Imatges de pàgina
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Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
Are much condemn’d to have an itching palm;
To sell and mart your offices for gold,
To undefervers.

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

Brú. The name of Calius honours this corruption,
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head,

Caf. 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 ftab, 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. Caf. Brutus, bait not me?,

I'll

1 Wbat villain toucb'd bis body, tbai did pab,

And not for justice? ] This question is far from implying that any of those who touch'd Cæsar's body, were villains. On the contrary, it is an indirect way of asserting that there was not one an among them, who was base enough to stab him for any cause but that of juro tice. MALONE.

2 Brutus, bait not me,] Thus the old copy. Mr. Theobald and all the subsequent editors read bay not me; and the emendation is fuffie ciently plausible, our authour having in Troilus and Cressida used the word bay in the same sense :

« What moves Ajax thus to bay at him!” But as he has likewise twice used bait in the sense required here, the text, in my apprehension, ought not to be disturbed. “I will not yield,” says Macbeth,

“ To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet,

" And to be taited with che rabble's curle," Again, in Coriolanus:

" — why itay we to be baited
" With one that wants her wits??"

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So ,

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 S.

Bru. Go to; you are not, Caffius.
Cas. I am.
Bru. I say, you are not.

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

Bru. Away, Night man!
Caf. 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 ftares ?

Cas. O ye gods! ye gods! Muit 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 ? Muft I stand and crouch
Under your testy humour ? By the gods,
You Mall 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 waspith.

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So, also in a comedy entitled How to cboose a good wife from s beds 1602 :

Do I come home so seldom, and that seldom

" Am I chus baited 7" MALONE. 3 To bedge me in;] That is, to limit my authority by your direction or censure. Johnson. 4 - I am a soldier, I,

Older in practice, &c.] Thus the ancient copies; but the modern editors, instead of I, have read ay, because the vowel I sometimes stands for ay the affirmative adverb. I have replaced the old reading, on the authority of the following line:

« And I am Brutus; Marcus Brutus, I." STIEVEN 3, See Vol. V. p. 329, n. 7. MALONE.

s To make conditions.] That is, to know on what terms it is fit to confer the offices which are at my disposal. Jon WuN.

Caf:

Caf. Is it come to this?

Bru. You say, you are a better foldier:
Let it appear lo; make your vaunting true,
And it shall please me well: For mine own part,
I fhall be glad to learn of noble men.

Caf, 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.
Caf. When Cæsar liv’d, he durft not thus have mov'd

me.

Bru. Peace, peace; you durft not so have tempted him.
Caf. I durft not?
Bru. No.
Caf. What? durft not tempt him?
Bru. For your life you durft not.

Caf. Do not presume too much upon my love,
I may do that I shall be forry for.

Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for.
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats;
For I am arm's so strong in honesty,
That they pass by me, as the idle wind,
Which I respect not. I did send to you
For certain fums 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 deny'd me: Was that done like Callaus?
Should I have answer'd Caius Callius fo?
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,

6 - than to wring

From ebe hard bands of peasants ibeir vile trash,] This is a noble fentiment, altogether in character, and expressed in a manner inimite ably happy. For to wring, implies both to get unjusly, and to use force in getting: and hard bands fignify both the peasant's great labour and pains in acquiring, and his great unwillingness to quit his hold.

WARBURTON.

To

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To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,
Dash him to pieces !

Caf. I deny'd you not.
Bru. You did.

Caf. I did not :- he was but a fool,
That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath riv'd my
A 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?.
Caf. 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.
Caf. Come,

Antony, and young Octavius, come,
Revenge yourselves alone on Cafius,
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 caft into my teeth. O, I could weep
My spirit from mine eyes !—There is my dagger,
And here my naked breaft; within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:
If that thou be'ít a Roman, take it forth 8;
I, that deny'd thee gold, will give my heart:
Strike, as thou didit at Cæsar; for, I know,

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7 I do not, till you practise tbem on mer] The meaning is this: I do not look for your faults, I only see them, and mention them with vehe. mence, when you force them into my notice, by praktiling them on me.

JOHNSON, 8 If that tbou beft a Roman, take it foreb; &c.] I think he means, that he is so far from avarice, when the cause of his country requires liberality, that if any man should with for his heart, he would not need enforce his desire any otherwise, than by shewing that he was a Romana

JOHN50N This seems only a form of adjuration like that of Brutus, p. 395: « Now, as you are a Ruman, tell me true," BLACKSTONE.

When

angry when

When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dft him better Than ever thou lov’ds Cassius.

Bru. Sheath your dagger:
Be

you will, it shall have scope;
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
O Caffius, you are yoked with a lamb
That carries anger, as the fint bears fire ;
Who, much enforced, shews a hafty spark,
And straight is cold again.

Caf. Hath Caslius 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.
Caf. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.
Bru, And

my

heart too.
Caf. O Brutus !
Bru, What's the matter?
Caf. Have not you love enough to bear with me,
When that rath humour, which my mother gave me,
Makes me forgetful?

Bru. Yes, Caflius; and, from 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 Thall not come to them.
Poet. [within.] Nothing but death shall stay me.

Enter Poet'.
Caf. How now? What's the matter?
Poet. For shame, you generals; What do you mean?

9 Enter Poet.] Shakspeare found the present incident in Plutarcb. The intruder, however, was Marcus Pbaonius, who had been a friend and follower of Cato; not a poet, but one who alluined the character of a cynic philosopher. STEEVENS.

Love

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