Cas.
That you have wrong'd me, doth appear in this,(27) ^note

Bru.
You wrong'd your self to write in such a case.

Cas.
In such a time as this, it is not meet
That ev'ry nice offence should bear its comment.

Bru.
Yet let me tell you, Cassius, you your self
Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm;

To sell, and mart your offices for gold,
To undeservers.

Cas.
I an itching palm?
You know, that you are Brutus, that speak this;
Or, by the Gods, this speech were else your last.

Bru.
The name of Cassius honours this corruption,
And chastisement doth therefore hide its head.

Cas.
Chastisement!—

Bru.
Remember March, the Ides of March remember!
Did not great Julius bleed for justice sake?
What villain touch'd his body, that did stab,
And not for justice? what, shall one of us,
That struck the foremost man of all this world,
But for supporting robbers; shall we now
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes?
And sell the mighty space of our large honours
For so much trash, as may be grasped 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 your self,
To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I,
Older in practice, abler than your self
To make conditions.

Bru.
Go to; you are not Cassius.

Cas.
I am.

Bru.
I say, you are not.

Cas.
Urge me no more, I shall forget my self—
Have mind upon your health—tempt me no farther.

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 Gods! ye Gods! must I endure all this?

Bru.
All this! ay, more. Fret, 'till your proud heart break;
Go shew your slaves how cholerick 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,
Tho' 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!—

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 drachma's, than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash,
By any indirection. I did send(28) ^note

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 deny'd 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 a friend's infirmities,
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

Bru.
I do not, 'till you practise them on me.(29) ^note

Cas.
You love me not.

Bru.
I do not like your faults.

Cas.
A friendly eye could never see such faults.

Bru.
A flatt'rer's would not, tho' they do appear
As huge as high Olympus.

Cas.
Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come;
Revenge your selves alone on Cassius,
For Cassius is a weary 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 beest a Roman, take it forth.
I, that deny'd 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 lovd'st 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 yoaked with a Lamb,
That carries anger, as the flint bears fire;
Who much enforced, shews 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. [Embracing.

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 from henceforth
When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. [A noise within.

Poet. within.
Let me go in to see the Generals;
There is some grudge between 'em, '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'm sure, than ye.

Cas.
Ha, ha—how vilely doth this Cynick rhime!

Bru.
Get you hence, sirrah; sawcy 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 jingling 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 your selves, and bring Messala with you
Immediately to us. [Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius.

Bru.
Lucius, a bowl of wine.

Cas.
I did not 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—Porcia's dead.

Cas.
Ha! Porcia!—

Bru.
She is dead.

Cas.
How scap'd I killing, when I crost 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 tydings came) With this she fell distract,
And (her attendants absent) swallow'd fire.

Cas.
And dy'd so?

Bru.
Even so.

Cas.
O ye immortal Gods! Enter Boy 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'er-swell the cup;
I cannot drink too much of Brutus's love.

Bru.
Come in, Titinius;—welcome, good Messala. Enter Titinius, and Messala.
Now sit we close about this taper here,
And call in question our necessities.

Cas.
Oh Porcia! art thou gone?

Bru.
No more, I pray you.—
Messala, I have here received letters,
That young Octavius, and Mark Antony,
Come down upon us with a mighty Power,
Bending their expedition tow'rd Philippi.

Mes.
My self 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 sev'nty Senators, that dy'd
By their Proscriptions, Cicero being one.

Cas.
Cicero one?—

Mes.
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 ought 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, farewel Porcia—we must die, Messala.
With meditating that she must die once,
I have the patience to endure it now.

Mes.
Ev'n 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 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 refresht, new added, and encourag'd;
From which advantage shall we cut him off,
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,
That we have try'd the utmost of our friends;
Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe;
The enemy encreaseth every day,
We, at the height, are ready to decline.
There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows, and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now a-float:
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.

Cas.
Then, with your will, go on: we will along
Our selves, and meet them at Philippi.

Bru.
The deep of night is crept upon our talk,
And nature must obey necessity;
Which we will niggard with a little rest.
There is no more to say.

Cas.
No more; good night;—
Early to morrow will we rise, and hence.

Enter Lucius.

Bru.
Lucius, my gown; farewel, good Messala,
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! Enter Lucius with the Gown.

Bru.
Ev'ry thing is well.

Tit. Messa.
Good night, lord Brutus.

Bru.
Farewel, every one. [Exeunt.
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;
I'll have them sleep on cushions in my Tent.

Luc.
Varro, and Claudius!— Enter Varro and Claudius.

Var.
Calls my lord?

Bru.
I pray you, Sirs, lie in my Tent, and sleep;
It may be, I shall raise you by and by,
On business to my brother Cassius.

Var.
So please you, we will stand, and watch your pleasure.

Bru.
I will not have it so; lie down, good Sirs:
It may be, I shall otherwise bethink me.
Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so;
I put it in the pocket of my gown.

Luc.
I was sure, your lordship did not give it me.

Bru.
Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful.
Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes a while,
And touch thy instrument, a strain or two?

Luc.
Ay, my lord, an't please you.

Bru.
It does, my boy;
I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.

Luc.
It is my duty, Sir.

Bru.
I should not urge thy duty past thy might;
I know, young bloods look for a time of rest.

Luc.
I have slept, my lord, already.

Bru.
It was well done, and thou shalt sleep again;
I will not hold thee long. If I do live,
I will be good to thee. [Musick, and a Song.
This is a sleepy tune—O murd'rous slumber!
Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy,
That plays thee musick? gentle knave, good night;
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee.
If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument,
I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night.
But let me see—is not the leaf turn'd down,
Where I left reading? here it is, I think. [He sits down to read. Enter the Ghost of Cæsar.
How ill this taper burns!—ha! who comes here?
I think, it is the weakness of mine eyes,
That shapes this monstrous apparition!—
It comes upon me—Art thou any thing?
Art thou some God, some angel, or some devil,
That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare?
Speak to me, what thou art.

Ghost.
Thy evil spirit, Brutus.

Bru.
Why com'st thou?

Ghost.
To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi.

Bru.
Then, I shall see thee again.—

Ghost.
Ay, at Philippi. [Exit Ghost.

Bru.
Why, I will see thee at Philippi then.—
Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest:
Ill Spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.
Boy! Lucius! Varro! Claudius! Sirs! awake!
Claudius!

Luc.
The strings, my lord, are false.

Bru.
He thinks, he still is at his instrument.
Lucius! awake.

Luc.
My lord!—

Bru.
Didst thou dream Lucius, that thou so cried'st out?

Luc.
My lord, I do not know that I did cry.

Bru.
Yes, that thou didst; didst thou see any thing?

Luc.
Nothing, my lord.

Bru.
Sleep again, Lucius; sirrah, Claudius, fellow!
Varro! awake.(30) ^note

Var.
My lord!

Clau.
My lord!

Bru.
Why did you so cry out, Sirs, in your sleep?

Both.
Did we, my lord?

Bru.
Ay, saw you any thing?

Var.
No, my lord, I saw nothing.

Clau.
Nor I, my lord.

Bru.
Go, and commend me to my brother Cassius;
Bid him set on his Pow'rs betimes before,
And we will follow.

Both.
It shall be done, my lord. [Exeunt.

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