Act V, Scene v:
Another part of the field.

[Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and Volumnius.]

BRUTUS:

Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock.

CLITUS:

Statilius show'd the torch-light; but, my lord,

He came not back: he is or ta'en or slain.

BRUTUS:

Sit thee down, Clitus: slaying is the word;

It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus.

[Whispering.]

CLITUS:

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

BRUTUS:

Peace then! no words.

CLITUS:

I'll rather kill myself.

BRUTUS:

Hark thee, Dardanius.

[Whispers him.]

DARDANIUS:

Shall I do such a deed?

CLITUS:

O Dardanius!

DARDANIUS:

O Clitus!

CLITUS:

What ill request did Brutus make to thee?

DARDANIUS:

To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates.

CLITUS:

Now is that noble vessel full of grief,

That it runs over even at his eyes.

BRUTUS:

Come hither, good Volumnius; list a word.

VOLUMNIUS:

What says my lord?

BRUTUS:

Why, this, Volumnius:

The ghost of Caesar 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.

VOLUMNIUS:

Not so, my lord.

BRUTUS:

Nay I am sure it is, Volumnius.

Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes;

Our enemies have beat us to the pit:

[Low alarums.]

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 pr'ythee,

Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it.

VOLUMNIUS:

That's not an office for a friend, my lord.

[Alarums still.]

CLITUS:

Fly, fly, my lord! there is no tarrying here.

BRUTUS:

Farewell to you;—and you;—and you, Volumnius.—

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.

[Alarums. Cry within, "Fly, fly, fly!"]

CLITUS:

Fly, my lord, fly!

BRUTUS:

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 smack of honor in it:

Hold, then, my sword, and turn away thy face,

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

STRATO:

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

BRUTUS:

Farewell, good Strato.—Caesar, 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, andArmy.]

OCTAVIUS:

What man is that?

MESSALA:

My master's man.—Strato, where is thy master?

STRATO:

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.

LUCILIUS:

So Brutus should be found.—I thank thee, Brutus,

That thou hast proved Lucilius' saying true.

OCTAVIUS:

All that served Brutus, I will entertain them.—

Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?

STRATO:

Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you.

OCTAVIUS:

Do so, good Messala.

MESSALA:

How died my master, Strato?

STRATO:

I held the sword, and he did run on it.

MESSALA:

Octavius, then take him to follow thee,

That did the latest service to my master.

ANTONY:

This was the noblest Roman of them all:

All the conspirators, save only he,

Did that they did in envy of great Caesar;

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!"

OCTAVIUS:

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 honorably.—

So, call the field to rest; and let's away,

To part the glories of this happy day.

[Exeunt.]

THE END