And fell the mighty space of our large honours
For fo much trash, as may be grasped thus ?
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,
Than fuch a Roman.

Caf. Brutus, bay not me,

I'll not endure it; you forget yourself,
To hedge me in; I am a foldier, I,
Older in practice, abler than yourself
To make conditions.

Bru. Go to: you are not Caffius.
Caf. I am.

Bru. I fay, you are not.

Caf. Urge me no more, I fhall forget myself Have mind upon your health-tempt me no farther. Bru. Away, flight man!

Caf. Is't poffible?

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak.

Muft I give way and room to your rafh choler?
Shall I be frighted, when a madman ftares?

Caf. O Gods! ye Gods! muft I endure all this? Bru. All this! ay, more. Fret, 'till your proud heart break;

Go, fhew your flaves how cholerick you are,
And make your bondmen tremble. Muft I budge?
Muft I obferve you? muft I ftand and crouch
Under your tefty humour? by the Gods,
You fhall digeft the venom of your fpleen,
Tho' it do split you: For, from this day forth,
I'll ufe you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,
When you are waspish.

Caf. Is it come to this?

Bru. You fay, you are a better foldier;

Let it appear fo; make your vaunting true,

And it fhall 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 faid, an elder foldier; not a better.

Did I fay better?

Bru. If you did, I care not.

Caf. When Cafar liv'd, he durft not thus have mov'd me

Bru.

Bru. Peace, peace, you durft not fo 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 prefume too much upon my love; I may do that, I fhall be forry for.

Bru. You have done that, you should be forry for,
There is no terror, Caffius, in your threats;
For I am arm'd fo ftrong in honesty,

That they pafs by me, as the idle wind,
Which I refpect not. I did fend to you
For certain fums of gold, which you deny'd me;
For I can raise no money by vile means;
By heav'n, 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 fend

Το you for gold to pay my legions,

Which you deny'd me; was that done like Caffius? Should I have anfwer'd Caius Caffius so ?

When Marcus Brutus grows fo covetous,

To lock fuch rafcal counters from his friends,
Be ready, Gods, with all your thunderbolts,
Dath 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.

heart.

Brutus hath riv'd my

A friend fhould bear a 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.

Caf. A friendly eye could never fee fuch faults. Bru. A flatt'rer's would not, tho' they do appear

As huge as high Olympus.

Cal. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come ; Revenge yourselves alone on Caffius,

For

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 obferv'd;
Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote,
To caft into my teeth. O, I could weep
My fpirit from mine, cyes!-There is my dagger,
And here my naked breaft-within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold;
If that thou be'st 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 didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better
Than ever thou·lov'dft Caffius.

Be

Bru. Sheath your dagger;

angry when you will, it fhall have scope;
Do what you will, dishonour fhall be humour.
O Caffius, you are yoked with a lamb,
That carries anger, as the flint bears fire;
Who, much enforced, fhews a hasty spark,
And ftraight 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 fpoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.
Caf. Do you confefs fo much? give me your hand.
Bru. And my heart too.
[Embracing.

Caf. O Brutus !

Bru. What's the mater?

Caf. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rafh 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 fo.

[A noife within. Poet within. Let me go in to fee the Generals; There is fome grudge between 'em, 'tis not meet They be alone.

Luc. within. You fhall not come to them.
Poet within. Nothing but death fhall ftay me.

2 2

Enter

Enter Poet.

Caf. How now? what's the matter?

Poet. For fhame, you Generals; what do you mean Love, and be friends, as two fuch men fhould be; For I have feen more years, I'm fure, than ye.

?

Caf. Ha, ha-how vilely doth this cynick rhime! Bru. Get you hence, firrah; faucy fellow, hence. Caf. Bear with him, Brutus, 'tis his fafhion.

Bru. I'll know his humour, when he knows his time; What should the wars do with these jingling fools? Companion, hence.

Caf. Away, away, begone.

Enter Lucilius, and Titinius.

[Exit Poet.

Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders Prepare to lodge their companies to-night.

Caf. And come yourfelves, and bring Messala with you Immediately to us.

[Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius.

Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine.vid

Caf. I did not think, you could have been fo angry. Bru. O Caffius, I am fick of many griefs!

Caf. Of your philofophy you make no ufe,

If you give place to accidental evils.

Bru. No man bears forrow better

Caf. Ha! Porcia!.

Bru. She is dead.

-Porcia's dead.

Caf. How 'fcap'd I killing, when I croft you fo? O infupportable and touching lofs!

Upon what fickness?

Bru. Impatient of my abfence;

And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony Have made themfelves fo ftrong: (for with her death

That tydings came) with this fhe fell diftract,

And (her Attendants absent) swallow'd fire.

Caf. And dy'd for

Bru. Even fo.

Caf. O ye immortal gods!

Enter

Enter Boy 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 thirty for that noble pledge.
Fill, Lucius, 'till the wine o'er fwell the cup;
I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love.

Bru. Come in, Titinius ;-welcome, good Messala.

Enter Titinius, and Meffala.

Now fit we clofe about this taper here,
And call in queftion our neceffities.
Caf. Oh Porcia! art thou gone?
Bru. No more, I pray you.-
Meffala, 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.

Mef. Myfelf have letters of the felf-fame tenour.
Bru. With what addition

Mef. That by Profcription and bills of outlawry,
Octavius, Antory, and Lepidus

Have put to death an hundred Senators.

Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree;

Mine fpeak of fev'nty Senators that dy'd

By their Profcriptions, Cicero being one.

Caf. Cicero one?

Mef. Cicero is dead; and by that order of profcription.

Had you your letters from your wife, my Lord?

Bru. No, Meffala.

Mef. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?
Bru. Nothing, Mejala.

Mef. That, methinks, is ftrange.

Bru. Why ask you? hear you aught of her in yours?
Mef. 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 ftrange manner.

Bru.