Shakespeare's First Folio Part 548

Bru. No man beares sorrow better. Portia is dead

Cas. Ha? Portia?

Bru. She is dead

Cas. How scap'd I killing, when I crost you so?

O insupportable, and touching losse!

Vpon what sicknesse?

Bru. Impatient of my absence, And greefe, that yong Octauius with Mark Antony Haue made themselues so strong: For with her death That tydings came. With this she fell distract, And (her Attendants absent) swallow'd fire

Cas. And dy'd so?

Bru. Euen so

Cas. O ye immortall G.o.ds!

Enter Boy with Wine, and Tapers.

Bru. Speak no more of her: Giue me a bowl of wine, In this I bury all vnkindnesse Ca.s.sius.

Drinkes

Cas. My heart is thirsty for that n.o.ble pledge.

Fill Lucius, till the Wine ore-swell the Cup: I cannot drinke too much of Brutus loue.

Enter t.i.tinius and Messala.

Brutus. Come in t.i.tinius: Welcome good Messala: Now sit we close about this Taper heere, And call in question our necessities

Ca.s.s. Portia, art thou gone?

Bru. No more I pray you.

Messala, I haue heere receiued Letters, That yong Octauius, and Marke Antony Come downe vpon vs with a mighty power, Bending their Expedition toward Philippi

Mess. My selfe haue Letters of the selfe-same Tenure

Bru. With what Addition

Mess. That by proscription, and billes of Outlarie, Octauius, Antony, and Lepidus, Haue put to death, an hundred Senators

Bru. Therein our Letters do not well agree: Mine speake of seuenty Senators, that dy'de By their proscriptions, Cicero being one

Ca.s.si. Cicero one?

Messa. Cicero is dead, and by that order of proscription Had you your Letters from your wife, my Lord?

Bru. No Messala

Messa. Nor nothing in your Letters writ of her?

Bru. Nothing Messala

Messa. That me thinkes is strange

Bru. Why aske you?

Heare you ought of her, in yours?

Messa. No my Lord

Bru. Now as you are a Roman tell me true

Messa. Then like a Roman, beare the truth I tell, For certaine she is dead, and by strange manner

Bru. Why farewell Portia: We must die Messala: With meditating that she must dye once, I haue the patience to endure it now

Messa. Euen so great men, great losses shold indure

Ca.s.si. I haue as much of this in Art as you, But yet my Nature could not beare it so

Bru. Well, to our worke aliue. What do you thinke Of marching to Philippi presently

Ca.s.si. I do not thinke it good

Bru. Your reason?

Ca.s.si. This it is: 'Tis better that the Enemie seeke vs, So shall he waste his meanes, weary his Souldiers, Doing himselfe offence, whil'st we lying still, Are full of rest, defence, and nimblenesse

Bru. Good reasons must of force giue place to better: The people 'twixt Philippi, and this ground Do stand but in a forc'd affection: For they haue grug'd vs Contribution.

The Enemy, marching along by them, By them shall make a fuller number vp, Come on refresht, new added, and encourag'd: From which aduantage shall we cut him off.

If at Philippi we do face him there, These people at our backe

Ca.s.si. Heare me good Brother

Bru. Vnder your pardon. You must note beside, That we haue tride the vtmost of our Friends: Our Legions are brim full, our cause is ripe, The Enemy encreaseth euery day, We at the height, are readie to decline.

There is a Tide in the affayres of men, Which taken at the Flood, leades on to Fortune: Omitted, all the voyage of their life, Is bound in Shallowes, and in Miseries.

On such a full Sea are we now a-float, And we must take the current when it serues, Or loose our Ventures

Ca.s.si. Then with your will go on: wee'l along Our selues, and meet them at Philippi

Bru. The deepe of night is crept vpon our talke, And Nature must obey Necessitie, Which we will n.i.g.g.ard with a little rest: There is no more to say

Ca.s.si. No more, good night, Early to morrow will we rise, and hence.

Enter Lucius.

Bru. Lucius my Gowne: farewell good Messala, Good night t.i.tinius: n.o.ble, n.o.ble Ca.s.sius, Good night, and good repose

Ca.s.si. O my deere Brother: This was an ill beginning of the night: Neuer come such diuision 'tweene our soules: Let it not Brutus.

Enter Lucius with the Gowne.

Bru. Euery thing is well

Ca.s.si. Good night my Lord

Bru. Good night good Brother

t.i.t. Messa. Good night Lord Brutus

Bru. Farwell euery one.