How ’scaped I killing when I cross’d you so? O insupportable and touching loss! Upon what sickness?

Impatient of my absence, And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony Have made themselves so strong:⁠—for with her death That tidings came;⁠—with this she fell distract, And, her attendants absent, swallow’d fire.

Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine. In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius.

My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. Fill, Lucius, till the wine o’erswell the cup; I cannot drink too much of Brutus’ love.

Welcome, good Messala. Now sit we close about this taper here, And call in question our necessities.