« AnteriorContinua »
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 beeft a Roman, take it forth.
I, that deny'd thee gold, will give my heart ;
Strike, as thou didst at Cefar; for I know,
When thou didft hate him worst, thou lov'dst him
Than ever thou lovd'st Casius.
Bru. Sheath your dagger;
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
Do what you will, dithonour shall be humour,
Casius, you are yoaked with a Lamb,
That carries anger, as the fint bears fire;
Who much enforced, thews a hafty spark,
And straight is cold again.
Caf. Hath Casius liv'd
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief and blood ill-temper'd vexech him?
Bru. When I spoke that, I'was ill-temper'd too.
Caf. Do you confefs so much? give me your hand.
Bru. And my heart too.
[Embracing Cal. O Brutus ! Bru. What's the marrer ?
Caf. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that raih humour, which my mother gave me, Makes me forgetful?
Rru. Yes, Callius, 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. wit bin. You shall not come to them.
Poet, within. Nothing but death shall stay me,
Caf. 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.
Caf. Ha, ha “how visely doth this Cynick rhime!
Bru. Get you hence, firrah; fawcy fellow, hence.
Caf. Bear with him, Brutus, 'tis his fashion.
Bru. I'll know his humour, when he knows his
What should the wars do with these jingling fools?
Caf. Away, away,
Enter Lucilius, and Titinius.
Bru. Lucilius and Titinius; bid the commanders
Prepare to lodge their companies to night.
Caf. And come your selves, and bring Messala with
you 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 Caffius, I am sick of many griefs.
Caf. Of your philosophy you make no use,
If you give place to accidental evils.
Bru. No man bears forrow better Porcia's dead.
Caf. Ha! Porcia !
Bru. She is dead.
Caf. How scap'd I killing, when I croft you
O insupportable and couching loss !
Upon what sickness ?
Bru. Impatient of
And grief, that young Oetavius with Mark Antony
Have made themselves so strong: (for with her deach
That tydings came) With this the fell distract,
And (her attendants absent) swallow'd fire,
Cas. And dy'd fo?
Bru. Even so.
Caf. O ye immortal Gods!
Enter Boy with Wine and Tapers,
Bru. Speak no more of her: give me a bowl of wine.
In this I bury all unkindness, Cafius. [Drinks.
Caf. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. Fill, Lucius, 'till tbe wine o'er-swell the cup; I cannot drink too much of Brutus's love. Bry. Come in, Titinius; welcome, good Meffata.
Enter Titinius, and Melala. Now fit we close about this taper here, And call in question our neceflities.
Caf. Oh Porcia! art thou gone?
Bru. No more, I pray you.
Mesala, I have here received letters,
That young O&avius, 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 renour.
Bru. With what addition?
Mef. That by Profcription and bills of Outlawry;
Oétavius, Antony, and Lepidus
Have put to death an hundred Senators.
Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree;
Mine speak of fev'nty Senators, chat dy'd
By their Proscriptions, Cicero being one.
Caf. Cicero one?
Mes. Cicero is dead ; and by that order of profcription. Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?
Bru. No, Mefala.
Mef. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?
Bru. Nothing, Mesala.
Mes. That, methinks, is ftrange.
Bru. Why ask you? hear you ought of her in yours?
Mej. No, my lord,
Brú. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true.
Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell ;
For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.
Bru. Why, farewel Porcia - we must die, Meffala. With meditating that she must die once, I have the patience to endure it now.
Mes. Ev'n so 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 for
Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do
Of marching to Philippi presently?
Caf. I do not think it good.
Bru. Your reason?
Cal. This it is:
'Tis better, that the enemy seek us ;
So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers,
Doing himself offence; whilft we, lying still,
Are full of reft, defence and nimbleness.
Bru. Good reasons must of force give place to better.
The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground,
Do Itand but in a forc'd affection ;
For they have grudg'd us contribution.
The enemy, marching along by them,
By them thall make a fuller number up ;
Come on refresht, 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 befide;
That we have try'd the utmost of our friends ;
Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe;
The enemy encreaseth every day,
We, at the height, are ready to decline.
There is a ride in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omicced, 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
Our felves, and meet them at Philippi.
Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our talk,
And nature must obey necessity;
Which we will niggard with a little rest.
There is no more to fay.
Cas. No more; good night;
Early to morrow will we rise, and hence.
Bru. Lucius, my gown; farewel, good Mesala,
Good night, Titinius : noble, noble Cassius,
Good night, and good repose.
Caf. O my dear brother!
This was an ill beginning of the night:
Never come such division 'tween our souls ;
Let it not, Brutus !
Enter Lucius with the Gorun.
Bru. Ev'ry thing is well.
Tit. Mefa. Good night, lord Brutus.
Bru. Farewel, every one.
[Exeunt. Give me the Gown. Where is thy instrument?
Luc. Here, in the Tent.
Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily? Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o'er-watch'd. Call Claudius, and some other of my men; I'll have them sleep on cushions in my Tent. Luc. Varro, and Claudius!
Enter Varro and Claudius.
Var. Calls my lord?
Bru. I pray you, Sirs, lie in my Tent, and feep:
It may be, I shall raise you by and by,
On business to my brother Casius.
Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch your
Bru. I will not have it fo; lie down, good Sirs : It may
be, I shall otherwise bethink me. Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for fo; I put it in the pocket of my gown, Luc. I was sure, your lordship did not give it me.
Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. Canft thou hold up thy heavy eyes a while, And touch thy instrument, a strain or two?
Luc. Ay, my lord, an't please you.
Bru. It does, my boys
I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.