Alarum. Cry within, Flye, flye, flye.
Cly. Fly my Lord, flye
Bru. Hence: I will follow:
I prythee Strato, stay thou by thy Lord,
Thou art a Fellow of a good respect:
Thy life hath had some smatch of Honor in it,
Hold then my Sword, and turne away thy face,
While I do run vpon it. Wilt thou Strato?
Stra. Giue me your hand first. Fare you wel my Lord
Bru. Farewell good Strato. - Caesar, now be still,
I kill'd not thee with halfe so good a will.
Dyes.
Alarum. Retreat. Enter Antony, Octauius, Messala, Lucillius, and
the
Army.
Octa. What man is that?
Messa. My Masters man. Strato, where is thy Master?
Stra. Free from the Bondage you are in Messala,
The Conquerors can but make a fire of him:
For Brutus onely ouercame himselfe,
And no man else hath Honor by his death
Lucil. So Brutus should be found. I thank thee Brutus
That thou hast prou'd Lucillius saying true,
Octa. All that seru'd Brutus, I will entertaine them.
Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?
Stra. I, if Messala will preferre me to you
Octa. Do so, good Messala
Messa. How dyed my Master Strato?
Stra. I held the Sword, and he did run on it
Messa. Octauius, then take him to follow thee,
That did the latest seruice to my Master