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BRU. The name of Ca.s.sius honors this corruption, And chastis.e.m.e.nt doth therefore hide its head.
CAS. Chastis.e.m.e.nt?
BRU. Remember March, the ides of March remember!
Did not great Julius bleed for justice's sake?
What villain touched his body, that did stab, 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 s.p.a.ce of our large honors 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're not, Ca.s.sius.
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 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. Must I endure all this?
BRU. 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 Under your testy humor?
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.
CAS. 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 n.o.ble men.
CAS. You wrong me every way; you wrong me, Brutus; I said an elder soldier, not a better.
Did I say better?
BRU. If you did I care not.
CAS. When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me.
BRU. Peace, peace! you durst not so have tempted him!
CAS. I durst not?
BRU. No.
CAS. What! Durst not tempt him?
BRU. 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 which you should be sorry for.
There is no terror, Ca.s.sius, in your threats!
For I am armed so strong in honesty, That they pa.s.s by me as the idle wind, Which I respect not. I did send to you For certain sums of gold, which you denied me:-- For I can raise no money by vile means: 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 Ca.s.sius?
Should I have answered Caius Ca.s.sius so?
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, To lock such rascal counters from his friends, Be ready, G.o.ds, with all your thunderbolts; Dash him to pieces!
CAS. I denied you not.
BRU. You did.
CAS. 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; But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
BRU. I do not, till you practice 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 flatterer's would not, though they do appear As huge as high Olympus.
CAS. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come!
Revenge yourselves alone on Ca.s.sius: For Ca.s.sius is a-weary of the world-- Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother; 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 my eyes!--There is my dagger, And here my naked breast; within, a heart Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold: If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth: I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart.
Strike, as thou didst at Caesar; for I know, Then thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better Than ever thou lovedst Ca.s.sius.
BRU. Sheath your dagger; Be angry when you will, it shall have scope: Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor.
O Ca.s.sius, you are yoked with a lamb, That carries anger, as the flint bears fire; Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again.
CAS. Hath Ca.s.sius lived To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him?
BRU. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered too.
CAS. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand
BRU. And my heart, too.
CAS. O Brutus!
BRU. What's the matter?
