Which you
denied me was that done like Cassius?
Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so?
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,
To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,
Dash him to pieces!
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.
Bru. I do not, till you practice them on me.
Cas. You love me not.
I do not like your faults. Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do apAs huge as high Olympus.
[pear Cas. 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;
Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observed,
Set in a note-book, 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 Plutus' mine, richer than gold;
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth :
1, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:
Strike, as thou did'st at Cæsar; for, I know,
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him
Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius.
[better
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb
That carries anger as the flint bears fire;
Who, much enforced, shews a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again.
Cas.
Hath Cassius lived
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.
Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand,
Bru. And my heart too.
Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour, which my mother gave me, Makes me forgetful?
Yes, Cassius; and henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.
Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.
Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use,
If you give place to accidental evils.
Bru. Noman bears sorrow better:-Portia is dead. Cas. Ha! Portia !
Cas. How 'scaped Ikilling when Icross'd you so?→ O insupportable and touching loss !—
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.
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. [Drinks.
Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge:
Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup;
I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. [Drinks.
Opportunity to be seized on all Occasions of Life.
There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat:
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.
The Parting of Brutus and Cassius.
Bru. No, Cassius, no: think not, though noble
Roman,
That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome :
He bears too great a mind. But this same day
Must end that work the ides of March begun;
And whether we shall meet again I know not.
Therefore our everlasting farewell take :-
For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius!
If we do meet again, why we shall smile;
If not, why then this parting was well made.
Cas. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus !
If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed;
If not, 'tis true, this parting was well made.
Bru. Why then, lead on.-O, that a man might know
The end of this day's business ere it come !
But it sufficeth that the day will end,
And then the end is known.
Melancholy, the Parent of Error.
O hateful error, melancholy's child!
Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men
The things that are not! O error soon conceived,
Thou never comest unto a happy birth,
But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee.
Antony's Character of Brutus.
This was the noblest Roman of them all;
All the conspirators, save only he,
Did that they did in envy of great Cesar;
He, only, in a general honest thought,
And common good to all, made one of them.
His life was gentle; and the elements
So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up,
And say to all the world 'This was a man!'
Goneril's declaration of her filial Affection.
Do love you more than words can wield the matter,
Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty;
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare ;
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;
As much as child e'er lov'd, on father found.
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable;
Beyond all manner of so much I love you.
Reg. I am made of that self metal as my sister,
And prize me at her worth. In my true heart
I find, she names my very deed of love;
Only she comes too short, that I profess
Myself an enemy to all other joys,
Which the most precious square of sense possesses; And find, I am alone felicitate
In your dear highness' love.
You have begot me, bred me, loved me: I
Return those duties back as are right fit,
Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say
They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,
That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall
carry
Half my love with him, half my care, and duty!
Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters,
To love my father all.
Admiration of the King of France at the conduct of Cordelia.
France. Fairest Cordelia, thou art most rich, being poor;
Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised!
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon :
Be it lawful, I take up what's cast away.
Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'stneglect
My love should kindle to inflamed respect.
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France.
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