Wherein my letters, praying on his side, Bru. You wronged yourself, to write in such a case. Cas. I an itching palm? You know, that you are Brutus that speak this, Cas. Chastisement! Bru. Remember March, the ides of March remember! Did not great Julius bleed for justice' 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 space of our large honours 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, Bru. Go to; you are not, Cassius. 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. O ye gods! ye gods! 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? 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 abler 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 Cæsar 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 you should be sorry for. 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, For certain sums of gold, which you denied me ;- By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you denied me: Was that done like Cassius? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 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 his friend's infirmities, 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 Cassius! For Cassius is aweary of the world : Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother; Strike, as thou didst at Cæsar; for, I know, When thou didst hate him worst, thou loved'st him better Than ever thou loved'st Cassius. Bru. Sheath your dagger: Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb, Cas. Hath Cassius lived To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 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? Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful? Bru. Yes, Cassius; and from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. THE SIFTERS.-W. Barnes. I ONE day in fancy stray'd, Yet all gay with glitt'ring lights, And as there I chanced to look Where outreach'd some higher lands, And his golden sieve, and all Then beyond a swinging gate Shake a sieve in her dark hands; From the black sieve that she plied, Something light, and dazzling bright, Was swept away. For the dismal sieve she had Was the Mind that sifts amiss, Keeping back the sad and bad, And outshedding ev'ry bliss. While on ever-flowing Time, As on wind outflies the chaff, Since to Love and Hate, their meat So let me not sift amiss, But by Wisdom still be taught To outsift each evil thought From the mind, and keep behind The food of bliss. How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds Makes deeds ill done!-Shakspeare. |