And sell the mighty space of our large honours,
For so much trash, as may be grasp'd thus ?-
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,
Than such a Roman.

Cas. Brutus, bay not me;
I'll not endure it: you forget yourself,
To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I,

• Older in practice, abler than yourself
To make conditions.

Bru. Go to; you're not, Cassius.

Cas. I am.

Bru. I say, you are not.

Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further.

Bru. Away, slight man!

Cas. Is't possible ?

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak.

Must I give way and room to your rash choler ?
Shall I be frighted, when a madman stares?

Cas. O ye gods! ye gods! Must I endure all this?
Bru. All this? ay, more: Fret, till your proud heart
[break;

Go, show your slaves how choleric you are,
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?
Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch
Under your testy humour? By the gods,
You shall digest the venom of your spleen,
Though it do split you: for, from this day forth,
I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,
When you are waspish.

Cas. Is it come to this?

Bru. You say, you are a better soldier : Let it appear so; make your vaunting true,

And it shall please me well: For mine own part,

I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

Cas. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus; I said, an elder soldier, not a better :

Did I say, better?

Bru. If you did, I care not.

Cas. When Cæsar liv'd, he durst not thus have mov'd me.
Bru. Peace, peace; you durst not so have tempted him.
Cas. I durst not?

[4] That is, to limit my authority by your direction or censure. JOHNSON. [5] That is, to know 01 what terms it is fit to confer the offices which are at me disposal. JOHNSON.

VOL. VIII.

C2

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 deny'd 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

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,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,
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 friends 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 appear

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. Sheath your dagger :

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
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 too.
Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.
Bru. And my heart too.

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

[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.
Poet. [within.] Nothing but death shall stay me.

Enter Poet.

Cas. How now? What's the matter?

Poet. For shame, you generals; what do you mean? Love, and be friends, as two such men should be ; For I have seen more years, I am sure, than ye.

Cas. Ha, ha; how vilely doth this cynick rhime t

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 jigging fools ?

Companion, hence !

Cas. Away, away, be gone.

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

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.

MALONE.

That young Octavius, and Mark Antony,
Come down upon us with a mighty power,
Bending their expedition toward Philippi.
Mes. Myself have letters of the self-same tenour.
Bru. With what addition?

Mes. That by proscription, and bills of outlawry,

Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus,

Have put to death an hundred senators.

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. 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,

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 bétter

The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground,

Do stand but in a forc'd affection;

For they have grudg'd us contribution :