William Shakespeare - Sämtliche Werke von Shakespeare in einem Band - Zweisprachige Ausgabe (Deutsch-Englisch)

O hateful Error, Melancholy’s child!

Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men

The things that are not? O Error, soon conceived,

Thou never comest unto a happy birth,

But kill’st the mother that engender’d thee!

TITINIUS.

What, Pindarus! where art thou, Pindarus?

MESSALA.

Seek him, Titinius, whilst I go to meet

The noble Brutus, thrusting this report

Into his ears: I may say, thrusting it;

For piercing steel and darts envenomed

Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus

As tidings of this sight.

TITINIUS.

Hie you, Messala,

And I will seek for Pindarus the while.—

[Exit Messala.]

Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius?

Did I not meet thy friends? And did not they

Put on my brows this wreath of victory,

And bid me give it thee? Didst thou not hear their shouts?

Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing!

But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow;

Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I

Will do his bidding.—Brutus, come apace,

And see how I regarded Caius Cassius.—

By your leave, gods: this is a Roman’s part:

Come, Cassius’ sword, and find Titinius’ heart.

[Dies.]

[Alarum. Re-enter Messala, with Brutus, young Cato,

Strato, Volumnius, and Lucilius.]

BRUTUS.

Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie?

MESSALA.

Lo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it.

BRUTUS.

Titinius’ face is upward.

CATO.

He is slain.

BRUTUS.

O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet!

Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords

In our own proper entrails.

[Low alarums.]

CATO.

Brave Titinius!

Look whether he have not crown’d dead Cassius!

BRUTUS.

Are yet two Romans living such as these?—

The last of all the Romans, fare thee well!

It is impossible that ever Rome

Should breed thy fellow.—Friends, I owe more tears

To this dead man than you shall see me pay.—

I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time.—

Come therefore, and to Thassos send his body:

His funerals shall not be in our camp,

Lest it discomfort us.—Lucilius, come;—

And come, young Cato;—let us to the field.—

Labeo and Flavius, set our battles on:—

‘Tis three o’clock; and Romans, yet ere night

We shall try fortune in a second fight.

[Exeunt.]

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Another part of the field.

[Alarum. Enter, fighting, Soldiers of both armies; then Brutus, young Cato, Lucilius, and Others.]

BRUTUS.

Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads!

CATO.

What bastard doth not? Who will go with me?

I will proclaim my name about the field:—

I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!

A foe to tyrants, and my country’s friend;

I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!

[Charges the enemy.]

BRUTUS.

And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I;

Brutus, my country’s friend; know me for Brutus!

[Exit, charging the enemy. Cato is overpowered, and falls.]

LUCILIUS.

O young and noble Cato, art thou down?

Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius;

And mayst be honour’d, being Cato’s son.

FIRST SOLDIER.

Yield, or thou diest.

LUCILIUS.

Only I yield to die:

There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight;

[Offering money.]

Kill Brutus, and be honour’d in his death.

FIRST SOLDIER.

We must not. A noble prisoner!

SECOND SOLDIER.

Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta’en.

FIRST SOLDIER.

I’ll tell the news. Here comes the General.—

[Enter Antony.]

Brutus is ta’en, Brutus is ta’en, my lord.

ANTONY.

Where is he?

LUCILIUS.

Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough:

I dare assure thee that no enemy

Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus:

The gods defend him from so great a shame!

When you do find him, or alive or dead,

He will be found like Brutus, like himself.

ANTONY.

This is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure you,

A prize no less in worth. Keep this man safe,

Give him all kindness; I had rather have

Such men my friends than enemies. Go on,

And see whether Brutus be alive or dead;

And bring us word unto Octavius’ tent

How everything is chanced.

[Exeunt.]

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Another part of the field.

[Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and Volumnius.]

BRUTUS.

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

CLITUS.

Statilius show’d the torch-light; 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.

[Whispering.]

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.

[Whispers him.]

DARDANIUS.

Shall I do such a deed?

CLITUS.

O Dardanius!

DARDANIUS.

O Clitus!

CLITUS.

What ill request did Brutus make to thee?

DARDANIUS.

To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates.

CLITUS.

Now is that noble vessel full of grief,

That it runs over even at his eyes.

BRUTUS.

Come hither, good Volumnius; list a word.

VOLUMNIUS.

What says my lord?

BRUTUS.

Why, this, Volumnius:

The ghost of Caesar hath appear’d to me

Two several times by night; at Sardis once,

And this last night here in Philippi fields:

I know my hour is come.

VOLUMNIUS.

Not so, my lord.

BRUTUS.

Nay I am sure it is, Volumnius.

Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes;

Our enemies have beat us to the pit:

[Low alarums.]

It is more worthy to leap in ourselves

Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius,

Thou know’st that we two went to school together;

Even for that our love of old, I pr’ythee,

Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it.

VOLUMNIUS.

That’s not an office for a friend, my lord.

[Alarums still.]

CLITUS.

Fly, fly, my lord! there is no tarrying here.

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 no man but he was true to me.

I shall have glory by this losing day,

More than Octavius and Mark Antony

By this vile conquest shall attain unto.

So, fare you well at once; for Brutus’ tongue

Hath almost ended his life’s history:

Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest

That have but labour’d to attain this hour.

[Alarums. Cry within, “Fly, fly, fly!”]

CLITUS.

Fly, my lord, fly!

BRUTUS.

Hence! I will follow.—

[Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius, and Volumnius.]

I pr’ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord:

Thou art a fellow of a good respect;

Thy life hath had some smack of honor 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 with half so good a will.

[He runs on his sword, and dies.]

[Alarum. Retreat. Enter Octavius, Antony, Messala, Lucilius, and

Army.]

OCTAVIUS.