JULIUS CAESAR. William Shakespeare

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       BRUTUS.

       No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead.

       CASSIUS.

       Ha! Portia!

       BRUTUS.

       She is dead.

       CASSIUS.

       How ‘scaped I killing, when I cross’d you so?—

       O insupportable and touching loss!—

       Upon what sickness?

       BRUTUS.

       Impatient of my absence,

       And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony

       Have made themselves so strong;—for with her death

       That tidings came;—with this she fell distract,

       And, her attendants absent, swallow’d fire.

       CASSIUS.

       And died so?

       BRUTUS.

       Even so.

       CASSIUS.

       O ye immortal gods!

       [Re-enter Lucius, with wine and a taper.]

       BRUTUS.

       Speak no more of her.—Give me a bowl of wine.—

       In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius.

       [Drinks.]

       CASSIUS.

       My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge.

       Fill, Lucius, till the wine o’erswell the cup;

       I cannot drink too much of Brutus’ love.

       [Drinks.]

       BRUTUS.

       Come in, Titinius!—

       [Exit Lucius.]

       [Re-enter Titinius, with Messala.]

       Welcome, good Messala.—

       Now sit we close about this taper here,

       And call in question our necessities.

       CASSIUS.

       Portia, art thou gone?

       BRUTUS.

       No more, I pray you.—

       Messala, I have here received letters,

       That young Octavius and Mark Antony

       Come down upon us with a mighty power,

       Bending their expedition toward Philippi.

       MESSALA.

       Myself have letters of the selfsame tenour.

       BRUTUS.

       With what addition?

       MESSALA.

       That by proscription and bills of outlawry

       Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus

       Have put to death an hundred Senators.

       BRUTUS.

       There in our letters do not well agree:

       Mine speak of seventy Senators that died

       By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.

       CASSIUS.

       Cicero one!

       MESSALA.

       Cicero is dead,

       And by that order of proscription.—

       Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?

       BRUTUS.

       No, Messala.

       MESSALA.

       Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?

       BRUTUS.

       Nothing, Messala.

       MESSALA.

       That, methinks, is strange.

       BRUTUS.

       Why ask you? hear you aught of her in yours?

       MESSALA.

       No, my lord.

       BRUTUS.

       Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true.

       MESSALA.

       Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell:

       For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.

       BRUTUS.

       Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala:

       With meditating that she must die once,

       I have the patience to endure it now.

       MESSALA.

       Even so great men great losses should endure.

       CASSIUS.

       I have as much of this in art as you,

       But yet my nature could not bear it so.

       BRUTUS.

       Well, to our work alive. What do you think

       Of marching to Philippi presently?

       CASSIUS.

       I do not think it good.

       BRUTUS.

       Your reason?

       CASSIUS.

       This it is:

       ‘Tis better that the enemy seek us;:

       So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers,

       Doing himself offense; whilst we, lying still,

       Are full of rest, defense, and nimbleness.

       BRUTUS.

       Good reasons must, of force, give place to better.

       The people ‘twixt Philippi and this СКАЧАТЬ