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Bru. Hear me, for I will speak.

Must I give way and room to your rash choler?

Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?

Cas. Must I endure all this!

Bru. All this! Ay, more. Fret till your proud heart break:

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 humor!

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.

Cas. Is it come to this?

Bru. You say you are a better soldier;

Let it appear so; make your vaunting true,
And it shall please me well.

For mine own part,

I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

Cas. 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.

Cas. When Cæsar lived, he durst not thus have moved me. Bru. Peace, peace; you durst not so have tempted him. Cas. I durst not!

Bru. No.

Cas. What? durst not tempt him?

Bru. For your life you durst not.

Cas. 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, Cassius, in your

threats;

For I am armed so strong in honesty,

That they pass by me as the idle wind,
Which I respect not. I did send to you

For certain sums of gold, which you denied me :-
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 denied me. Was that done like Cassius ?

Should I have answered Caius Cassius so?

When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,

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

Cas. I denied you not.

Bru. You did.

Cas. I did not: he was but a fool

That brought my answer back. Brutus hath rived my

heart.

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.
Cas. 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.

Cas. Come Antony! and young Octavius, come!
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius:

For Cassius is a-weary of the world

Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother;
Checked like a bondman; all his faults observed,
Set in a note-book, I could weep

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My spirit from my 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 denied thee gold, will give my heart.
Strike as thou didst at Cæsar; for I know,

When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.

Be

Bru. Sheath your dagger:

angry when you will, it shall have scope:
Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor.
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb,
That carries anger, as the flint bears fire;
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again.

Cas. Hath Cassius lived

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,

When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him?
Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered too.

Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.
Bru. And my heart too.—

Cas. O Brutus !

Bru. What's the matter?

Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me. When that rash humor which my mother gave me, Makes me forgetful?

Bru. Yes, Cassius; and henceforth,

When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

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LESSON CCII.

Description of the Castle of Indolence, and its inhabitants.-
THOMSON.†

YE gods of quiet, and of sleep profound!
Whose soft dominion o'er this castle sways,

And all the widely-silent places round,

Forgive me, if my trembling pen displays What never yet was sung in mortal lays. But how shall I attempt such arduous string,

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days
In this soul-deadening place,
Ah! how shall I for this uprear my moulted wing?
The doors, that knew no shrill alarming bell,
Net cursed knocker plied by villain's hand,
Self-opened into halls, where, who can tell
What elegance and grandeur wide expănd,
The pride of Turkey and of Persia lănd?
Soft quilts on quilts, on carpets carpets spread,
And couches stretched around in seemly band,
And endless pillows rise to prop the head;

So that each spacious room was one full-swelling bed.
And every where huge covered tables stood,

With wines high flavored and rich viands crowned;
Whatever sprightly juice or tasteful food

On the green bosom of this Earth are found,
And all old Ocean genders in his round:
Some hand unseen these silently displayed,
Even undemânded by a sign or sound;
You need but wish, and, instantly obeyed,

Fair ranged the dishes rose, and thick the glasses played.

*Pron. kǎs'sl.

+ This poem being writ in the manner of Spenser, the obsolete words, and a simplicity of diction in some of the lines, which borders on the ludicrous, were necessary to make the imitation more perfect.-Author.

+ Ne, nor.

Here Freedom reigned without the least alloy;
Nor gossip's tale, nor ancient maiden's gall,
Nor saintly spleen, durst murmur at our joy,
And with envenomed tongue our pleasures pall.
For why? there was but one great rule for all;
To wit, that each should work his own desire,
And eat, drink, study, sleep, as it may fall,
Or melt the time in love, or wake the lyre,
And carol what, unbid, the Muses might inspire.
The rooms with costly tapestry were hung,
Where was inwoven many a gentle tale,
Such as of old the rural poets sung,

Or of Arcadian or Sicilian vale :
Reclining lovers, in the lonely dale,

Poured forth at large the sweetly tortured heart; Or, sighing tender passion, swelled the gale, And taught charmed Echo to resound their smart, While flocks, woods, streams, around, repose and peace im

part.

Each sound, too, here, to languishment inclined,
Lulled the weak bosom, and induced ease:

Aërial music in the warbling wind,

At distance rising oft, by small degrees,
Nearer and nearer came, till o'er the trees
It hung, and breathed such soul-dissolving airs
As did, alǎs! with soft perdition please:
Entangled deep in its enchanting snares,
The listening heart forgot all duties and all cares.
A certain music, never known before,

Here lulled the pensive melancholy mind;
Full easily obtained. Behoves no more,
But sidelong, to the gently waving wind,
To lay the well-tuned instrument reclined,
From which, with airy-flying fingers light,

Beyond each mortal touch the most refined,
The god of winds drew sounds of deep delight,
Whence, with just cause, the harp of Æolus it hight.*
Ah me! what hand can touch the string so fine?
Who up the lofty diapason roll

Such sweet, such sad, such solemn airs divine,
Then let them down again into the soul?

*Hight, named, called; and sometimes it is used for is called.

Now rising love they fann'd; now pleasing dole
They breathed, in tender musings, through the heart;
And now a graver sacred strain they stole,
As when seraphic hands a hymn impart;
Wild-warbling Nature all, above the reach of Art!

And hither Morpheus sent his kindest dreams,
Raising a world of gayer tinct and grace,
O'er which were shadowy cast Elysian gleams,
That played, in waving lights, from place to place,
And shed a roseate smile on Nature's face,
Not Titian's pencil e'er could so array,

With fleecy clouds, the pure ethereal space;
Ne could it e'er such melting forms display,
As loose on flowery beds all languishingly lay.
Here languid Beauty kept her pale-faced court:
Bevies of dainty dames, of high degree,
From every quarter hither made resort;

Where, from gross mortal care and business free,
They lay, poured out in ease and luxury :
Or should they a vain show of work assume,
Alas! and well-a-day! what can it be?
To knot, to twist, to range the vernal bloom;
But far is căst the distaff, spinning-wheel, and loom.
Their only labor was to kill the time;
And labor dire it is, and weary wo:

They sit, they loll, turn o'er some idle rhyme,
Then, rising sudden, to the glass they go,
Or saunter forth, with tottering step and slow:
This soon too rude an exercise they find;

Strait on the couch their limbs again they throw, Where hours on hours they sighing lie reclined, And court the vapory god soft-breathing in the wind. Now must I mark the villany we found;

But, ah! too late, as shall eftsoons* be shown. A place here was, deep, dreary, under ground, Where still our inmates, when unpleasing grown, Diseased, and loathsome, privily were thrown. Far from the light of heaven, they languished there, Unpitied, uttering many a bitter groan;

For of these wretches taken was no care:

Fierce fiends, and hags of hell, their only nurses were.

Eftsoons, immediately, often, afterwards.

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