And it will chear the foe to hear us mourn.

Oh CASSIUS! what a lofs art thou to Rome!

[Stooping down to the dead body.

Trumpet founds again mournful. Enter VARIUS.

VARIUS.

"Tis with a trembling hand I fhew these letters; Your grief for CASSIUS, will, alas! be loft: Like rivers in the ocean, fwallow'd up

In fadder news.

BRUTUS.

Speak, is my PORTIA Well?

What! make no answer? then 'tis fo indeed.
In faying nothing, thou haft told me all.

VARIUS.

Here is the fad account.

[Holds the Letter to BRUTUS.

BRUTUS.

Oh, read it, read it.

VARIUS.

"VARIUS, I muft unwillingly inform you,

[Reading. "ThatPORTIA, grieving for her husband's abfence, "Had mourn'd herself into a raging fever; "In which, becaufe fhe fancy'd he was dead, "She (none fufpecting) fwallow'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, fure 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 fink.

VARIUS.

Good Sir, be comforted.

Oh never, never.

BRUTUS.

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 diffolv'd in grief, her mournful looks
She fix'd on mine! Oh never talk of comfort.
Comfort! dear POR TIA, if I ever seek it,
May then-alas! I cannot curse myself,
Heav'n knows, I am already so unhappy.

Enter LUCILIUS haftily.

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 refolution?

The liberty of Rome! The thought of that
Has rous'd me up-Yet one figh more for PORTIA—
Rome yet shall have my cares: But Oh! my
friend,
May this be the last battle among Romans !
It grieves my foul to fee this civil flaughter.
Fain I would live to leave my country free,
And with my dying eyes behold her profper.
Elfe I have done too much; and CAESAR's death
Too fharp 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,
Left they encompass us with greater numbers :
The troops we routed of OCTAVIUS

Will hardly have the heart to rally more.

[Exeunt.

After they have founded a Battle for fome time,
enter LUCILIUS and another Officer.

LUCILIUS.

All's loft! Ambition triumphs over virtue.

OFFICER.

'Tis not our fault, but fate's: Did we not charge
With fiercenefs fit to fight for all the world?
Firft, all our darts we flung away defpis'd,

Uncertain weapons of remoter war,

And rufh'd on nearer with the furer fword;
As if each common foldier 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 fuperior 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 fave 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 clofe, and on your lives fpare BRUTUS.

LUCILIUS.

Stop then your chace, and lead me to ANTONIUS.
I might have 'scap'd, but BRUTUS fcorns to fly.

SOLDIER.

He's taken, he is taken.

[They give a great Shout, and carry out LUCILIUS, whom they fuppofe to be BRUTUS.

[Exeunt Omnes.

SCENE VI.

Enter BRUTUS, and TITINIUS, with fome Officers.

BRUTUS.

Ye worthy few, who with unusual faith

Quit not a friend whom fortune has forfaken;

Rest your tir'd bodies on this bank a while:
Where like a shipwreck'd merchant I appear,
Gath'ring the dear remains of my lost fortunes.

OFFICER.

Oh, who can judge the councils of the Gods?
[They all fit down.
Behold, the best of men is made a prey
To boundless wildness, and unjust ambition.
BRUTUS.

That wild ambition but too often profpers:
Yet fure the Gods know better far than we,
How to dispose the ruling of mankind.
If they will have (which yet feems wondrous strange)
Injustice to fucceed, and virtue suffer;

Our part is only to fubmit with rev'rence.

'Tis time, 'tis time that Rome fhould be at rest.

How is that noble foul o'erwhelm'd with anguish,

Not for his own, but for his country's ruin!