Page:Julius Caesar (1919) Yale.djvu/107

Julius Cæsar, V. v  

Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock.

Cli. Statilius show'd the torch-light; but, my lord, He came not back: he is or ta'en or slain.

Bru. Sit thee down, Clitus: slaying is the word; It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus.

[Whispers.]

Cli. What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world.

Bru. Peace, then: no words.

Cli. I'll rather kill myself.

Bru. Hark thee, Dardanius.

Dar. Shall I do such a deed?

Cli. O, Dardanius!

Dar. O, Clitus!

Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to thee?

Dar. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates.

Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, That it runs over even at his eyes.

Bru. Come hither, good Volumnius: list a word.

Vol. What says my lord?

Bru. Why this, Volumnius: The ghost of Cæsar 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.

Vol. Not so, my lord.

Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius.  1 poor remains of: few surviving 2, 3 Cf. n. 13 noble vessel; ''cf. 2 Tim. 2. 21'' 