Cas.
That you have wrong'd me, doth appear in this,
You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella,
For taking bribes here of the Sardians;
Wherein, my letter (praying on his side,
Because I knew the man,) was slighted of.

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 iching plam?
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, bait 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 † ^notebudge?
Must I oberve 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 indirectness. 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 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.

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 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 yoaked with a ^{a note}man,
That carries anger as the flint bears fire,
Who much inforced, 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 not you 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.* ^note

Previous section

Next section