e his bloudy streame
Bare shieldes and helmes and traines of slaughter'd men,
But Heauens reserud mee to this luckles day,
To see my Countries fall and friends decay.
But why doth not _Titinnius_ yet returne?
My trembling heart misgiues me what's befalne,
_Brutus_ is dead: I: herke how willingly 2450
The Ecco itterates those deadly words,
The whisling windes with their mourning sound
Do fill mine eares with noyse of _Brutus_ death,
The birdes now chanting a more cheerles lay,
In dolefull notes recorde my friends decay.
And _Philomela_ now forgets old wronges,
And onely _Brutus_ wayleth in her songes.
I heare some noyse, O tis _Titinnius_,
No tis not hee, for hee doth feare to wound,
My greeued eares with that hearts-thrilling sound. 2460
Why dost thou feed my thoughts with lingering hope?
Why dost thou then prolong my life in vayne?
Tell me my sentence and so end my payne:
He comes not yet, nor yet, nor will at all,
Linger not _Cassius_ for to heare reply,
What if he come and tels me hee is slayne?
That only will increase my dying paine,
_Brutus_ I come to company thy soule,
Which by _Cocytus_ wandreth all alone.
_Brutus_ I come prepare to meete thy friend 2470
Thy Brothers fall procures this balefull end.

_Enter Titinius._

_Titi._ _Brutus_ doth liue and like a second _Mars_,
Rageth in heate of fury mongest his foes,
Then cheere thee _Cassius_, loe I bring releefe.
And news of power to ease thy stormy greefe,
But see where _Cassius_ weltreth in his blood,
Doth beate the Earth, and yet not fully dead.
O _Cassius_ speake, O speake to me sweet friend,
_Brutus_ doth liue; open thy dying eyes, 2480
And looke on him that hope and comfort rings.
O noe, hee will not looke on mee but cryes,
That by my long delayes he haples dies:
Accursed villaine murtherer of thy friend,
Why hath thy lingering thus wrought _Cassius_ end,
How cold thy care was to preuent this deed,
How slow thy loue that made no greater speed,
Care winged is, and burning loue can flye,
My care was feareles, loue but flattery,
But sithence in my life my loue was neuer shewne, 2490
Now in my death Ile make it to be knowne.
Accursed weapon that such blood could spil,