Cas. What? durst not tempt him ? Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love, Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. That they pass by me, as the idle wind, For certain sums of gold, which you deny'd me ;- By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you denied me: Was that done like Cassius ? Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, To lock such rascal counters from his friends, Dash him to pieces! Cas. I denied you not. Bru. You did. Cas. I did not :-he was but a fool, That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath riv'd my heart: A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. Bru. I do not like your faults. Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. As huge as high Olympus. Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, For Cassius is aweary of the world: Hated by one he loves; brav'd by his brother; [6] This is a noble sentiment, altogether in character, and expressed in a manner inimitably happy. For to wring, implies both to get unjustly, and to use force in getting: and hard hands signify both the peasant's great labour and pains in acquiring, and his great unwillingness to quit his hold. WARB. [7] The meaning is this; I do not look for your faults, I only see them, and mention them with vehemence, when you force them into my notice, by practising them on me. JOHNS. Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observ'd, My spirit from mine eyes !—There is my dagger, When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better Bru. Sheath your dagger: Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, Cas. O Brutus ! Bru. What's the matter? Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour, which my mother gave me, Makes me forgetful? Bru. Yes, Cassius; and, henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, [Noise within. Poet. [within.] Let me go in to see the generals ; There is some grudge between them, 'tis not meet They be alone. Luc. [within.] You shall not come to them. Cas. How now? What's the matter? Poet. For shame, you generals; what do you mean? Cas. Ha, ha; how vilely doth this cynick rhime! Cas. Bear with him, Brutus ; 'tis his fashion. Bru. I'll know his humour, when he knows his time: What should the wars do with these jigging fools? Companion, hence. Cas. Away, away, be gone. [Exit Poet. Enter LUCILIUS and TITINIUS. Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders Prepare to lodge their companies to-night. Cas. And come yourselves, and bring Messala with you Immediately to us. [Exe. LUCILIUS and TITINIUS. Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine. Cas. I did not think, you could have been so angry. Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use, If you give place to accidental evils. Bru. No man bears sorrows better :-Portia is dead. Cas. Ha! Portia ? Bru. She is dead. Cas. How scap'd I killing, when I cross'd you so ?— O insupportable and touching loss ! Upon what sickness? Bru. 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. Cas. And died so? Bru. Even so. Cas. O ye immortal gods! Enter LUCIUS, with wine and tapers. Bru. Speak no more of her.-Give me a bowl of wine: -In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. [Drinks. Cas. 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. Re-enter TITINIUS with MESSALA. [Drinks. Bru. Come in, Titinius :-Welcome, good Messala.Now sit we close about this taper here, And call in question our necessities. Cas. Portia, art thou gone? Bru. No more, I pray you. Messala, I have here received letters, [8] That is, with these silly poets. A jig signified, in our author's time, a metrical composition as well as a dance. MAL. That young Octavius, and Mark Antony, Mes. Myself have letters of the self-same tenour. Mes. That by proscription, and bills of outlawry, Have put to death an hundred senators. Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree; By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. Mes. Ay, Cicero is dead, And by that order of proscription. Had you your letters from your wife, my lord? Bru. No, Messala. Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her? Bru. Nothing, Messala. Mes. That, methinks, is strange. Bru. Why ask you? Hear you aught of her in yours? Mes. No, my lord. Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell : For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. Bru. Why, farewell, Portia.-We must die, Messala : With meditating that she must die once, I have the patience to endure it now. Mes. Even so great men great losses should endure. Cas. I have as much of this in art as you,9 But yet my nature could not bear it so. Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do you think Of marching to Philippi presently? Cas. I do not think it good. Bru. Your reason? Cas. This it is: 'Tis better, that the enemy seek us: So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, Doing himself offence; whilst we, lying still, Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. Bru. Good reasons must, of force, give place to better. The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground, Do stand but in a forc'd affection; For they have grudg'd us contribution : The enemy, marching along by them, By them shall make a fuller number up, Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encourag'd; If at Philippi we do face him there, These people at our back. Cas. Hear me, good brother. Bru. Under your pardon.-You must note beside, The enemy increaseth every day, We, at the height, are ready to decline. Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Is bound in shallows, and in miseries. And we must take the current when it serves, Cas. Then, with your will, go on; We'll along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi. Which we will niggard with a little rast. There is no more to say? Cas. No more. Good night; Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence. Bru. Lucius, my gown. [Exit Luc.] Farewell, good Good night, Titinius :—Noble, noble Cassius, Good night, and good repose. Cas. O my dear brother! This was an ill-beginning of the night: Never come such division 'tween our souls! Let it not, Brutus. Bru. Every thing is well. Cas. Good night, my lord. Bru. Good night, good brother. Tit. Mes. Good night, lord Brutus. Bru. Farewell, every one. [Exe.CAS. TIT. and MES. Re-enter LUCIUS, with the gown. Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument? Luc. Here in the tent. Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily? Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o'er-watch'd. Call Claudius, and some other of my men ; |