BRUTUS. With what addition? 

MESSALA. That by proscription and bills of outlawry Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus Have put to death an hundred Senators. 

BRUTUS. Therein 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 offence, whilst we, lying still, Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. 

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