the glories of this happy day.
Exeunt. omnes.
FINIS. THE TRAGEDIE OF IVLIVS CaeSAR.