Fool, of thyself speak well-fool, do not flatter-
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale;
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury in the high'st degree;
Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree,
All several sins, all used in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all, "Guilty, guilty!"
I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;
And if I die, no soul shall pity me;
Nay; wherefore should they? since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself.
Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd
Came to my tent, and every one did threat
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.
CLXXI.-QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS.
Cassius. That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this:
You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella
For taking bribes here of the Sardians,
Wherein my letters, praying on his side,
Because I knew the man, were slighted off.
Brutus. You wrong'd yourself to write in such a case.
Cassius. In such a time as this, it is not meet
That every nice offense should bear his comment.
Brutus. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm,
To sell and mart your offices for gold
To undeservers.
I an itching palm? You know that you are Brutus that speak this, Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. Brutus.-The name of Cassius honors this corruption,
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. Cassius.-Chastisement!
Brutus.-Remember March, the Ides of March remember!
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake?
What villain touch'd 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 honors
For so much trash as may be grasped thus?
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon
Than such a Roman.
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.
Cassius.-I am.
Brutus.—I say you are not.
Go to; you are not, Cassius.
Cassius.-Urge me no more, I shall forget myself;
Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further.
Brutus.-Away, slight man!
Cassius.-Is't possible?
Hear me, for I will speak.
Must I give way and room to your rash choler?
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?
Cassius. O ye gods! ye gods! must I endure all this?
Brutus. 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? By the gods,
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.
Cassius. Is it come to this?
Brutus. 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 noble men.
Cas. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus;
I said an elder soldier, not a better;
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?
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 arm'd so strong in honesty
That they pass 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 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 thunder-bolts;
Dash him to pieces!
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,
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 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;
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. Oh, 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;
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:
Strike as thou didst at Cæsar; for, I know,
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor.
O Cassius, 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.
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. (Embracing.)
Cas.-Have you not love enough to bear with me
When that rash humor which my mother gave me
Makes me forgetful?
Yes, Cassius; and, from henceforth,
When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.
-Shakespeare.
CLXXII.-SHORT SELECTIONS.
Would that he yet might live! even now I heard
The legate's followers whisper, as they passed,
They had a warrant for his instant death;
All was prepared by unforbidden means,
Which we must pay so dearly, having done.
Even now they search the tower, and find the body;
Now they suspect the truth; now they consult
Before they come to tax us with the fact;
O horrible! 't is all discovered!
THERE'S a charm in deliv'ry, a magical art,
That thrills like a kiss from the lip to the heart,
'Tis the glance, the expression, the well-chosen word,
By whose magic the depths of the spirit are stirred;
The lips' soft persuasion, its musical tone;
Oh! such were the charms of that eloquent one!
-Mrs. Welby.
THERE'S no faith in earth!
The very men with whom I walk'd through life,
Nay, till within this hour, in all the bonds
Of courtesy and high companionship,
They all deserted me; Metellus, Scipio,
Æmilius, Cato, even my kinsman, Cæsar,—
All the chief names and senators of Rome,
This day, as if the heavens had stamp'd me black,
Turn'd on their heel, just at the point of fate,
Left me a mockery, in the rabble's midst,
And followed their plebeian consul, Cicero!
This was the day to which I look'd through life;
And it has fail'd me-vanish'd from my grasp
Like air.
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