Puslapio vaizdai

I will not hold thee long. If I do live,

I will be good to thee.
This is a fleepy tune-

[Mufick and a Song.

O murd'rous flumber!

Lay'ft thou thy leaden mace upon my boy,

That plays the mufick?-Gentle knave, good night.
I will not do thee fo much wrong to wake thee.
If thou dost nod, thou break'ft thy inftrument,
I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night.
-But let me fee-is not the leaf turn'd down,
Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.

[He fils down to read.

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How ill this taper burns!-ha! who comes here?
I think, it is the weakness of mine eyes,
That shapes this monftrous apparition!

It comes upon me- Art thou any thing?
Art thou fome God, fome angel, or fome devil,
That mak'ft my blood cold, and my hair to ftare?
Speak to me, what thou art.

Gboft. Thy evil spirit, Brutus.

Bru. Why com'ft thou?

Ghoft. To tell thee, thou fhalt fee me at Philippi..

Bru. Then, I fhall fee thee again.

Ghost. Ay, at Philippi.

[Exit Ghoft.

Bru. Why, I will fee thee at Philippi then.

Now I have taken heart, thou vanifheft:

Ill Spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.
Boy, Lucius! Varro! Claudius! Sirs! awake!

Luc. The ftrings, my Lord, are falfe.
Bru. He thinks, he is ftill at his inftrument.
Lucius! awake.

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Luc. My Lord!

Bru. Didft thou dream, Lucius, that thou fo criedst Qut?

Luc. My Lord, I do not know that I did cry. Bru. Yes, that thou didft; didft thou see any thing?

Luc. Nothing, my Lord.

Bru. Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah, Claudius, fellow! Thou! awake.

Var. My Lord!

Clau. My Lord!

Bru. Why did you fo cry out, Sirs, in your sleep? Both. Did we, my Lord?

Bru. Ay, faw you any thing?

Var. No, my Lord, I faw nothing.

Clau. Nor I, my Lord.

Bru. Go, and commend me to my brother Caffius;

Bid him fet on his Pow'rs betimes before,

And we will follow.

Both. It fhall be done, my Lord,

Thou! awake.] The accent is fo unmufical and harsh, 'tis impoffible the poet could begin his verfe thus. Brutus certainly


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The Fields of Philippi, with the two Camps..


Enter Octavius, Antony, and their Army.


OW, Antony, our hopes are answered.
You faid, the enemy would not come down,
But keep the hills and upper regions;
It proves not fo; 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 bofoms, and I know
Wherefore they do it; they could be content
To vifit other places, and come down
With fearful bravery, thinking, by this face,
To faften in our thoughts that they have courage.
But 'tis not fo.

Enter a Messenger,

Mef. Prepare you, Generals;
The enemy comes on in gallant fhew,
Their bloody fign of battle is hung out,
And fomething to be done immediately.
Ant. Olavius, lead your battle foftly on,

Upon the left hand of the even field.

Oa. Upon the right hand I, keep thou the left.

9-warn us -] To warn feems to mean here the fame as

to al rm.
Hanmer reads,
They mean to wage us.

G 4


Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent?

Octa. 1 do not crofs you; but I will do fo. [March.


Drum. Enter Brutus, Caffius, and their Army.

Bru. They ftand, and would have parley. Caf. Stand fast, Titinius. We must out and talk. Ofta. Mark Antony, fhall we give fign of battle? Ant. No, Cæfar, we will answer on their charge. Make forth, the Generals would have fome words. Ofta. Stir not until the fignal.

Bru. Words before blows. Is it fo, countrymen? Ota. Not that we love words better, as you do. Bru. Good words are better than bad ftrokes, Otavius.

Ant. In your bad ftrokes, Brutus, you give good words.

Witnefs the hole you made in Cæfar's heart,
Crying, "Long live! hail, Cafar!"
Caf. Antony,

The pofture of your blows are yet unknown;
But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees,
And leave them honeyless.

Ant. Not ftinglefs too.

Bru. O yes, and foundless too :

For you have ftol'n their buzzing, Antony
And very wifely threat, before you fting.

Ant. Villains! you did not fo, when your vile daggers Hack'd one another in the fides of Cæfar.

You fhew'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like hounds, And bow'd like bond-men, kifling Cafar's feet; Whilft damned Cafca, like a cur behind,

--Cafea,-] Cafea Aruck Cfar on the neck, coming like a degenerate cur behind h.m.


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Struck Cafar on the neck. O flatterers!
Caf. Flatterers! now Brutus, thank yourself;
This tongue had not offended fo to-day,

If Caffius might have rul'd.

Ofta. Come, come, the caufe. If arguing make
us fweat,

The proof of it will turn to redder drops.
Behold, I draw a fword againft confpirators4
When think you, that the fword goes up again?
Never, 'till Cæfar's three and twenty wounds
Be well aveng'd; or till another Cæfar


Have added laughter to the fword of traitors.
Bru. Cæfar, thou canst not die by traitors' hands,
Unless thou bring'st them with thee.

OЯa. So I hope

I was not born to die on Brutus fword.

Bru. O, if thou wert the nobleft of thy Strain, Young man, thou coulft not die more honourable. Caf. A peevish school-boy, worthlefs of fuch ho


Join'd with a mafker and a reveller.

Ant. Old Caffius ftill!

Oa. 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 ftomachs.

[Exeunt Octavius, Antony, and army.

2-three and thirty wounds] Thus all the editions implicitly; but I have ventur'd to reduce this number to three and twenty from the joint authorities of Ap

pian, Plutarch, and Suetonius: And, I am perfuaded, the error was not from the poet but his tranfcribers.



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