By Industrie do wise men seeke releefe,
If that our casting do fall out a misse,
Our cunning play must then correct the dice.
_Pom._ Well if it needs must bee then let me goe,
Flying for ayde vnto my forrayne friends,
And sue and bow, where earst I did command.
He that goeth seeking of a Tirant aide, 180
Though free he went, a seruant then is made.
Take we our last farwell, then though with paine,
Heere three do part that ne're shall meet againe.

_Exit Pompey at on dore, Titinius at
another. Brutus alone_

ACTVS I. SCENA 2.

_Enter Caesar_

_Caes._ Follow your chase, and let your light-foote steedes
Flying as swift as did that winged horse
That with strong fethered _Pinions_ cloue the Ayre, 190
Or'take the coward flight of your base foe.
_Bru._ Do not with-drawe thy mortall woundring blade,
But sheath it _Caesar_ in my wounded heart:
Let not that heart that did thy Country wound
Feare to lay _Brutus_ bleeding on the ground.
Thy fatall stroke of death shall more mee glad,
Then all thy proud and Pompous victories;
My funerall Cypresse, then thy Lawrell Crowne,
My mournefull Beere shall winne more Praise and Fame
Then thy triumphing Sun-bright Chariot. 200
Heere in these fatall fieldes let _Brutus_ die,
And beare so many Romaines company.
_Caesa._ T'was not 'gainst thee this fatall blade was drawne
Which can no more pierce _Brutus_ tender sides
Then mine owne heart, or ought then heart more deere,
For all the wronges thou didst, or strokes thou gau'st
_Caesar_ on thee will take no worse reuenge,
Then bid thee still commande him and his state:
True setled loue can neere bee turn'd to hate.
_Brut._ To what a pitch would this mans vertues sore, 210
Did not ambition clog his mounting fame,
_Caesar_ thy sword hath all blisse from me taine
And giuest me life where best were to be slaine.
O thou hast robd me of my chiefest ioy,
And seek'st to please me with a babish toye. _Exit Brutus._
_Caes._ _Caesar Pharsalia_ doth thy conquest sound
_Ioues_ welcom messenger faire Victory,
Hath Crown'd thy temples with victorious bay,
And Io ioyfull, Io doth she sing
And through the world thy lasting prayses ring. 220
But yet amidst thy gratefull