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Did I say better?
Bru. If you did, I care not.
Caf. When Cafar liv'd he durft not thus have mov'd me.
Pru. Peace, peace, you durft not fo have tempted him.
Caf. I durft not!
Caf. What? durft not tempt him!
Bru. For your life you durft not.
Cal. 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, Cafius, 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 lums of gold, which you deny'd me;
For I can raise no mony 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
for gold to pay my legions, Which
you denied me; was that done like Cafius?
Should I have answer'd Caius Caffius fo?
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!
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 heart.
A friend should bear a friend's infirmities,
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
Bru. I do not : will you practise that on me?
Caf. You love me not.
Bru. I do not like your faults,
Caf. A friendly eye could never see such faults.
Bru. A fatt'rer's would not, tho' they do appear
As huge as high Olympus.
Caf. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come!
Revenge your selves alone on Caffius,
For Caffius 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 caft into my teeth. 0 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 Cæfar; for I know,
When thou didft hate him worst, thou lov’dst him better
Than ever thou lov’dft Cafius.
Bru. Sheath your dagger ;
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
O Caffius, you are yoaked with a lamb,.
That carries anger as the flint bears fire,
Which much enforced, shews a hafty spark,
And straight is cold again.
Caf. Hath Caffius 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.
[Embracing Caf. O Brutús ! Bru. What's the marter ?
Caf. Have not you love enough to bear with me,
When that rash humour which my mother gave me
Makes me forgetful?
Bru. Yes, Caffius, and from henceforth
When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. *
and leave you so.
Enter Lucius and Titinius, and a Poet,
Poet. Let me go in to see the Generals,
There is some grudge between 'em, 'tis not meet
They be alone.
Enter Lucilius and Ticinius.
Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders
Prepare to lodge their companies to-night.
Caf. And come your felves, and bring Meffala with you le Immediately to us. [Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius.
Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine.
Caf. I did not think you could have been so angry.
Bru, O Callius, I am fick of many griefs.
Caf. Of your philosophy you make no use,
If you give place to accidental evils.
Bru. No man bears forrow better Portia's dead.
Caf. Ha! Portia!
Bru. She is dead.
Caf. How 'scap'd I killing, when I croft you so ?
O insupportable and touching loss !
Upon what sickness?
Bru. Impatient of my absence,
And grief, that young Ostavius with Mark Antony
Have made themselves so strong ; (for with her death
That tidings came) with this the fell distract,
And (her attendants absent) swallow'd fire.
Caf. And dy'd so ?
Bru. Even so,
Caf. 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, Caffius,
[Drinks. Caf. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge.
Luc. You shall not come to them.
Poet. Nothing but death shall stay me.
Caf. How now? what's the matter!
Poet. For shame, you Genera's; what do you mean?
Love, and be friends, as two such meo Nhould be,
For I have seen more years I'm sure than ye.
Caf. Ha, ha --- how vilely doth this Cynick shime!
Bru. Get you hence, firrah ; fawcy fellow, hence.
Caí, 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 ?
Caj, Away, awy, be gone.
Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, &c.
Pill, Lucius, 'till the wine o'er-swell the cup; cannot drink too much of Brutus' love,
Enter Titinius and Meffala.
Bru. Come in, Titinius ; welcome, good Mesala!
Now fit we close about this taper here,
And call in question our necessities. - Caf. Oh Portia ! art thou gone?
Bru. No more, I pray you.
Mesala, I have here received letters,
That young Oktavius, 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-fame tenour.
Bru. With what addition ?
Mes. That by profcriptions, and bills of outlawry
Oftavius, Antony, and Lepidus
Have put to death an hundred Senators.
Brü. Therein our letters do not well agree;
Mine speak of sev’nty Senators, that dy'd
By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.
Caf. Cicero one?
Mej. Cicero is dead; and by that order of profcription,
Had you your letters from your wife, my Lord ?
Bru. No, Mejala.
. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her ?
Bru. Nothing, Mefala.
Mes. That, methinks, is strange.
Bru. Why ask you ? hear you ought of her in yours ?
. No, my Lord.
Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true.
Mef. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell;
For certain the is dead, and by strange manner.
Bru. Why, farewel Portia - we must die, Mejala.
With meditating that she must die once,
I have the patience to endure it now.
. Evin fo great men great losses should endure.
Caf. I have as much of this in art as you,
But yet my nature could not bear it fo.
Bru, Well, to our work alive. What do you
Of marching to Philippi presently?
Caf. I do not think it good.
Bru. Your reason?
Caf. 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 Pbilippi 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 refresh'd, 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.
Caf. 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 sipe;
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,
Caf. Then with your will, go on : we will along
Qur leives, and meet them at Pbilippi,
Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our talk,
And nature must obey neceffity,
Which we will niggard with a little rest.
There is no more to fay.
Caf. No more; good night;
Early to-morrow we will rise, and hence.