The Plains of Philippi. |
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Enter OCTAVIUS, ANTONY, and their Army. |
Oct. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered: |
You said the enemy would not come down, |
But keep the hills and upper regions; |
It proves not so; their battles are at hand; |
They mean to warn us at Philippi here, |
Answering before we do demand of them. |
Ant. Tut! I am in their bosoms, and I know |
Wherefore they do it: they could be content |
To visit other places; and come down |
With fearful bravery, thinking by this face |
To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage; |
But 'tis not so. |
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Enter a Messenger. |
Mess. Prepare you, generals: |
The enemy comes on in gallant show; |
Their bloody sign of battle is hung out, |
And something to be done immediately. |
Ant. Octavius, lead your battle softly on, |
Upon the left hand of the even field. |
Oct. Upon the right hand I; keep thou the left. |
Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent? |
Oct. I do not cross you; but I will do so. [March. |
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Drum. Enter BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and their Army; LUCILIUS, TITINIUS, MESSALA, and Others. |
Bru. They stand, and would have parley. |
Cas. Stand fast, Titinius: we must out and talk. |
Oct. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle? |
Ant. No, Cæsar, we will answer on their charge. |
Make forth; the generals would have some words. |
Oct. Stir not until the signal. |
Bru. Words before blows: is it so, countrymen? |
Oct. Not that we love words better, as you do. |
Bru. Good words are better than bad strokes, Octavius. |
Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good words: |
Witness the hole you made in Cæsar's heart, |
Crying, 'Long live! hail, Cæsar!' |
Cas. Antony, |
The posture of your blows are yet unknown; |
But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees, |
And leave them honeyless. |
Ant. Not stingless too. |
Bru. O! yes, and soundless too; |
For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony, |
And very wisely threat before you sting. |
Ant. Villains! you did not so when your vile daggers |
Hack'd one another in the sides of Cæsar: |
You show'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like hounds, |
And bow'd like bondmen, kissing Cæsar's feet; |
Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind |
Struck Cæsar on the neck. O you flatterers! |
Cas. Flatterers! Now, Brutus, thank yourself: |
This tongue had not offended so to-day, |
If Cassius might have rul'd. |
Oct. Come, come, the cause: if arguing make us sweat, |
The proof of it will turn to redder drops. |
Look; |
I draw a sword against conspirators; |
When think you that the sword goes up again? |
Never, till Cæsar's three-and-thirty wounds |
Be well aveng'd; or till another Cæsar |
Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors. |
Bru. Cæsar, thou canst not die by traitors' hands, |
Unless thou bring'st them with thee. |
Oct. So I hope; |
I was not born to die on Brutus' sword. |
Bru. O! if thou wert the noblest of thy strain, |
Young man, thou couldst not die more honourable. |
Cas. A peevish schoolboy, worthless of such honour, |
Join'd with a masquer and a reveller. |
Ant. Old Cassius still! |
Oct. Come, Antony; away! |
Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth. |
If you dare fight to-day, come to the field; |
If not, when you have stomachs. [Exeunt OCTAVIUS, ANTONY, and their Army. |
Cas. Why now, blow wind, swell billow, and swim bark! |
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. |
Bru. Ho! |
Lucilius! hark, a word with you. |
Lucil. My lord? [BRUTUS and LUCILIUS talk apart. |
Cas. Messala! |
Mes. What says my general? |
Cas. Messala, |
This is my birth-day; as this very day |
Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala: |
Be thou my witness that against my will, |
As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set |
Upon one battle all our liberties. |
You know that I held Epicurus strong, |
And his opinion; now I change my mind, |
And partly credit things that do presage. |
Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign |
Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perch'd, |
Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands; |
Who to Philippi here consorted us: |
This morning are they fled away and gone, |
And in their stead do ravens, crows, and kites |
Fly o'er our heads, and downward look on us, |
As we were sickly prey: their shadows seem |
A canopy most fatal, under which |
Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost. |
Mes. Believe not so. |
Cas. I but believe it partly, |
For I am fresh of spirit and resolv'd |
To meet all perils very constantly. |
Bru. Even so, Lucilius. |
Cas. Now, most noble Brutus, |
The gods to-day stand friendly, that we may, |
Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age! |
But since the affairs of men rest still incertain, |
Let's reason with the worst that may befall. |
If we do lose this battle, then is this |
The very last time we shall speak together: |
What are you then, determined to do? |
Bru. Even by the rule of that philosophy |
By which I did blame Cato for the death |
Which he did give himself; I know not how, |
But I do find it cowardly and vile, |
For fear of what might fall, so to prevent |
The time of life: arming myself with patience, |
To stay the providence of some high powers |
That govern us below. |
Cas. Then, if we lose this battle, |
You are contented to be led in triumph |
Thorough the streets of Rome? |
Bru. No, Cassius, no: think not, thou noble Roman, |
That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome; |
He bears too great a mind: but this same day |
Must end that work the ides of March begun; |
And whether we shall meet again I know not. |
Therefore our everlasting farewell take: |
For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius! |
If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; |
If not, why then, this parting was well made. |
Cas. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus! |
If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed; |
If not, 'tis true this parting was well made. |
Bru. Why, then, lead on. O! that a man might know |
The end of this day's business, ere it come; |
But it sufficeth that the day will end, |
And then the end is known. Come, ho! away! [Exeunt. |
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