Imagens das páginas

O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce
"Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler
Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars!
Thou ever young, fresh, loved, and delicate wooer,
Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow
That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god,
That solder'st close impossibilities,

And mak'st them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue,

To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts!
Think, thy slave man rebels; and by thy virtue
Set them into confounding odds, that beasts
May have the world in empire!

Apem. Would 'twere so;

But not till I am dead!-I'll say thou hast gold:
Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly.

Tim. Throng'd to?

Apem. Ay.

Tim. Tay back, I pr'ythee.

Apem. Live, and love thy misery!

Tim. Long live so, and so die!-I am quit.[Exit APEMANTUS. More things like men?-Eat, Timon, and abhor them. Enter Thieves.

1 Thief. Where should he have this gold? It is some poor fragment, some slender ort of his remainder: the mere want of gold, and the falling-from of his friends, drove him into this melancholy.

2 Thief. It is noised he hath a mass of treasure. 3 Thief. Let us make the assay upon him: if he care not for't, he will supply us easily; if he covetously reserve it, how shall's get it?

2 Thief. True; for he bears it not about him, 'tis hid. 1 Thief. Is not this he? Thieves. Where?

2 Thief. 'Tis his description.

3 Thief. He; I know him. Thieves. Save thee, Timon. Tim. Now, thieves?

Thieves. Soldiers, not thieves.

Tim. Both too; and women's sons.

Thieves. We are not thieves, but men that much do want. Tim. Your greatest want is, you want much of meat. Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots; Within this mile break forth a hundred springs; The oaks bear mast, the briers scarlet hips; The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush Lays her full mess before you. Want? why want?

1 Thief. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water, As beasts, and birds, and fishes.


Tim. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds,and fishes; You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con, That you are thieves profess'd; that you work not In holier shapes: for there is boundless theft In limited professions. Rascal thieves, Here's gold. Go, suck the subtle blood of the Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, And so 'scape hanging: trust not the physician; His antidotes are poison, and he slays More than you rob: take wealth and lives together; Do villany, do, since you profess to do 't, Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery: The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun: The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears: the earth's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen From general excrement: each thing's a thief: The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves; away! Rob one another. There's more gold: cut throats; All that you meet are thieves. To Athens go, Break open shops; nothing can you steal, But thieves do lose it. Steal not less, for this I give you; and gold confound you howsoever! Amen. [TIMON retires to his cave. 3 Thief. He has almost charm'd me from my profession, by persuading me to it.

1 Thief. 'Tis in the malice of mankind, that he thus advises us; not to have us thrive in our mystery.

2 Thief. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my trade. 1 Thief. Let us first see peace in Athens: there is no time so miserable, but a man may be true.


[Exeunt Thieves.

Flav. O you gods! Is yon despised and ruinous man my lord? Full of decay and failing? O monument And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd!

What an alteration of honour has Desperate want made!

What viler thing upon the earth, than friends
Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends!
How rarely does it meet with this time's guise,
When man was wish'd to love his enemies!
Grant I may ever love, and rather woo
Those that would mischief me, than those that dol-
He has caught me in his eye: I will present
My honest grief unto him; and, as my lord,
Still serve him with my life.-My dearest master!
TIMON comes forward from his cave.

Tim. Away! what art thou?

Flav. Have you forgot me, Sir?

Tim. Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men; Then, if thou grant'st thou'rt man, I have forgot thee. Flav. An honest poor servant of yours.

Tim. Then

I know thee not: I ne'er had honest man
About me, I; all that I kept were knaves,
To serve in meat to villains.

Flav. The gods are witness,

Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief
For his undone lord, than mine eyes for you.
Tim. What, dost thou weep?-Come nearer ;-then
I love thee,

Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st
Flinty mankind; whose eyes do never give,
But thorough lust and laughter. Pity's sleeping:
Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weep-
Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my lord, [ing
To accept my grief, and, whilst this poor wealth lasts,
To entertain me as your steward still.

Tim. Had I a steward so true, so just, and now
So comfortable? It almost turns

My dangerous nature mild. Let me behold
Thy face. Surely this man was born of woman.-
Forgive my general and exceptless rashness,
Perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim

One honest man,-mistake me not,-but one;
No more, I pray, -and he is a steward.-
How fain would I have hated all mankind,
And thou redeem'st thyself: but all, save thee,
I fell with curses.

Methinks thou art more honest now than wise;
For, by oppressing and betraying me,
Thou mightst have sooner got another service:
For many so arrive at second masters,
Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true,
(For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure,)
Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,

If not a usuring kindness; and, as rich men deal gifts,
Expecting in return twenty for one?

Flav. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast Doubt and suspect, alas, are placed too late:

You should have fear'd false times, when you did feast'

Suspect still comes where an estate is least.

That which I shew, heaven knows, is merely love,
Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind,
Care of your food and living; and believe it,
My most honour'd lord,

For any benefit that points to me,
Either in hope or present, I'd exchange

For this one wish,-that you had power and wealth
To requite me, by making rich yourself.

Tim. Look thee, 'tis so!-Thou singly honest man,
Here take-the gods out of my misery
Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy;
But thus condition'd:-thou shalt build from men;
Hate all, curse all; shew charity to none;

But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone,

Ere thou relieve the beggar: give to dogs

What thou deny'st to men; let prisons swallow them,
Debts wither them: be men like blasted woods,
And may diseases lick up their false bloods!
And so, farewell, and thrive.

Flar. O, let me stay,

And comfort you, my master.
Tim. If thou hat'st

Curses, stay not; fly, whilst thou 'rt bless'd and free:
Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee.


[Exeunt severally.

SCENE I.-The Woods. Before TIMON's Cave. Enter Poet and Painter; TIMON behind, unseen. Pain. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides.

Poet. What's to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true, that he is so full of gold?

Pain. Certain : Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched poor straggling soldiers with great quantity. 'Tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum.

Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends.

Pain. Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender our loves to him, in this supposed distress of his: it will shew honestly in us; and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travail for, if it be a just and true report that goes of his having.

Poet. What have you now to present unto him? Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation: only, I will promise him an excellent piece.

Poet. I must serve him so too,-tell him of an intent that's coming toward him.

Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the very air 'the time: it opens the eyes of expectation: performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable: performance is a kind of will or testament, which argues a great sickness in his judgment

that makes it.

Tim. Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself.

Poet. I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him: it must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency.

Tim. Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for thee.

Poet. Nay, let's seek him:

Then do we sin against our own estate,

When we may profit meet, and come too late.

Pain. True;

When the day serves, before black-corner'd night,
Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light.

Tim. I'll meet you at the turn.-What a god's gold, That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple

Than where swine feed!

'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark, and plough'st the foam; Settlest admired reverence in a slave:

To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye
Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey!-
'Fit I do meet them.

Poet. Hail, worthy Timon!
Pain. Our late noble master!


Tim. Have I once lived to see two honest men? Poet. Sir,

Having often of your open bounty tasted,

Hearing you were retired, your friends fall'n off, Whose thankless natures-O abhorred spirits!Not all the whips of heaven are large enough: What! to you,

Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence To their whole being! I'm rapt, and cannot cover The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude

With any size of words.

Tim. Let it go naked, men may see't the better. You that are honest, by being what you are, Make them best seen and known.

Pain. He and myself

Have travell'd in the great shower of your gifts,
And sweetly felt it.

Tim. Ay, you are honest men.

Pain. We are hither come to offer you our service. Tim. Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no.


Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do you service. Tim. You are honest men: you have heard that I

have gold;

I am sure you have: speak truth; you are honest men. Pain. So it is said, my noble lord: but therefore Came not my friend nor I.

Tim. Good honest men!-Thou draw'st a counterfeit Best in all Athens: thou art, indeed, the best; Thou counterfeit'st most lively.

Pain. So, so, my lord.

Tim. Even so, Sir, as I say.-And, for thy fiction, [To the Poet. Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth, That thou art even natural in thine art.But, for all this, my honest-natured friends,

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Tim. Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold, Rid me these villains from your companies: Hang them, or stab them, drown them in a draught, Confound them by some course, and come to me, I'll give you gold enough.

Both. Name them, my lord, let's know them. Tim. You that way, and you this,-but two in comEach man apart, all single and alone, Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. [To the Painter.] If, where thou art, two villains shall Come not near him.-[To the Poet.] If thou wouldst

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Toward thee, forgetfulness too general, gross :
Which now the public body,-which doth seldom
Play the recanter,-feeling in itself

A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal
Of its own fall, restraining aid to Timon;
And send forth us, to make their sorrow'd render,
Together with a recompense more fruitful
Than their offence can weigh down by the dram;
Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth,
As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs,
And write in thee the figures of their love,
Ever to read them thine.

Tim. You witch me in it;

Surprise me to the very brink of tears:
Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes,
And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators.

1 Sen. Therefore, so please thee to return with us, And of our Athens (thine and ours) to take The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, Allow'd with absolute power, and thy good name Live with authority:-so soon we shall drive back Of Alcibiades the approaches wild; Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up His country's peace.

2 Sen. And shakes his threat'ning sword Against the walls of Athens.

1 Sen. Therefore, Timon,

Tim. Well, Sir, I will; therefore, I will, Sir; thus:

If Alcibiades kill my countrymen,

Let Alcibiades know this of Timon,

That Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens,
And take our goodly aged men by the beards,
Giving our holy virgins to the stain

Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war;

Then let him know,-and tell him Timon speaks it,
In pity of our aged and our youth,

I cannot choose but tell him that I care not,

And let him take't at worst; for their knives care not,
While you have throats to answer: for myself,
There's not a whittle in the unruly camp,
But I do prize it at my love, before

The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you
To the protection of the prosperous gods,
As thieves to keepers.

Flav. Stay not, all's in vain.

Tim. Why, I was writing of my epitaph;
It will be seen to-morrow: my long sickness
Of health and living now begins to mend,

And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still;
Be Alcibiades your plague, you his,
And last so long enough!

1 Sen. We speak in vain.

Tim. But yet I love my country; and am not
One that rejoices in the common wreck,
As common bruit doth put it.

1 Sen. That's well spoke.

Tim. Commend me to my loving countrymen,

1 Sen. These words become your lips as they pass through them.

2 Sen. And enter in our ears, like great triumphers In their applauding gates.

Tim. Commend me to them;

And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs,
Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses,
Their pangs of love, with other incident throes
That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain

In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them:
I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath.
2 Sen. I like this well; he will return again.
Tim. I have a tree, which grows here in my close,
That mine own use invites me to cut down,
And shortly must I fell it: tell my friends,
Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree,
From high to low throughout, that whoso please
To stop affliction, let him take his haste,
Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe,
And hang himself:-I pray you, do my greeting.

Flav. Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find

Tim. Come not to me again: but say to Athens, [him.

Timon hath made his everlasting mansion

Upon the beached verge of the salt flood;

Which once a day with his embossed froth

The turbulent surge shall cover: thither come,

And let my gravestone be your oracle.-
Lips, let sour words go by, and language end:
What is amiss, plague and infection mend!
Graves only be men's works, and death their gain!
Sun, hide thy beams! Timon hath done his reign.
[Exit TIMON.

1 Sen. His discontents are unremovably Coupled to nature.

2 Sen. Our hope in him is dead: let us return, And strain what other means is left unto us

In our dear peril.

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Yet our old love made a particular force,

And made us speak like friends:-this man was riding From Alcibiades to Timon's cave,

With letters of entreaty, which imported

His fellowship i' the cause against your city,

In part for his sake moved.

Enter Senators from TIMON.

1 Sen. Here come our brothers.

2 Sen. No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect.— The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring Doth choke the air with dust: in, and prepare: Ours is the fall, I fear; our foes the snare.

SCENE IV.-The Woods.


TIMON'S Cave, and a
Tombstone seen.

Enter a Soldier, seeking TIMON.

Sol. By all description, this should be the place. Who's here? speak, ho!-No answer?-What is this? Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span:

Some beast rear'd this; there does not live a man.
Dead, sure; and this his grave.

What's on this tomb I cannot read; the character
I'll take with wax:

Our captain hath in every figure skill;
An aged interpreter, though young in days:
Before proud Athens he's set down by this,
Whose fall the mark of his ambition is.


SCENE V.-Before the Walls of ATHENS. Trumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES and forces.

Alcib. Sound to this coward and lascivious town Our terrible approach. [A parley sounded

Enter Senators on the walls.
Till now you have gone on, and fill'd the time
With all licentious measure, making your wills
The scope of justice; till now, myself, and such
As slept within the shadow of your power,

Have wander'd with our traversed arms, and breathed
Our sufferance vainly: now the time is flush,
When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong,
Cries of itself, "No more:" now breathless wrong
Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease;
And pursy insolence shall break his wind
With fear and horrid flight.

1 Sen. Noble and young,

When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit,
Ere thou hadst power, or we had cause of fear,
We sent to thee; to give thy rages balm,
To wipe out our ingratitude with loves
Above their quantity.

2 Sen. So did we woo

Transformed Timon to our city's love,

By humble message and by promised means:
We were not all unkind, nor all deserve
The common stroke of war.

1 Sen. These walls of ours

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Which nature loathes) take thou the destined tenth, And by the hazard of the spotted die,

Let die the spotted.

1 Sen. All have not offended;

For those that were, it is not square to take,
On those that are, revenges: crimes, like lands,
Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman,
Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage:
Spare thy Athenian cradle and those kin,
Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall
With those that have offended: like a shepherd,
Approach the fold, and cull the infected forth,
But kill not all together.

2 Sen. What thou wilt,

Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile,

Than hew to't with thy sword.

1 Sen. Set but thy foot

Against our rampired gates, and they shall ope: So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before,

To say thou'lt enter friendly.

2 Sen. Throw thy glove,

Or any token of thine honour else,

That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress, And not as our confusion, all thy powers Shall make their harbour in our town, till we Have seal'd thy full desire.

Alcib. Then there's my glove;
Descend, and open your uncharged ports:
Those enemies of Timon's and mine own,
Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof,
Fall, and no more: and,-to atone your fears
With my more noble meaning,-not a man
Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream
Of regular justice in your city's bounds,
But shall be render'd to your public laws
At heaviest answer.

Both. 'Tis most nobly spoken.
Alcib. Descend, and keep your words.

[The Senators descend, and open the gates.

Enter a Soldier.

Sol. My noble general, Timon is dead; Entomb'd upon the very hem o' the sea; And on his gravestone this insculpture, which

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"Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft : Seek not my name: a plague consume you wicked caitiffs left!

Here lie I, Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate: Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass, and stay not here thy gait."

These well express in thee thy latter spirits:
Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs,
Scorn'dst our brain's flow, and those our droplets which
From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit

Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye
On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead
Is noble Timon; of whose memory

Hereafter more.-Bring me into your city,

And I will use the olive with my sword:

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SCENE,-During a great part of the Play, at ROME; afterwards, at SARDIS, and near PHILIPPI.


SCENE I.-ROME. A Street.

Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and a rabble of Citizens. Flav. Hence! home, you idle creatures, get you home; Is this a holiday? What! know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk Upon a labouring day without the sign

Of your profession?-Speak, what trade art thou?
1 Cit. Why, Sir, a carpenter.

Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule?
What dost thou with thy best apparel on?-
You, Sir; what trade are you?

2 Cit. Truly, Sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler.

Mar. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly. 2 Cit. A trade, Sir, that I hope I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, Sir, a mender of bad soles.

Mar. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade?

2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, Sir, be not out with me: yet, if you be out, Sir, I can mend you.

Mar. What meanest thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow!

2 Cit. Why, Sir, cobble you.

Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

2 Cit. Truly, Sir, all that I live by is, with the awl; I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, Sir, a surgeon to old' shoes; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neats-leather have gone upon my handiwork.

Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets! 2 Cit. Truly, Sir, to wear out their shoes, to get my

self into more work. But, indeed, Sir, we make holiday, to see Cæsar, and to rejoice in his triumph.

Mar. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he What tributaries follow him to Rome,


To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements,
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops,
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
The live-long day, with patient expectation,
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome:
And when you saw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made a universal shout,
That Tiber trembled underneath her banks,
To hear the replication of your sounds
Made in her concave shores?

And do you now put on your best attire!
And do you now cull out a holiday?
And do you now strew flowers in his way,
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague
That needs must light on this ingratitude.

Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and for this fault,
Assemble all the poor men of your sort;
Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears
Into the channel, till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all-

[Exeunt Citizens
See, whe'r their basest metal be not moved;
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way towards the Capitol;
This way will I: disrobe the images,
If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.

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Bru. Cassius,

Be not deceived: if I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am,

Of late, with passions of some difference,
Conceptions only proper to myself,

Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours:
But let not therefore my good friends be grieved
(Among which number, Cassius, be you one,)
Nor construe any further my neglect,
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
Forgets the shows of love to other men.

Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion; By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried

Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?
Bru. No, Cassius: for the eye sees not itself
But by reflection, by some other things.

Cas. 'Tis just:

And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no such mirrors as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye,

That you might see your shadow. I have heard,
Where many of the best respect in Rome,
(Except immortal Cæsar,) speaking of Brutus,
And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.
Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,
That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me?

Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear: And, since you know you cannot see yourself

So well as by reflection, I, your glass,
Will modestly discover to yourself
That of yourself which you yet know not of.
And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus:
Were I a common laugher, or did use
To stale with ordinary oaths my love
To every new protester; if you know
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard,
And after scandal them; or if you know
That I profess myself, in banqueting,
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.

[Flourish, and shout. Bru. What means this shouting? I do fear the people Choose Cæsar for their king.

Cas. Ay, do you fear it?

Then must I think you would not have it so.

Bru. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well:-
But wherefore do you hold me here so 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' the other,
And I will look on both indifferently:
For, let the gods so speed me, as I love
The name of honour more than I fear death.

Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
As well as I do know your outward favour.
Well, honour is the subject of my story.-
I cannot tell what you and other men
Think of this life; but, for my single self,
I had as lief not be as live to be
In awe of such a thing as I myself.

I was born free as Casar; so 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 gusty day,
The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,
Cæsar said to me, "Dar'st thou, Cassius, 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 bade him follow: so, indeed, he did.
The torrent roar'd; and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside,
And stemming it, with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point proposed,
Caesar cried, "Help me, Cassius, or I sink!"
I, as Eneas, our great ancestor,

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber
Did I the tirèd Cæsar: and this man

Is now become a god; and Cassius is

A wretched creature, and must bend his body,
If Cæsar carelessly 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 shake: 'tis true, this god did shake:
His coward lips did from their colour fly;
And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world,
Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan :
Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,
Alas! it cried, "Give me some drink, Titinius,"
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,
A man of such 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 these applauses are

[Shout. Flourish

For some new honours that are heap'd on Cæsar.
Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world,
Like a Colossus; and we petty men

Walk under his huge legs, and peep about

To find ourselves dishonourable graves.

Men at some time are masters of their fates:

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,

But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
Brutus, and Cæsar: what should be in that Cæsar?
Why should that name be sounded more than yours?
Write them together, yours is as fair a name;
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them,
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar.
Now, in the names of all the gods at once,
Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed,
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed:
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!
When went there by an age, since the great flood,
But it was famed with more than with one man?
When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome,
That her wide walls encompass'd but one man?
Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough,

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