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From “Julius Cæsar,” Act IV. Sc. 3. Enter B RUTUS and C ASSIUS.
CASSIUS.—That you have wronged me doth appear in this: | |
| You have condemned 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 off. | 5 |
| BRUTUS.—You wronged yourself to write in such a case. | |
| CASSIUS.—In such a time as this it is not meet | |
| That every nice offence should bear his comment. | |
| BRUTUS.—Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself | |
| Are much condemned to have an itching palm, | 10 |
| To sell and mart your offices for gold | |
To undeservers.
CASSIUS.— I an itching palm? | |
| You know that you are Brutus that speaks this, | |
| Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. | |
| BRUTUS.—The name of Cassius honors this corruption, | 15 |
| And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. | |
| CASSIUS.—Chastisement! | |
| BRUTUS.—Remember March, the ides of March remember! | |
| Did not great Julius bleed for justice sake? | |
| What villain touched his body, that did stab, | 20 |
| 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 space of our large honors | 25 |
| For so much trash as may be graspèd thus? | |
| I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, | |
Than such a Roman.
CASSIUS.— Brutus, bay not me; | |
| I ’ll not endure it: you forget yourself, | |
| To hedge me in. I am a soldier, I, | 30 |
| Older in practice, abler than yourself | |
To make conditions.
BRUTUS.— Go to; you are not, Cassius. | |
| CASSIUS.—I am. | |
| BRUTUS.—I say you are not. | |
| CASSIUS.—Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; | 35 |
| Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. | |
| BRUTUS.—Away, slight man! | |
CASSIUS.—Is ’t possible?
BRUTUS.— Hear me, for I will speak. | |
| Must I give way and room to your rash choler? | |
| Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? | 40 |
| CASSIUS.—O ye gods, ye gods! Must I endure all this? | |
| BRUTUS.—All this? Ay, 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 | 45 |
| Under your testy humor? By the gods, | |
| You shall digest the venom of your spleen, | |
| Though it do split you; for from this day forth | |
| I ’ll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, | |
When you are waspish.
CASSIUS.— Is it come to this? | 50 |
| BRUTUS.—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. | |
| CASSIUS.—You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus; | 55 |
| I said an elder soldier, not a better: | |
Did I say better?
BRUTUS.— If you did, I care not. | |
| CASSIUS.—When Cæsar lived he durst not thus have moved me. | |
| BRUTUS.—Peace, peace! you durst not so have tempted him. | |
| CASSIUS.—I durst not? | 60 |
| BRUTUS.—No. | |
CASSIUS.—What? durst not tempt him?
BRUTUS.— For your life you durst not. | |
| CASSIUS.—Do not presume too much upon my love; | |
| I may do that I shall be sorry for. | |
| BRUTUS.—You have done that you should be sorry for. | 65 |
| There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats; | |
| For I am armed 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 denied me;— | 70 |
| For I can raise no money by vile means: | |
| By heaven, 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 | 75 |
| To you for gold to pay my legions, | |
| Which you denied me. Was that done like Cassius? | |
| Should I have answered Caius Cassius so? | |
| When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, | |
| To lock such rascal counters from his friends, | 80 |
| Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, | |
Dash him to pieces!
CASSIUS.— I denied you not. | |
BRUTUS.—You did.
CASSIUS.— I did not; he was but a fool | |
| That brought my answer back.—Brutus hath rived my heart; | |
| A friend should bear a friend’s infirmities, | 85 |
| But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. | |
| BRUTUS.—I do not, till you practise them on me. | |
CASSIUS.—You love me not.
BRUTUS.— I do not like your faults. | |
| CASSIUS.—A friendly eye could never see such faults. | |
| BRUTUS.—A flatterer’s would not, though they do appear | | 90 |
| As huge as high Olympus. | |
| CASSIUS.—Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, | |
| Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius! | |
| For Cassius is aweary of the world; | |
| Hated by one he loves, braved by his brother, | 95 |
| Checked like a bondman; all his faults observed, | |
| Set in a note-book, learned and conned by rote, | |
| To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep | |
| My spirit from mine eyes!—There is my dagger, | |
| And here my naked breast; within, a heart | 100 |
| Dearer than Plutus’ mine, richer than gold: | |
| If that thou beest a Roman, take it forth. | |
| I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart: | |
| Strike, as thou didst at Cæsar; for I know, | |
| When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov’dst him better | 105 |
Than ever thou lov’dst Cassius.
BRUTUS.— Sheathe your dagger: | |
| Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; | |
| Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. | |
| O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb, | |
| That carries anger as the flint bears fire, | 110 |
| Who, much enforcèd, shows a hasty spark | |
And straight is cold again.
CASSIUS.— Hath Cassius lived | |
| To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, | |
| When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him? |
| BRUTUS.—When I spoke that I was ill-tempered too. | 115 |
| CASSIUS.—Do you confess so much? Give me your hand. | |
BRUTUS.—And my heart too.
CASSIUS.— O Brutus!—
BRUTUS.— What ’s the matter? | |
| CASSIUS.—Have not you love enough to bear with me, | |
| When that rash humor which my mother gave me | |
Makes me forgetful?
BRUTUS.— Yes, Cassius; and from henceforth, | 120 |
| When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, | |
| He ’ll think your mother chides, and leave you so. | |
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