POET.
[Within.] Nothing but death shall stay me.
CASSIUS.
How now! What’s the matter?
POET.
For shame, you generals! What do you mean?
Love, and be friends, as two such men should be;
For I have seen more years, I’m sure, than ye.
CASSIUS.
Ha, ha! How vilely doth this cynic rhyme!
BRUTUS.
Get you hence, sirrah. Saucy fellow, hence!
CASSIUS.
Bear with him, Brutus; ’tis his fashion.
BRUTUS.
I’ll know his humour when he knows his time.
What should the wars do with these jigging fools?
Companion, hence!
CASSIUS.
Away, away, be gone!
[Exit Poet.]
BRUTUS.
Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders
Prepare to lodge their companies tonight.