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And sell the mighty meed of our large honours
For so much trash, as may be grasped thus?
I had 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,
To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I,
Older in practice, abler than yourself
: To make conditions.
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.
Must I give way and room to your rash choler ?
Shall I be frighted when a madman ftares ?
Cas. O gods! ye gods ! muft I endure all this?
Bru. All this? ay more. Fret till your proud heart
Go, tell 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,
Tho'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 fo; 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,
I said, an elder soldier, not a better;
Did I say better?
Bru. If you did, I care not.
Cas. When Cæsar liv’d, he durft not thus have mov'd me.
Bru. Peace, peace, you durft not so have tempted him.
Cas. I durst not!
Cas. What? durft not tempt him ?
Bru. For your life you durit not.
Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love ; .
I may do what I shall be sorry for.
Bru. You have done that you should be forry for.
There is no terror, Caflius, in your threats ;
For I am arm’d 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 deny'd me;
For I can raise no money by vile means :
By heav'n, 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 Callius ?
Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so?
When Marcus Brutus grows fo covetous,
To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,
Dash him to pieces.
Cas. I deny'd you not.
Bru. You did.
Cas. I did not he was but a fool
That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath riv'd my
A friend should bear a friend's infirmities,
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
Bru. I do not. Still 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 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 ;
Check'd by a bondman ; all his faults observ'd;
Set in a note-book, learn’d, and conn’d by rote,
To cast into my teeth. O I could weep
My spirit from mine eyes ! There is my dagger,
And here my naked breaft-within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold !
If that thou need'ft a Roman's, take it forth.
I, that deny'd thee gold, will give my heart :
Strike as thou didit at Cæsar; for I know,
When thou didft hate him worst, thou lov'd'ft him better
Than ever thou lov’d'st Cassius.
Bru. Sheathe your dagger;
Be angry when you will, ic shall have scope ;
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
O Callius, you are yoked with a lamb,
That carries anger, as the fint bears fire;
Which much in forced, shews a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again.
CAS. Hath Cassius liv’d
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief, and blood ill-temper’d vexeth him?
Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.
Cas. Do you confefs 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 over-earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.
CH A P. XXVII. OTHELLO AND I A G O. TAGO. M Y noble Lord,
1 Oth. What dost thou say, Iago ? · ÌAGO. 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.
OTH. Oh, yes, and went between us very oft.
IAGO. Indeed !
OTH. Indeed! ay, indeed. Discern'st thou aught in that? Is he not honeft?
Iago. Honest, my Lord ?
Oth. Honest ? ay, honest.
Iago. My Lord, for aught I know.
Oth. What doft thou think?
fago. Think, my Lord !
Oth. Think, my Lord! Why by Heav'n, thou echo'st
As if there were some monster in thy thought,
Too hideous to be shewn. Thou dost mean something :
I heard thee fay but now, “ thou lik'st not that,"- .
When Caffio left my wife. What didft not like?
And when I told thee, he was of my counsel,
In my whole course of wooing ; thou cry’d'A, “ Indeed !!*
And didst contract and purse thy brow together,
As if thou then hadft shut up in thy brain
Some horrible conceit. If thou dost love me,
Shew me thy thought.
Iaco. My Lord, you know I love you.
Oru. I think thou doft : And, for I know, thou art full of love and honesty, And weigh'it thy words before thou giv'st them breath, Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more : Por such things, in a false disloyal knave, Are tricks of custom; but in a man's that's juft, They're cold dilations working from the heart, That paflion cannot rule.