5. SCENE V. Another part of the field.
[Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and Volumnius.]
Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock.
Statilius show'd the torch-light; but, my lord,
He came not back: he is or ta'en or slain.
Sit thee down, Clitus: slaying is the word;
It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus.
What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world.
Peace then! no words.
I'll rather kill myself.
Hark thee, Dardanius.
Shall I do such a deed?
What ill request did Brutus make to thee?
To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates.
Now is that noble vessel full of grief,
That it runs over even at his eyes.
Come hither, good Volumnius; list a word.
What says my lord?
Why, this, Volumnius:
The ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me
Two several times by night; at Sardis once,
And this last night here in Philippi fields:
I know my hour is come.
Not so, my lord.
Nay I am sure it is, Volumnius.
Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes;
Our enemies have beat us to the pit:
It is more worthy to leap in ourselves
Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius,
Thou know'st that we two went to school together;
Even for that our love of old, I pr'ythee,
Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it.