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If thou doft nod, thou-break’It thy inltrument,

Luc. It is my duty, Sir.

Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy might; I know, young bloods look for a time of reft.

Luc. I have flept, my lord, already.

Bru. It was well done, and thou thalt deep again; I will not hold thee long. If I do live, I will be good to thee.

[Musick, and a Song. This is a deepy tune

O murd'rous flumber ! Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy, That plays thee musick? gentle knaye, good night; I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night. But let me see is not the leaf curn'd down, Where I left reading ? here it is, I think.

[He fits down to read.
Enter the Ghost of Cæsar.
How ill this taper burns! ha! who comes here?
I think, it is the weakness of mine eyes,
That shapes this monstrous apparition!
It comes upon me Art thou any thing?
Art thou some God, fome angel, or some devil,
That mak’st my blood cold, and my hair to stare?
Speak to me, what thou art.

Gboft. Thy evil spirit, Brutus.
Bru. Why com'lt thou ?
Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi.
Brú. Then, I shall see thee again.
Ghoft. Ay, at Philippi.

[Exit Ghoft.
Brú. Why, I will see thee at Philippi then.
Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest:
Ill Spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.
Boy! Lucius ! Varro! Claudius! Şirs! awake!
Claudius!

Luc. The strings, my lord, are false.

Bru. He thinks, he still is at his instrument. Lucius ! awake.

Luc. My lord!

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Bru. Didst thou dream-Lucius, that thou so cried'st

out ?

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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 ; firräh, Claudius, fel-

low!
Varro! awake. (30)

Dar. My lord!
Clau. My lord!
Bru. Why did you so cry out, Sirs, in your neep?
Both. Did we, my lord ?
Bru: Ay, faw you any thing?
Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing.
Clau. Nor I, my lord.

Bru. Go, and commend me to my brother Caffius;
Bid him set on his. Pow'rs betimes before,
And we will follow.
Both. It shall be done, my lord.

[Exeunt.

(30) Thou ! arvake .] The Accent is so unmafical and harsh, 'tis impossible, the Poet could begin his Verse thus. '? Brutus, certainly, was intended to speak to Both his other Men ; whó Both awake, and answer, at an instant.

Mr. Warburton.

ACT

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ACT V.

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SCENE, the Fields of Philippi, with the

two Camps.

Enter O&avius, Antony, and their Army.

OCTAVIUS.

N

OW, 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 battels 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 fo.

Enter a Messenger.
Mes. Prepare you, Generals;
The enemy comes on in gallant thew;
Their bloody sign of battel is hung out,
And something to be done immediately.

Ant. Oétavius, lead your battel softly on,
Upon the left hand of the even field.

Osta. Upon the right hand I, keep thou the left.
Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent?
Osta. I do not cross you; but I will do To. [March.

Drum. Enter Brutus, Caffius, and their army.
Bru. They stand, and would have parley.
Caf. Stand fast, Titinius, we must out and talk.
0.2

Osta.

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words.

Osta. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battel?

Ant. No, Cæfar, we will answer on their charge.
Make forth, the Generals would have some words.

Osta. Stir not until the signal.
Bru. Words before blows: is it so, Countrymen?
Osta. Not that we love words better, as you do.
Bru. Good words are better than bad strokes, Oda..

vius.
Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good
Witness the hole you made in Cæsar's heart,
Crying, “ long live! hail, Cæfar!

Cal. 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 foundless too:
For you have stoln their buzzing, Antony ;
And very wisely threat, before you sting.
Ant. Villains! you did not so, when your vile dag,

gers
Hack'd one another in the sides of Cæfar.
You shew'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like hounds,
And bow'd like bond-men, kissing Cæfar's feet;
Whilst damned Casca, like a cur behind,
Struck Cæfar on the neck. O flatterers !
taf. Flatterers! now Brutus thank your self;
This tongue had not offended so to day,
If Cafius might have rul'd.
Oeta. Come, come, the cause. If arguing make us

sweat,
The proof of it will turn to redder drops.
Behold, I draw a sword against conspirators ;
When think you, that the sword goes up again?
Never, 'till Cæsar's three and twenty wounds (31)

Be

(31) Three and thirty wounds.) Thus all the Editions implicitly; but I have ventur'd to reduce this Nuinber to three and twenty from the

joint

not, when

Be well aveng’d; or 'till another Cæfar
Have added Naughter to the sword of traitors.

Bru. Cæfar, thou can'st not die by traitors' hands,
Unless thou bring'st them with thee.

Oeta. 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. Caf. A peevish school-boy, worthless of such ho

nour, Join'd with a masker and a reveller.

Ant. Old Caffius ftill !

Oeta. Come, Antony, away;
Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth :
If

you dare fight to day, come to the field'; If

you

have ftomachs.

[Exe. Octavius, Antony, and army. Caf. Why, now blow wind, swell billow, and swim

bark ! The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. Bru. Lucilius,

hark a word with you.

[Lucilius and Meffala stand forth. Luc. My lord. (Brutus Speaks apart to Lucilius. Caf. Mesala, Mes. What says my General ?

Caf. Melala, This is my birth-day; as this very day Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Meffala; Be thou my witness, that against my will, As Pompey was, am I compell’d to set Upon one battel all our liberties. You know, that I held Epicurus strong, And his opinion; now I change my mind; joint Authorities of Appian, Plutarch, and Suetonius; and I am perswaded, the Error was not from the Poet, but his Transcribers. The same Miftake has happend in the Noble Gentleman, by Beaumont and Fletcher,

So Cæfar fell, when in the Capitol

They gave his Body two and thirty Wounds. For here we must likewise correct, three and cwenty. Perhaps, the , Number might be wrote in Figures; and those accidentally transpos’d.

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