Most loyal Lords and faithful followers, That have with me, unworthy General, Passed the greedy gulf of Ocean, Leaving the confines of fair Italy, Behold, your Brutus draweth nigh his end, And I must leave you, though against my will.
My sinews shrunk, my numbed senses fail, A chilling cold possesseth all my bones;Black ugly death, with visage pale and wan, Presents himself before my dazzled eyes, And with his dart prepared is to strike.
These arms my Lords, these never daunted arms, That oft have quelled the courage of my foes, And eke dismay'd my neighbours arrogancy, Now yield to death, o'erlaid with crooked age, Devoid of strength and of their proper force, Even as the lusty cedar worn with years, That far abroad her dainty odor throws, Mongst all the daughters of proud Lebanon.
This heart, my Lords, this near appalled heart, That was a terror to the bordering lands, A doeful scourge unto my neighbor Kings, Now by the weapons of unpartial death, Is clove asunder and bereft of life, As when the sacred oak with thunderbolts, Sent from the fiery circuit of the heavens, Sliding along the air's celestial vaults, Is rent and cloven to the very roots.
