« السابقةمتابعة »
Bru. Remember March, the ides of March remem-
Cas. Brutus, bay not me,
Bru. Go to: you are not, Cassius.
Cas. I am.
Bru. I say, you are not.
Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself
Have mind upon your health—tempt me no farther. , Bru. Away, slight man!
Cas. Is't possible? ,
Bru. Hear me, for I will speak.
.Cas. O gods! ye gods! must I endure all this?
Bru. All this! ay, more. Fret, till your proud heart breaks; Go show your slaves how choleric you are, And make your bondmen tremble.—Must I budge? Must I observe you? must I stand and crouch, Under your testy humour; By the gods, You shall 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 waspish. 5 J,
Cas. Is it come to this?
Bru. You say, you are a better soldier;
Cas. You wrong me, every way—you wrong me,
Bru. If you did, I care not.
Cas. When Caesar liVd, he durst not thus have mov'd
me. Bru. Peace, peace, you durst not so have tempted
Cas. What! durst not tempt him?
Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for.
Bru. You did.
Cos. I did not he was but a fool,
That brought my answer back Brutus hath riv'd
my heart—r A friend should bear a friend's infirmities; But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me.
Cos. You love me not
Bru. I do not like your faults.
Cos. A friendly eye could never see such faults.
Bru. A flatterer's would not, tho' they do appear As huge as high Olympus.
Cos. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come; Revenge yourselves 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 observed ; Set in a note book, learn'd and conn'd by rote, To cast into his 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;
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth,
I, that deny'd the gold, will give my heart;
Strike, as thou didst at Caesar; for I know,
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him
Bru. Sheath your dagger;
Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd
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,
Cas. I did not think you could have been so angry.
Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.
Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use, If you give place to accidental evils.
Bru. No man bears sorrow better—Portia's dead.
Cas. Ha! Portia?
Bru. She is dead.
Cas. How 'scap'd I killing, when I cross'd you so? O insupportable and touching loss! Upon what sickness?
Bru. Impatient of my absence, And grief, that young Octavius, with Mark Antony, Have made themselves so strong: (for with her
death Those tidings came) with this she fell distract, And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire.
Cas. And dy'd so?
Bru. Even so.
Cas. O ye immortal gods!
Enter Lucius, with Wine.
Bru. Speak no more of her ; give me a bowl of wine. In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius; [Drinks.
Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup;
[Exit Lucius. I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love.
Bru. Come in, good Casca. Come, Trebonius.
Enter Casca and Trebonius. Now sit we close about this taper here, And call in question our necessities.
Cos. O Portia! art thou gone?
Bru. No more, I pray you
Trebonius, I have here received letters,
Tre. Myself have letters of the self-same tenor.
Bru. With what addition?
Tre. That by proscription, and bills of outlawry, Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, Have put to death an hundred senators. . Cas. Cicero one?
Tre. Cicero is dead; and by that order of proscription. Had you your letters from your wife, my lord ?
Bru. No, Trebonius.
Tre. Nor nothing in your letters writ of heri
Bru. Nothing, Trebonius. . Tre. That, methinks, is strange.
Bru. Why ask you? hear you aught of her, in. yours?
Tre. No, my lord.
Bru: Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true.
Tre. Then, like a Roman, bear the truth I tell; For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.
Bru. Why, farewell, Portia—we must die, Trebonius; With meditating that she must die once, I have the patience to endure it now.