ANTONY.
This is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure you,
A prize no less in worth. Keep this man safe,
Give him all kindness. I had rather have
Such men my friends than enemies. Go on,
And see whether Brutus be alive or dead;
And bring us word unto Octavius’ tent
How everything is chanc’d.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE V. Another part of the field.
Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato and Volumnius.
BRUTUS.
Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock.
CLITUS.
Statilius show’d the torch-light; but, my lord,
He came not back: he is or ta’en or slain.
BRUTUS.
Sit thee down, Clitus. Slaying is the word;
It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus.
[Whispering.]
CLITUS.
What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world.
BRUTUS.
Peace then, no words.