No more, I pray you. Messala, I have here received letters, That young Octavius and Mark Antony Come down upon us with a mighty power, Bending their expedition toward Philippi.

That by proscription and bills of outlawry, Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, Have put to death an hundred senators.

Therein our letters do not well agree; Mine speak of seventy senators that died By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.

Cicero is dead, And by that order of proscription. Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?

Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell: For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.

Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala: With meditating that she must die once, I have the patience to endure it now.