Shakespeare's First Folio Part 547

Shall I be frighted, when a Madman stares?

Ca.s.si. O ye G.o.ds, ye G.o.ds, Must I endure all this?

Bru. All this? I more: Fret till your proud hart break.

Go shew your Slaues how Chollericke you are, And make your Bondmen tremble. Must I bouge?

Must I obserue you? Must I stand and crouch Vnder your Testie Humour? By the G.o.ds, You shall digest the Venom of your Spleene Though it do Split you. For, from this day forth, Ile vse you for my Mirth, yea for my Laughter When you are Waspish

Ca.s.si. Is it come to this?

Bru. You say, you are a better Souldier: Let it appeare so; make your vaunting true, And it shall please me well. For mine owne part, I shall be glad to learne of n.o.ble men

Ca.s.s. You wrong me euery way: You wrong me Brutus: I saide, an Elder Souldier, not a Better.

Did I say Better?

Bru. If you did, I care not

Ca.s.s. When Caesar liu'd, he durst not thus haue mou'd me

Brut. Peace, peace, you durst not so haue tempted him

Ca.s.si. I durst not

Bru. No

Ca.s.si. What? durst not tempt him?

Bru. For your life you durst not

Ca.s.si. Do not presume too much vpon my Loue, I may do that I shall be sorry for

Bru. You haue done that you should be sorry for.

There is no terror Ca.s.sius in your threats: For I am Arm'd so strong in Honesty, That they pa.s.se by me, as the idle winde, Which I respect not. I did send to you For certaine summes of Gold, which you deny'd me, For I can raise no money by vile meanes: By Heauen, I had rather Coine my Heart, And drop my blood for Drachmaes, then to wring From the hard hands of Peazants, their vile trash By any indirection. I did send To you for Gold to pay my Legions, Which you deny'd me: was that done like Ca.s.sius?

Should I haue answer'd Caius Ca.s.sius so?

When Marcus Brutus growes so Couetous, To locke such Rascall Counters from his Friends, Be ready G.o.ds with all your Thunder-bolts, Dash him to peeces

Ca.s.si. I deny'd you not

Bru. You did

Ca.s.si. I did not. He was but a Foole That brought my answer back. Brutus hath riu'd my hart: A Friend should beare his Friends infirmities; But Brutus makes mine greater then they are

Bru. I do not, till you practice them on me

Ca.s.si. You loue me not

Bru. I do not like your faults

Ca.s.si. A friendly eye could neuer see such faults

Bru. A Flatterers would not, though they do appeare As huge as high Olympus

Ca.s.si. Come Antony, and yong Octauius come, Reuenge your selues alone on Ca.s.sius, For Ca.s.sius is a-weary of the World: Hated by one he loues, brau'd by his Brother, Check'd like a bondman, all his faults obseru'd, Set in a Note-booke, learn'd, and con'd by roate To cast into my Teeth. O I could weepe My Spirit from mine eyes. There is my Dagger, And heere my naked Breast: Within, a Heart Deerer then Pluto's Mine, Richer then Gold: If that thou bee'st a Roman, take it foorth.

I that deny'd thee Gold, will giue my Heart: Strike as thou did'st at Caesar: For I know, When thou did'st hate him worst, y loued'st him better Then euer thou loued'st Ca.s.sius

Bru. Sheath your Dagger: Be angry when you will, it shall haue scope: Do what you will, Dishonor, shall be Humour.

O Ca.s.sius, you are yoaked with a Lambe That carries Anger, as the Flint beares fire, Who much inforced, shewes a hastie Sparke, And straite is cold agen

Ca.s.si. Hath Ca.s.sius liu'd To be but Mirth and Laughter to his Brutus, When greefe and blood ill temper'd, vexeth him?

Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill temper'd too

Ca.s.si. Do you confesse so much? Giue me your hand

Bru. And my heart too

Ca.s.si. O Brutus!

Bru. What's the matter?

Ca.s.si. Haue not you loue enough to beare with me, When that rash humour which my Mother gaue me Makes me forgetfull

Bru. Yes Ca.s.sius, and from henceforth When you are ouer-earnest with your Brutus, Hee'l thinke your Mother chides, and leaue you so.

Enter a Poet.

Poet. Let me go in to see the Generals, There is some grudge betweene 'em, 'tis not meete They be alone

Lucil. You shall not come to them

Poet. Nothing but death shall stay me

Cas. How now? What's the matter?

Poet. For shame you Generals; what do you meane?

Loue, and be Friends, as two such men should bee, For I haue seene more yeeres I'me sure then yee

Cas. Ha, ha, how vildely doth this Cynicke rime?

Bru. Get you hence sirra: Sawcy Fellow, hence

Cas. Beare with him Brutus, 'tis his fashion

Brut. Ile know his humor, when he knowes his time: What should the Warres do with these Iigging Fooles?

Companion, hence

Cas. Away, away be gone.

Exit Poet

Bru. Lucillius and t.i.tinius bid the Commanders Prepare to lodge their Companies to night

Cas. And come your selues, & bring Messala with you Immediately to vs

Bru. Lucius, a bowle of Wine

Cas. I did not thinke you could haue bin so angry

Bru. O Ca.s.sius, I am sicke of many greefes

Cas. Of your Philosophy you make no vse, If you giue place to accidentall euils