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Let us not wrangle: Bid them move away,
Bid our commanders lead their charges off
Bru. Lucilius, do you the like; and let no man
SCENE III. Within the Tent of Brutus.
Cas. That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this:
Bru. You wrong'd yourself, to write in such a case.
You know, that you are Brutus that speak this,
Cas. Chastisement !
Bru. Remember March, the ides of March remember.
Cas. I am.
Go to; you're not, Cassius.
Bru. I say, you are not.
Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. 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 stares?
Cas. O gods! ye gods! must I endure all this?
Bru. All this? ay, and more: Fret till your proud heart break,
Go, show your slaves how choleric you are,
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?
Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch
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 every way; you wrong me, Brutus ; I said, an elder soldier, not a better:
If you did, I care not.
Cas. When Cæsar liv'd, he durst not thus have moved me.
Cas. What? durst not tempt him?
For your life, you durst not.
Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love,
I may do that I shall be sorry for.
Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. There is no terror, Cassius, 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 ;—
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart,
To you for gold to pay my legions,
Which you denied me: Was that done like Cassius?
Bru. You did.
I denied you not.
I did not :-he was but a fool,
That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath riv'd my heart;
I do not like your faults. Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. Bru. A flatterer'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 aweary of the world:
Hated by one he loves; brav'd by his brother;
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better
Sheathe your dagger:
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
Hath Cassius liv'd
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief, and blood ill-temper'd vexeth him?
What's the matter?
Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me,
When that rash humor, which my mother gave me,
Yes, Cassius; and, henceforth,
When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.
Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use,
Bru. No man bears sorrow better:-Portia is dead.
Bru. She is dead.
Cas. How scap'd I killing, when I cross'd you so? O insupportable and touching loss !—
Upon what sickness?
Impatient of my absence;
And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire.
Cas. And died so?
Bru. Even so.
Cas. O ye immortal gods!
Enter LUCIUS, with wine and tapers.
Bru. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine.
In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius.
Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge :
Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup;
I cannot drink to much of Brutus' love.
Re-enter TITINIUS, with MESSALA.
Bru. Come in, Titinius: Welcome, good Messala.
Now sit we close about this taper here,
And call in question our necessities.
No more, I pray you.
Cas. Portia, art thou gone?
Mes. Myself have letters of the self-same tenor.
Mes. That by proscription, and bills of outlawry,
Have put to death an hundred senators.
Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree;
Cas. Cicero one?
Ay, Cicero is dead,
And by that order of proscription.—
Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?
Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?
That, methinks, is strange.
Bru. Why ask you? Hear you aught of her in yours? Mes. No, my lord.
Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true.
Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell :
For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.
Bru. Why, farewell, Portia.-We must die, Messala: With meditating that she must die once,
I have the patience to endure it now.
Mes. Even so great men great losses should endure.
But yet my nature could not bear it so.
Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do
Of marching to Philippi presently?
This it is
"Tis better, that the enemy seek us:
So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers,
Doing himself offence; whilst we, lying still,
Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness.
Bru. Good reasons must, of force, give place to better. The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground,
Do stand but in a forc'd affection;
For they have grudg'd us contribution:
Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encouraged;
These people at our back.
Hear me, good brother.
Bru. Under your pardon.-You must note beside,
That we have tried the utmost of our friends,
Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe:
The enemy increaseth every day,
We, at the height, are ready to decline.
There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune: