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,
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 prithee,
Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run
That's not an office for a friend, my lord.
Fly, fly, my lord; there is no tarrying here.
Farewell to you; and you; and you, Volumnius.
Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep;
Farewell to thee
too, Strato. Countrymen,
My heart doth joy that yet in all my life
I found no man but he was true to me.
shall have glory by this losing day
More than Octavius and Mark Antony
By this vile conquest shall attain
So fare you well at once; for Brutus' tongue
Hath almost ended his life's history:
Night hangs upon
mine eyes; my bones would rest,
That have but labour'd to attain this hour.
Alarum. Cry within, 'Fly, fly, fly!'
Fly, my lord, fly.
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