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 ^{2 note}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!—

&wlquo;Bru.
&wlquo;^{3 note}

Remember March, the Ides of March remember!

&wlquo;Did not great Julius bleed for justice sake?
&wlquo;What villain touch'd his body, that did stab,
&wlquo;And not for justice? what, shall one of us,
&wlquo;That struck the foremost man of all this world,
&wlquo;But for supporting robbers; shall we now
&wlquo;Contaminate our fingers with base bribes?
&wlquo;And sell the mighty space of our large honours
&wlquo;For so much trash, as may be grasped thus?—
&wlquo;^{4 note}

I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,
&wlquo;Than such a Roman.&wrquo;

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.
^{5 note}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?
&wlquo;Shall I be frighted, when a madman stares?&wrquo;

Cas.
O Gods! ye Gods! must I endure all this?

Bru.
All this! ay, more. Fret, 'till your proud heart break;
&wlquo;Go, shew your slaves how cholerick you are,
&wlquo;And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?&wrquo;
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.
&wlquo;There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats;
&wlquo;For I am arm'd so strong in honesty,
&wlquo;That they pass by me, as the idle wind,
&wlquo;Which I respect not. I did send to you
&wlquo;For certain sums of gold, which you deny'd me;
&wlquo;For I can raise no money by vile means;
&wlquo;By heaven, I had rather coin my heart,
&wlquo;And drop my blood for drachma's, ^{6 note}
than to wring
&wlquo;From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash,
&wlquo;By any Indirection. I did send
&wlquo;To you for gold to pay my legions,
&wlquo;Which you denied me; was that done like Cassius?
&wlquo;Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so?
&wlquo;When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,
&wlquo;To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
&wlquo;Be ready, Gods, with all your thunderbolts,
&wlquo;Dash him to pieces.&wrquo;

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.
^{7 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;
^{8 note}

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;
&wlquo;Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
&wlquo;O Cassius, you are yoaked with a Lamb,
&wlquo;That carries anger, as the flint bears fire;
&wlquo;Who, much enforced, shews a hasty spark,
&wlquo;And straight is cold again.&wrquo;

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; 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 jingling fools?
Companion, hence.

Cas.
Away, away, begone. [Exit Poet.

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