[Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius and Volumnius.]
I pr’ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord.
Thou art a fellow of a good respect;
Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it.
Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face,
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?
STRATO.
Give me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord.
BRUTUS.
Farewell, good Strato.—Caesar, now be still:
I kill’d not thee with half so good a will.
[He runs on his sword, and dies.]
Alarum. Retreat. Enter Antony, Octavius, Messala, Lucilius and the Army.
OCTAVIUS.
What man is that?
MESSALA.
My master’s man. Strato, where is thy master?
STRATO.
Free from the bondage you are in, Messala.
The conquerors can but make a fire of him;
For Brutus only overcame himself,
And no man else hath honour by his death.
LUCILIUS.
So Brutus should be found. I thank thee, Brutus,
That thou hast prov’d Lucilius’ saying true.