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Such men my friends than enemies. Go on,
And bring us word unto Octavius' tent,
How every thing hath chanc'd.
Enter Brutus, Decius, Metellus, and Cinna. Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest here. Slaying is the word;
It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Decius.
Dec. What I, my lord? no, not for all the world.
Bru. Peace then, no words.
Dec. I'll rather kill myself.
Bru. Come hither, good Metellus; list a word.
Bru. Why, this, Metellus;
The ghost of Cæsar hath appear'd to me,
Met. Not so, my lord.
Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Metellus. Thou seest the world, Metellus, how it Our enemies have beat us to the pit : It is more worthy to leap in ourselves, Then tarry till they push us. Good Metellus, Thou know'st that we two went to school together; Even for that, our love of old, I pr'ythee, Hold thou my sword's hilt, while I run on it. Met. That's not an office for a friend, my lord. [Alarum still.
Bru. Why, then, farewell;
My heart hath joy, that yet in all my life,
Now, one last look, and then, farewell to all;
Thus Brutus always strikes for liberty.
Cæsar, now be still;
I kill'd not thee with half so good a will.
[He runs on his Sword, and dies.
Enter Antony and Octavius, with Trebonius
Ant. Whom mourn you over?
Met. 'Tis Brutus.
Tie. So Brutus should be found. Thank
Thee, noble Brutus, that thou hast
Proved Trebonius' saying true.
Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all
All the conspirators, save only he,
Did that they did in envy of great Cæsar:
So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up,
To part the glories of this happy day. [Exeunt Omnes.