Julius Caesar Part 11

BRUTUS. No.

Ca.s.sIUS. What, durst not tempt him?

BRUTUS. For your life you durst not.

Ca.s.sIUS. 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.

There is no terror, Ca.s.sius, in your threats, For I am arm'd 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.

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 To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you denied me. Was that done like Ca.s.sius?

Should I have answer'd 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!

Ca.s.sIUS. I denied you not.

BRUTUS. You did.

Ca.s.sIUS. I did not. He was but a fool That brought my answer back. Brutus hath rived my heart.

A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

BRUTUS. I do not, till you practise them on me.

Ca.s.sIUS. You love me not.

BRUTUS. I do not like your faults.

Ca.s.sIUS. A friendly eye could never see such faults.

BRUTUS. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear As huge as high Olympus.

Ca.s.sIUS. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, Revenge yourselves alone on Ca.s.sius, For Ca.s.sius is aweary of the world: Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother; Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observed, Set in a notebook, learn'd and conn'd 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 Dearer than Pluto's mine, richer than gold.

If that thou best a Roman, take it forth; I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart.

Strike, as thou didst at Caesar, for I know, When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better Than ever thou lovedst Ca.s.sius.

BRUTUS. Sheathe 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.

Ca.s.sIUS. Hath Ca.s.sius lived To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief and blood ill-temper'd vexeth him?

BRUTUS. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.

Ca.s.sIUS. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.

BRUTUS. And my heart too.

Ca.s.sIUS. O Brutus!

BRUTUS. What's the matter?

Ca.s.sIUS. Have not you love enough to bear with me When that rash humor which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful?

BRUTUS. Yes, Ca.s.sius, and from henceforth, When you are overearnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

POET. [Within.] Let me go in to see the generals.

There is some grudge between 'em, 'tis not meet They be alone.

LUCILIUS. [Within.] You shall not come to them.

POET. [Within.] Nothing but death shall stay me.

Enter Poet, followed by Lucilius, t.i.tinius, and Lucius.

Ca.s.sIUS. How now, what's the matter?

POET. For shame, you generals! What do you mean?

Love, and be friends, as two such men should be; For I have seen more years, I'm sure, than ye.

Ca.s.sIUS. Ha, ha! How vilely doth this cynic rhyme!

BRUTUS. Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hence!

Ca.s.sIUS. Bear with him, Brutus; 'tis his fas.h.i.+on.

BRUTUS. I'll know his humor when he knows his time.

What should the wars do with these jigging fools?

Companion, hence!

Ca.s.sIUS. Away, away, be gone! Exit Poet.

BRUTUS. Lucilius and t.i.tinius, bid the commanders Prepare to lodge their companies tonight.

Ca.s.sIUS. And come yourselves and bring Messala with you Immediately to us. Exeunt Lucilius and t.i.tinius.

BRUTUS. Lucius, a bowl of wine! Exit Lucius.

Ca.s.sIUS. I did not think you could have been so angry.

BRUTUS. O Ca.s.sius, I am sick of many griefs.

Ca.s.sIUS. Of your philosophy you make no use, If you give place to accidental evils.

BRUTUS. No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead.

Ca.s.sIUS. Ha? Portia?

BRUTUS. She is dead.

Ca.s.sIUS. How 'scaped killing when I cross'd you so?

O insupportable and touching loss!

Upon what sickness?

BRUTUS. Impatient of my absence, And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony Have made themselves so strong- for with her death That tidings came- with this she fell distract, And (her attendants absent) swallow'd fire.

Ca.s.sIUS. And died so?

BRUTUS. Even so.

Ca.s.sIUS. O ye immortal G.o.ds!

Re-enter Lucius, with wine and taper.

BRUTUS. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine.

In this I bury all unkindness, Ca.s.sius. Drinks.

Ca.s.sIUS. My heart is thirsty for that n.o.ble pledge.

Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup; I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. Drinks.

BRUTUS. Come in, t.i.tinius! Exit Lucius.

Re-enter t.i.tinius, with Messala.

Welcome, good Messala.

Now sit we close about this taper here, And call in question our necessities.

Ca.s.sIUS. Portia, art thou gone?

BRUTUS. No more, I pray you.

Messala, I have here received letters That young Octavius and Mark Antony Come down upon us with a mighty power, Bending their expedition toward Philippi.

MESSALA. Myself have letters of the selfsame tenure.

BRUTUS. With what addition?

MESSALA. That by proscription and bills of outlawry Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus Have put to death an hundred senators.

BRUTUS. There in our letters do not well agree; Mine speak of seventy senators that died By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.

Ca.s.sIUS. Cicero one!

MESSALA. Cicero is dead, And by that order of proscription.

Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?

BRUTUS. No, Messala.

MESSALA. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?

BRUTUS. Nothing, Messala.

MESSALA. That, methinks, is strange.

BRUTUS. Why ask you? Hear you aught of her in yours?

MESSALA. No, my lord.

BRUTUS. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true.

MESSALA. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell: For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.

BRUTUS. Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala.

With meditating that she must die once I have the patience to endure it now.

MESSALA. Even so great men great losses should endure.

Ca.s.sIUS. I have as much of this in art as you, But yet my nature could not bear it so.