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:
Low Alarums.
It is more worthy, to leape in our selues,
Then tarry till they push vs. Good Volumnius,
Thou know'st, that we two went to Schoole together:
Euen for that our loue of old, I prethee
Hold thou my Sword Hilts, whilest I runne on it
Vol. That's not an Office for a friend, my Lord.
Alarum still.
Cly. Fly, flye my Lord, there is no tarrying heere
Bru. Farewell to you, and you, and Volumnius.
Strato, thou hast bin all this while asleepe:
Farewell to thee, to Strato, Countrymen:
My heart doth ioy, that yet in all my life,
I found no man, but he was true to me.
I shall haue glory by this loosing day
More then Octauius, and Marke Antony,
By this vile Conquest shall attaine vnto.
So fare you well at once, for Brutus tongue
Hath almost ended his liues History:
Night hangs vpon mine eyes, my Bones would rest,
That haue but labour'd, to attaine this houre.