Octa.
What man is that?

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

Stra.
Free from the bondage you are in, Messala;
The conqu'rors 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.

Octa.
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.

Octa.
Do so, good Messala.

Mes.
How died my lord, 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 mixt in him, that nature might stand up,
And say to all the world; This was a man!

Octa.
According to his virtue, let us use him,
With all respect, and rites of burial.
Within my tent his bones to-night shall lye,
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 omnes.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

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