Bru.
Come in, Titinius; welcome, good Messala!
Now sit we close about this taper here,
And call in question our necessities.

Cas.
Oh Portia! art thou gone?

Bru.
No more, I pray you.
Messala, I have here received letters,
That young Octavius, and Mark Antony,
Come down upon us with a mighty power,
Bending their expedition tow'rd Philippi.

Mes.
My self have letters of the self-same tenure.

Bru.
With what addition?

Mes.
That by proscriptions, and bills of outlawry
Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus
Have put to death an hundred Senators.

Bru.
Therein our letters do not well agree;
Mine speak of sev'nty Senators, that dy'd
By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.

Cas.
Cicero one?—

Mes.
Cicero is dead; and by that order of proscription.
Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?

Bru.
No, Messala.

Mes.
Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?

Bru.
Nothing, Messala.

Mes.
That, methinks, is strange.

Bru.
Why ask you? hear you ought of her, in yours?

Mes.
No, my lord.

Bru.
Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true.

Mes.
Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell;
For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.

Bru.
Why, farewel Portia—we must die, Messala.
With meditating that she must die once,
I have the patience to endure it now.

Mes.
Ev'n so great men great losses should endure.

Cas.
I have as much of this in art as you,
But yet my nature could not bear it so.

Bru.
Well, to our work alive. What do you think
Of marching to Philippi presently?

Cas.
I do not think it good.

Bru.
Your reason?

Cas.
This it is:
'Tis better that the enemy seek us,
So shall we waste his means, weary his soldiers,
Doing himself offence; whilst we lying still,
Are full of rest, defence and nimbleness.

Bru.
Good reasons must of force give place to better.
The people 'twixt Philippi and this ground,
Do stand but in a forc'd affection;
For they have grudg'd us contribution.
The enemy, marching along by them,
By them shall make a fuller number up,
Come on refresht, new added, and encourag'd;
From which advantage shall we cut him off,
If at Philippi we do face him there,
These people at our back.

Cas.
Hear me, good brother—

Bru.
Under your pardon. You must note beside,
That we have try'd the utmost of our friends;
Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe,
The enemy encreaseth every day,
We at the height, are ready to decline.
&plquo;There is a tide in the affairs of men,
&plquo;Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
&plquo;Omitted, all the voyage of their life
&plquo;Is bound in shallows, and in miseries.
&plquo;On such a full sea are we now a-float,
&plquo;And we must take the current when it serves,
&plquo;Or lose our ventures.

Cas.
Then with your will, go on; we will along
Our selves, and meet them at Philippi.

Bru.
The deep of night is crept upon our talk,

And nature must obey necessity,
Which we will niggard with a little rest.
There is no more to say.

Cas.
No more; good-night;—
Early to-morrow we will rise, and hence. Enter Lucius.

Bru.
Lucius, my gown; farewel, good Messala,
Good-night, Titinius: noble, noble Cassius,
Good-night, and good repose.

Cas.
O my dear brother!
This was an ill begnning of the night:
Never come such division 'tween our souls;
Let it not, Brutus. Enter Lucius with the Gown.

Bru.
Ev'ry thing is well.

Tit. Messa.
Good-night, lord Brutus!

Bru.
Farewel, every one. [Exeunt.
Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument?

Luc.
Here in the tent.

Bru.
What, thou speak'st drowsily?
Poor knave I blame thee not, thou art o'er-watch'd.
Call Claudius, and some other of my men;
I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent.

Luc.
Varro and Claudius!

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