BRUTUS.
Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie?
MESSALA.
Lo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it.
BRUTUS.
Titinius' face is upward.
CATO.
He is slain.
BRUTUS.
O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet!
Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords
In our own proper entrails.
[Low alarums.]
CATO.
Brave Titinius!
Look whether he have not crown'd dead Cassius!
BRUTUS.
Are yet two Romans living such as these? —
The last of all the Romans, fare thee well!
It is impossible that ever Rome
Should breed thy fellow. — Friends, I owe more tears
To this dead man than you shall see me pay. —
I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. —
Come therefore, and to Thassos send his body:
His funerals shall not be in our camp,
Lest it discomfort us. — Lucilius, come; —
And come, young Cato; — let us to the field. —
Labeo and Flavius, set our battles on: —
'Tis three o'clock; and Romans, yet ere night
We shall try fortune in a second fight.
[Exeunt.]
