BRUTUS.
Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders
Prepare to lodge their companies tonight.
CASSIUS.
And come yourselves and bring Messala with you
Immediately to us.
[Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius.]
BRUTUS.
Lucius, a bowl of wine!
[Exit Lucius.]
CASSIUS.
I did not think you could have been so angry.
BRUTUS.
O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.
CASSIUS.
Of your philosophy you make no use,
If you give place to accidental evils.
BRUTUS.
No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead.
CASSIUS.
Ha! Portia!
BRUTUS.
She is dead.
CASSIUS.
How ‘scaped I killing, when I cross’d you so?—
O insupportable and touching loss!—
Upon what sickness?
BRUTUS.
Impatient of my absence,
And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony
Have made themselves so strong;—for with her death
That tidings came;—with this she fell distract,
And, her attendants absent, swallow’d fire.
CASSIUS.
And died so?
BRUTUS.
Even so.
CASSIUS.
O ye immortal gods!
[Re-enter Lucius, with wine and a taper.]
BRUTUS.
Speak no more of her.—Give me a bowl of wine.—
In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius.
[Drinks.]
CASSIUS.
My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge.
Fill, Lucius, till the wine o’erswell the cup;
I cannot drink too much of Brutus’ love.
[Drinks.]
BRUTUS.
Come in, Titinius!—
[Exit Lucius.]
[Re-enter Titinius, with Messala.]
Welcome, good Messala.—
Now sit we close about this taper here,
And call in question our necessities.
CASSIUS.
Portia, art thou gone?
BRUTUS.
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 toward Philippi.
MESSALA.
Myself have letters of the selfsame tenour.
BRUTUS.
With what addition?
MESSALA.
That by proscription and bills of outlawry
Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus
Have put to death an hundred Senators.
BRUTUS.
There in our letters do not well agree:
Mine speak of seventy Senators that died
By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.
CASSIUS.
Cicero one!
MESSALA.
Cicero is dead,
And by that order of proscription.—
Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?
BRUTUS.
No, Messala.
MESSALA.
Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?
BRUTUS.
Nothing, Messala.
MESSALA.
That, methinks, is strange.
BRUTUS.
Why ask you? hear you aught of her in yours?
MESSALA.
No, my lord.
BRUTUS.
Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true.
MESSALA.
Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell:
For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.
BRUTUS.
Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala:
With meditating that she must die once,
I have the patience to endure it now.
MESSALA.
Even so great men great losses should endure.
CASSIUS.
I have as much of this in art as you,
But yet my nature could not bear it so.
BRUTUS.
Well, to our work alive. What do you think
Of marching to Philippi presently?
CASSIUS.
I do not think it good.
BRUTUS.
Your reason?
CASSIUS.
This it is:
‘Tis better that the enemy seek us;:
So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers,
Doing himself offense; whilst we, lying still,
Are full of rest, defense, and nimbleness.
BRUTUS.
Good reasons must, of force, give place to better.
The people ‘twixt Philippi and this ground
Do stand but in a forced affection;
For they have grudged us contribution:
The enemy, marching along by them,
By them shall make a fuller number up,
Come on refresh’d, new-added, and encouraged;
From which advantage shall we cut him off,
If at Philippi we do face him there,
These people at our back.
CASSIUS.
Hear me, good brother.
BRUTUS.
Under your pardon. You must note besides,
That we have tried the utmost of our friends,
Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe:
The enemy increaseth every day;