A few friends and officers accompanied Brutus in his flight.

Night soon came on, and he lay down in a little recess under a shelving rock, exhausted with fatigue and suffering.

Then, raising his eyes to heaven, he imprecated, in lines quoted from a Greek poet, the just judgment of God upon the foes who were at that hour triumphing in what he considered the ruin of his country.
He then, in his anguish and despair, enumerated by name the several friends and companions whom he had seen fall that day in battle, mourning the loss of each with bitter grief.

In the mean time, night was coming on, and the party, concealed thus in the wild dell, were destitute and unsheltered.

Hungry and thirsty, and spent with fatigue as they were, there seemed to be no prospect for them of either rest or refreshment.