University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

A Trumpet sounds mournfully.
Brutus.
Silence those dismal Notes for Cassius' Death;
There is no need of Sounds to raise true Sorrow;
And it will chear the Foe to hear us mourn.
Oh Cassius! what a Loss art thou to Rome!

[Stooping down to the dead Body.
Trumpet sounds again mournful. Enter Varius.
Varius.
'Tis with a trembling Hand I shew these Letters;
Your Grief for Cassius, will, alas! be lost:
Like Rivers in the Ocean, swallow'd up
In sadder News.

Brutus.
Speak, is my Portia well?
What! make no Answer? then 'tis so indeed.
In saying nothing, thou hast told me all.

Varius.
Here is the sad Account.

[Holds the Letter to Brutus.
Brutus.
Oh, read it, read it.

Varius.
“Varius, I must unwillingly inform you, [Reading.

“That Portia, grieving for her Husband's Absence,
“Had mourn'd herself into a raging Fever;
“In which, because she fancy'd he was dead,
“She (none suspecting) swallow'd burning Coals,
“So dy'd with mournful Clamours for her Brutus.”

Brutus.
Enough, enough. O ye immortal Gods!
I'll not complain of you, but of myself;
For, sure I am the very worst of Men,
Since you think fit to make me the most wretched.
How all my Tears are on a sudden stopt!
Something I feel within, that weighs me down;
And I must sink.

Varius.
Good Sir, be comforted.

Brutus.
Oh never, never.
Had'st thou beheld her with my weeping Eyes,
When tenderly we took our latest leave;
How her Love pleaded, and her Beauty mov'd;
When, all dissolv'd in Grief, her mournful Looks
She fix'd on mine! Oh never talk of Comfort.
Comfort! dear Portia, if I ever seek it,
May then—alas! I cannot curse myself,
Heav'n knows, I am already so unhappy.

Enter Lucilius hastily.
Lucilius.
The Enemy once more is coming on:
Antony leads them out of Cassius' Camp,
And gathers, as he goes, the large Remains
Of the new-routed Army of Octavius.
I'll do my best to stop them in their March.

Brutus.
Antonius, and his Army! Alas! Varius;
What's that, or Victory itself, to me?

Varius.
But yet our Country should not be forgotten.

Brutus.
Oh! no: I'll bear about this heavy Heart:
Yet, when I struggle most, it weighs me down.

Varius.
But where is, Sir, your wonted Resolution?

Brutus.
Gone, Varius, gone for ever with my Portia.

Varius.
Then, farewel all the Liberty of Rome!

Brutus.
The Liberty of Rome! The Thought of that
Has rous'd me up—Yet one Sigh more for Portia—
Rome yet shall have my Cares: But Oh! my Friend,
May this be the last Battle among Romans!
It grieves my Soul to see this Civil Slaughter.
Fain I would live to leave my Country free,
And with my dying Eyes behold her prosper.
Else I have done too much; and Cæsar's Death
Too sharp a Med'cine, if it does not cure.
'Twas cutting off a Limb ev'n from myself,
And, oh! I now begin to feel the Maim.
But 'tis too late, and we must now look forwards—
Command our Men to spread on both the Wings,
Lest they encompass us with greater Numbers:
The Troops we routed of Octavius
Will hardly have the Heart to rally more.

[Exeunt.
After they have sounded a Battle for some time, enter Lucilius and another Officer.
Lucilius.
All's lost! Ambition triumphs over Virtue.

Officer.
'Tis not our Fault, but Fate's: Did we not charge
With Fierceness fit to fight for all the World?
First, all our Darts we flung away despis'd,
Uncertain Weapons of remoter War,
And rush'd on nearer with the surer Sword;
As if each common Soldier were a Brutus,
Rome at their Hearts, and Glory in their Minds.

Lucilius.
But what is Valour, when so overmatch'd
By elder Troops, and much superior Numbers?
Yet no one yielded, while ten thousand dy'd;
Each call'd for Death as fast as e'er he fell,
And still by ill-tim'd Pity was refus'd,
We only fought to die, and they to save us:
Which Brutus then perceiving, left the Field,
And fled not from their Fury, but their Mercy.

Enter Ventidius with a Company of Soldiers.
Ventidius.
Pursue them close, and on your Lives spare Brutus.

Lucilius.
Stop then your Chace, and lead me to Antonius.
I might have scap'd, but Brutus scorns to fly.

Soldier.
He's taken, he is taken.

[They give a great Shout, and carry out Lucilius, whom they suppose to be Brutus.
[Exeunt Omnes.