And show of love as I was wont to have;

You bear too ftubborn and too strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.

BRU. Caffius,

look,

Be not deceived: if I have veil'd my
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon myfelf, Vexed I am
Of late with paffion of fome difference,
Conceptions only proper to myself;

Which give fome foil perhaps to my behaviour;
But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd,
Among which number, Caffius, be you one ;
Nor conftrue any farther my neglect,

Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
Forgets the fhow of love to other men.

CAS. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your paffion;
By means whereof, this breaft of mine hath buried.
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you fee your face?
BRU. No, Caffius; for the eye fees not itself,

But by reflection from fome other thing.
CAS. 'Tis juft.

And it is very much lamented, Brutus,

That have no fuch mirror as will turn

you

Your hidden worthinefs into your eye,

1

That you might fee your shadow. I have heard,
Where many of the beft refpect in Rome,
(Except immortal Cæfar) speaking of Brutus,
And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
Have wifh'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.
BRU. Into what dangers would you lead me, Caffius,

That

That

you

would have me feek into myself

For that which is not in me?

CAS. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear;
And fince you know you cannot fee yourself
So well as by reflection I, your glass
Will modeftly discover to yourself

That of yourself which yet you know not of
And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus :
Were I a common laugher, or did use
To ftale with ordinary oaths my love
To every new protestor; if you know,
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard,
And after fcandal them; or if you know,
That I profefs myself in banquetting

To all the rout; then hold me dangerous.

BRU. What means this fhouting? I do fear the people

Choose Cæfar for their king.

CAS. Ay, do you fear?

Then must I think you would not have it fo..

BRU. I would not, Caffius; yet I love him well,

But wherefore do you hold me here fo long?

What is it that you would impart to me?

If it be aught toward the general good,

Set Honour in one eye, and Death i' th' other,
And I will look on Death indifferently:

For let the gods fo speed me, as I love

The name of Honour more than I fear Death.

CAS. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutusa
As well as I do know your outward favour.
Well, honour is the fubject of my ftory.-
I cannot tell what you and other men
Think of this life; but for my fingle felf

M

X

I had

I had as lief not be, as live to be

In awe of fuch a thing as I myself.

I was born free as Cæfar; fo were you;

We both have fed as well; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he.
For once upon a raw and gufty day,
The troubled Tyber chafing with his fhores,
Cæfar fays to me, Dar'ft thou, Caffius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point?-Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,
And bid him follow; fo indeed he did.
The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it
With lufty finews; throwing it afide,
And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point propos'd,
Cæfar cry'd, help me, Caffius, or I fink,
I, as Æneas, our great anceftor,

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder

The old Anchifes bear; fo from the waves of Tyber

Did I the tired Cæfar: and this man

Is now become a god; and Caffius is

A wretched, creature, and must bend his body,
If Cæfar careless but nod on him.

He had a fever when he was in Spain,

And when the fit was on him, I did mark

How he did fhake. 'Tis true, this god did shake;
His cowards lips did from their colour fly,
And that fame eye whofe bend does awe the world,
Did lofe its luffre; I did hear him groan :
Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his fpeeches in their books.
Alas! it cry'd-Give me fome drink, Titinius-

As

As a fick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,
A man of fuch a feeble temper should
So get the start of the majestic world,
And bear the palm alone.

BRU. Another general shout!

I do believe, that thefe applaufes are

For fome new honours that are heaped on Cæfar.

CAS. Why man, he doth beftride the narrow world
Like a Coloffus! and we petty men

Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves difhonourable graves.
Men at fometimes are masters of their fates;
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
Brutus and Cæfar-what should be in that Cæfar?
Why should that name be founded, more than yours
Write them together; your's is as fair a name :
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well?
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em,
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæfar.
Now, in the names of all the gods at once,

Upon what meats does this our Cæfar feed,

That he is grown fo great? Age, thou art sham'd;
Rome, thou haft loft the breed of noble bloods.
When went there by an age, fince the great flood
But it was fam'd with more than with one man?
When could they fay, till now, that talk'd of Rome,]
That her wide walls encompass'd but one man?

Oh! you and I have heard our fathers fay

There was a Brutus, one that would have brook'd

Th' eternal devil, to keep his ftate in Rome

As eafily as a king.

M 2

BRU

BRU. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous;
What you would work me to, I have fome aim :
How I have thought of this and of these times,
I shall recount hereafter; for this present,
I would not (fo with love I might intreat you)
Be any further mov'd. What you have said,
I will confider; what you have to fay,

I will with patience hear; and find a time,
Both meet to hear, and answer fuch high things
Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this;
Brutus had rather be a villager,

Than to repute himself a fon of Rome
Under fuch hard conditions as this time

Is like to lay upon us.

CAS. I am glad that my weak words

Have ftruck but thus much fhow of fire from Brutus.

SHAKSPEARE.

CHA P. II.

BELLARIUS, GUIDERIUS, AND ARVIRAGUS.

BEL. A GOODLY day! not to keep houfe, with fuch

Whofe roof's as low as ours: fee! boys, this gate Inftructs you how t'adore the heav'ns; and bows, you To mornings, holy office. Gates of monarchs Are arch'd fo high, that giants may jet through, And keep their impious turbands on, without Good morrow to the fun. Hail, thou fair heav'n ! We houfe i' th' rock, yet ufe thee not fo hardly As prouder livers do.

GUID. Hail, Heav'n!
Arv. Hail, Heav'n!

BEL.