Clit. Ile rather kill my selfe
Brut. Hearke thee, Dardanius
Dard. Shall I doe such a deed?
Clit. O Dardanius
Dard. O Clitus
Clit. What ill request did Brutus make to thee?
Dard. To kill him, Clitus: looke he meditates
Clit. Now is that Noble Vessell full of griefe,
That it runnes ouer euen at his eyes
Brut. Come hither, good Volumnius, list a word
Volum. What sayes my Lord?
Brut. Why this, Volumnius:
The Ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me
Two seuerall times by Night: at Sardis, once;
And this last Night, here in Philippi fields:
I know my houre is come
Volum. Not so, my Lord
Brut. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius.
Thou seest the World, Volumnius, how it goes,
Our Enemies haue beat vs to the Pit: