Bru. Peace, peace; you durst not so have tempt

ed him.

Cas. I durst not?

Bru. No.

Cas. What? durst not tempt him?

Bru.

For your life you durst not.

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love,

I may do that I shall be sorry for.

Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats: For I am arm'd so strong in honesty, That they pass by me, as the idle wind, Which I respect not. I did send to you For certain sums of gold, which

you denied me;

For I can raise no money by vile means:
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart,

And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash,
By any indirection. I did send

Το

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,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,
Dash him to pieces!

Cas.

Bru You did.

Cas.

I denied you not.

I did not :-he was but a fool,

That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath riv’ďa

my heart:

friend should bear his friend's infirmities, But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. Cas. You love me not.

Bru.

I do not like your faults. Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do

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;
Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observ'd,
Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote,
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep
My spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast; within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth;
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:
Strike, as thou didst at Cæsar; for, I know,
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him

better

Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius.

Bru.

scope;

Sheath your dagger: Be angry when you will, it shall have Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb That carries anger, as the flint bears fire; Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again.

Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth him? Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd tou. Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your

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, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. [Noise within.

VOL. VII.

E

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.

Nothing

Enter Poet.

shall stay me.

Cas. How now? What's the matter?

Poct. For shame, you generals; What do you mean?

Love, and be friends, as two such inen should be; For I have seen more years, I am sure, than ye.

Cas. Ha, ha; how vilely doth this cynic rhyme! Bru. Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hence. 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 jiggling fcols? Companion, hence.

Cas.

Away, away; begone.

Enter Lucilius and Titinius.

[Exit Poet.

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. Lucius, a bowl of wine.

Bru.

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 sorrow better:-Portia is dead.

Cas. Ha! Portia ?

Bru. She is dead.

(1) Fellow.

Cas. How scap'd I killing, when I cross'd you

so?

D 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. [Drinks.
Re-enter Titinius, with Messala.

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.
Messala, I have here received letters,

No more, I pray you.

That young Octavius, and Mark Antony,
Come down upon us with a mighty power,'
Bending their expedition towards Philippi.

Mes. Myself have letters of the self-same tenor.
Bru. With what addition?

Mes. That by proscription, and bills of outlawry, Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus,

Have put to death a hundred senators.

(1) Force.

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

Mes.

And by that order of

Ay, Cicero is dead,
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,1
I have the patience to endure it now.

Mes. Even so great men great losses should en-
dure.

Cas. I have as much of this in art2 as you,

But yet my nature could not bear

So.

Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do you

think

Of marching to Philippi presently?

Cas. I do not think it good.

Bru.

Cas.

Your reason?

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,

(1) At some time. (2) Theory.