Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Messa. Nor nothing in your Letters writ of her?
Bru. Bru.
Bru. Nothing Messala.
Messa. Messa.
Messa. That me thinkes is strange.
Bru. Why aske you?
Bru. Heare you ought of her, in yours?
Messa. No my Lord.
Bru. Now as you are a Roman tell me true.
Messa. Then like a Roman, beare the truth I tell,
Messa. For certaine she is dead, and by strange manner.
Bru. Why farewell Portia: We must die Messala:
Bru. With meditating that she must dye once,
Bru. I haue the patience to endure it now.