For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, Quite vanquish'd him; then burst his mighty heart; Even at the base of Pompey's statue, Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell. They that have done this deed are honourable. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts; I am no orator, as Brutus is: : But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths! SHAKSPEARE. CHAP. XX. THE QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. Cas. THAT you have wrong'd me, doth appear in this, You have condemu'd and noted Lucius Pella For taking bribes here of the Sardians; Wherein my letter (praying on his side, Because I knew the man) was slighted of. Bru. You wrong'd yourself, to write in such a case. Cas. I an itching palm ? You know that you are Brutus that spake this, Bru. The name of Cassius honours this corruption, Bru. Remember March, the ides of March remember!. Did not great Julius bleed for justice sake? What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, And not for justice? What, shall one of us, That struck the foremost man of all this world, But for supporting robbers; shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes ? And sell the mighty meed of our large honours For so much trash as may be grasped thus? I'd rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman. Cas. Brutus, bay not me, I'll not endure it; you forget yourself, Bru. Go to; you anot, Cassius. Eru. I say you are not. Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself— Have mind upon your health-tempt me no farther. Cas. Is't possible? 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. O gods! ye gods! must I endure all this? Bru. All this? ay more.-Fret till your proud heart break! Go, tell your slaves how choleric you are, And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge? 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 ev'ry way—you wrong me, Brutus; I said an elder soldier, not a better; Did I I say better? Bru. If you did, I care not. Cas. When Cæsar liv'd, he durst not thus have mov'd 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. Do not presume too much upon my love; may do what I shall be sorry for. Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. threats; That they pass by me as the idle wind, By Heaven, I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you denied me was that done like Cassius? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, Cas. I denied you not. Bru. You did. Cas. I did not-he was but a fool That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath riv'd Bru. I do not.-Still you practise them on me. Bru. I do not like your faults. my heart. Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. Bru. A flatt'rer'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; brav'd by his brother; When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better Bru. Sheathe your dagger; Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; O Cassius! you are yoked with a lamb, Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd, To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth him? 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 humour which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful? Bru. Yes, Cassius, and from henceforth, When you are overearnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. CHAP. XXI. SHAKSPEARE. OTHELLO AND IAGO. Iago. My noble Lord Oth. What dost thou say, Iago? Iago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my Lady, Know of your love? Oth. He did, from first to last: why dost thou ask? Iago. But for a satisfaction of my thought, No farther harm. Oth. Why of thy thought, Iago? Iago. I did not think he'd been acquainted with it. Iago. Indeed! Oth. Indeed! ay, indeed. Discern'st thou aught in that? Is he not honest? Iago. Honest, my Lord? Oth. Honest! ay, honest. Iago. My Lord, for aught I know. |