Grim mates in a grim day in a grim hour. Then the cry of Brutus:

O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet!

But if he were, perhaps he only gathered old Cassius and Titinius to
be sure of their company with him and Brutus amongst the gods a little
later.

Brutus: Friends, I owe more tears
To this dead man than you shall see me pay.
I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time.

And, after making arrangements for the removal of Cassius's body, they
go to try their fortunes in a second fight. Young Cato is killed and
good Lucilius taken. Comes Brutus beaten, with Dardanius his last
friend, and his three servants, Clitus, Strato, and Volumnius.

Brutus: Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock.

Strato, exhausted, goes to sleep, as man can sleep during a battle; and
Brutus whispers the others, one after another, to kill him; but they are
shocked and refuse: "I'll rather kill myself," "I do such a deed?" etc.
He begs Volumnius, his old schoolmate, to hold his sword-hilt while he
runs on it, for their love of old.

Volumnius: That's not the office for a friend, my lord.

There are alarums, and they urge him to fly, for it's no use stopping
there.

Brutus: Farewell to you; and you; and you, Volumnius.
Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep;
Farewell to thee too, Strato! Countrymen,
My heart doth joy that yet in all my life
I found so man but he was true to me.

Ye gods! but it's grand. I wish to our God that I could say as much--or
that man or woman [n]ever found me untrue. Could Antony say as much,
afterwards, in Egypt--or Octavius! with Antony then on his mind? Even
Antony's last man and servant failed him in the end, killing himself
rather than kill his master. But Strato--

There are more alarums and voices calling to them to run. They urge
Brutus again, and he tells them to go and he'll follow. They all run
except Strato, who hesitates.

Brutus: I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord:
Thou art a fellow of a good respect;
Thy life hath had some snatch of honour in it
Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face,
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?

Strato: Give me your hand first: fare you well, my lord.

Brutus: Farewell, good Strato. Caesar, now be still:
I kill'd not thee wi