Thy life hath had some smatch 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.

	[Runs on his sword]

		 Caesar, now be still:
	I kill'd not thee with half so good a will.

	[Dies]

	[Alarum. Retreat. Enter OCTAVIUS, ANTONY, MESSALA,
	LUCILIUS, and the army]

OCTAVIUS	What man is that?

MESSALA	My master's man. Strato, where is thy master?

STRATO	Free from the bondage you are in, Messala:
	The conquerors can but make a fire of him;
	For Brutus only overcame himself,
	And no man else hath honour by his death.

LUCILIUS	So Brutus should be found. I thank thee, Brutus,
	That thou hast proved Lucilius' saying true.

OCTAVIUS	All that served Brutus, I will entertain them.
	Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?

STRATO	Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you.

OCTAVIUS	Do so, good Messala.

MESSALA	How died my master, Strato?

STRATO	I held the sword, and he did run on it.

MESSALA	Octavius, then take him to follow thee,
	That did the latest service to my master.

ANTONY	This was the noblest Roman of them all:
	All the conspirators save only he
	Did that they did in envy of great Caesar;
	He only, in a general honest thought
	And common good to all, made one of them.
	His life was gentle, and the elements
	So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up
	And say to all the world 'This was a man!'

OCTAVIUS	According to his virtue let us use him,
	With all respect and rites of burial.
	Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie,
	Most like a soldier, order'd honourably.
	So call the field to rest; and let's away,
	To part the glories of this happy day.

	[Exeunt]