Page 2268 - Shakespeare - Vol. 2
P. 2268
BRUTUS
Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock.
CLITUS
Statilius showed the torchlight, but, my lord,
He came not back. He is or ta’en or slain.
BRUTUS
Sit thee down, Clitus: slaying is the word,
It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. [5]
He whispers.
CLITUS
What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world!
BRUTUS
Peace, then. No words.
CLITUS
I’ll rather kill myself.
BRUTUS
Hark thee, Dardanius!
He whispers.
DARDANIUS
Shall I do such a deed?
CLITUS
O Dardanius!
DARDANIUS
O Clitus! [10]
CLITUS
What ill request did Brutus make to thee?
