Puslapio vaizdai

I'll not endure it; you forget yourself,


To hedge me in; I am a foldier, I,
Older in practice, abler than yourself
To make conditions.

Bru. Go to: you are not Caffius.
Caf. I am.

Bru. I fay, you are not.

Caf. Urge me no more, I fhall forget myfelfHave mind upon your health-tempt me no farther. Bru. Away, flight man!,

Caf. Is't poffible?

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak.

Muft I give way and room to your rash choler?
Shall I be frighted, when a madman ftares?

Caf. O Gods! ye Gods! muft I endure all this? Bru. All this! ay, more. Fret, 'till your proud heart break;

Go, fhew your flaves how cholerick you are,
And make your bondmen tremble. Muft I budge?
Muft I observe you? muft I ftand and crouch
Under your testy humour? by the Gods,
You fhall digeft the venom of your fpleen,
Tho' it do fplit you: For, from this day forth,

2 To bedge me in ;- -] That is, to limit my authority by your direction or cenfure.

3 To make conditions.] That is, to know on what terms it is fit to confer the offices which are at my difpofal.

4 Go to; you are not Caffius.] We are not to understand this as if Brutus had faid, You are not an able foldier, which would be wrangling on a childish question beneath the character of Brutus. On the contrary, when Caffius had made fo unbecoming a boaft, Brutus, in his reply, only re

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I'll ufe you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,
When you are waspish.

Caf. Is it come to this?

Bru. You fay, you are a better foldier; Let it appear fo; make your Vaunting true, And it fhall please me well.

For mine own part,

I fhall be glad to learn of noble men.

Caf. You wrong me every way-you wrong me, Brutus ;

I faid an elder foldier; not a better.

Did I fay, better?


Bru. If you did, I care not.

Caf. When Cæfar liv'd, he durft not thus have mov'd me.

Bru. Peace, peace, you durft not fo have tempted him.

Caf. I durft not!→→→

Bru. No.

Caf. What? durft not tempt him?

Bru. For your life you durft not.

Caf. Do not prefume too much upon my love; may do that, I fhall be forry for.

Bru. You have done that, you should be forry for
There is no terror, Caffius, in your threats;
For I am arm'd fo ftrong in honefty,

That they pafs by me, as the idle wind,
Which I respect not. I did fend to you
For certain fums of gold, which you deny'd me;
For I can raife no money by vile means;
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart,

And drop my blood for drachma's, than to wring
From the hard hands of peafants their vile trafh,

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character, and expreffed in a manner inimitably happy. For

to ring, implies both to get unjufly, and to ufe force in getting: And

By any Indirection. I did fend

To you for gold to pay my legions,

Which you deny'd me. Was that done like Caffius? Should I have anfwer'd Caius Caffius fo?

When Marcus Brutus grows fo covetous,

To lock fuch rafcal counters from his friends,
Be ready, Gods, with all your thunderbolts,
Dash him to pieces.

Caf. I deny'd you not,
Bru. You did.

Caf. I did not

he was but a fool,

That brought my answer back.Brutus hath riv'd my heart.

A friend should bear a friend's infirmities,
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
• Bru. I do not, 'till you practise them on me.
Caf. You love me not.

Bru. I do not like your faults.

Caf. A friendly eye could never fee fuch faults. Bru. A flatt'rer's would not, tho' they do appear As huge as high Olympus.

Caf. Come, Antony, and young Qtavius, come; Revenge yourselves alone on Caffius,

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For Caffius is a weary of the world;

Hated by one he loves; brav'd by his brother;
Check'd like a bondman; all his faults obferv'd;
Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote,
To caft into my teeth. O, I could weep

My spirit from mine eyes!-There is my dagger,
And here my naked breaft within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' Mine, richer than gold;
If that thou be'ft a Roman, take it forth.
I, that deny'd thee gold, will give my heart;
Strike as thou didst at Cæfar; for I know,

When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov❜dft him better

Than ever thou lov'dft Caffius.
Bru. Sheath your dagger;

7 If that thou BE'ST A ROMAN, take it forth, &c.] But why is he bid to rip out his heart, if he were a Roman ? There is no other fenfe but this, If you have the courage of a Roman. But this is so poor, and fo little to the purpose, that the reading may be justly fufpected. The occafion of this quarrel was Caffius's refufal to fupply the neceffities of his friend, who charges it on him as a difhonour and crime, with great afperity of language. Caffius, to fhew him the injuftice of accufing him of avarice, tells him he was ready to expofe his life in his fervice; but at the fame time, provoked and exafperated at the other's reproaches, he upbraids him with the feverity of his temper, that would pardon nothing, but always aimed at the life of the of fender; and delighted in his blood, though a Roman, and at

tached to him by the ftrongeft bonds of alliance; hereby obliquely infinuating the cafe of Cafar. The fenfe being thus explained, it is evident we should read,

If that thou NEEDST A RoMAN'S, take it forth. i. e. if nothing but another Roman's death can fatisfy the unrelenting feverity of your temper, take my life as you did Cafar's. WARBURTON.

I am not fatisfied with the change propofed, yet cannot deny, that the words, as they now, ftand, require fome interpretation. I think he means only, that he is fo far from avarice, when the cause of his country requires liberality, that if any man should wish for his heart, he would not need enforce his defire any otherwife, than by fhewing that he was a Roman.


Be angry when you will, it fhall have scope;
Do what you will, difhonour fhall be humour.
O Caffius, you are yoked with a Lamb,
That carries anger, as the flint bears fire;
Who, much enforced, fhews a hafty spark,
And ftraight is cold again.

Caf. Hath Caffius liv'd

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth him?
Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.
Caf. Do you confefs so much? give me your hand.
Bru. And my heart too.

Caf. O Brutus!

Bru. What's the matter?

Caf. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rath humour, which my mother gave me, Makes me forgetful?

Bru. Yes, Caffius, and from henceforth

When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,

He'll think, your mother chides, and leave you fo.

[A noife within. Poet within. Let me go in to fee the Generals; There is fome grudge between 'em, 'tis not meet They be alone.

Luc. within. You fhall not come to them.
Poet within. Nothing but death shall stay me.

Enter Poet.

Caf. How now? what's the matter?

Poet. For fhame, you Generals; what do you

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

Caf. Ha, ha-how vilely doth this Cynick rhime!
Bru. Get you hence, firrah; faucy fellow, hence.
Caf. Bear with him, Brutus, 'tis his fashion.


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