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For fo much trash, as may be grafped thus ?
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,
Than fuch a Roman.

Caf. Brutus, bay not me,

I'll not endure it; you forget your felf,
To hedge me in; I am a foldier, I,
Older in practice, abler than your self
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 my felfHave 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 rafh choler?
Shall I be frighted, when a madman ftares?

Caf. O Gods! ye Gods! must 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 obferve you? must I stand and crouch
Under your tefty humour? by the Gods,
You fhall digeft the venom of your spleen,
Tho' it do fplit you: For, from this day forth,
I'll ufe you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,
When
you are waspish.

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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

Brutus ;

I faid, an elder foldier; not a better.

Did I fay, better?

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Bru. If you did, I care not.

you wrong me,

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

me.

Bru,

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; I 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 so strong in honesty,

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 raise 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 peasants their vile trafh,
By any Indirection. I did fend

To you for gold to pay my legions,

Which you denied me; was that done like Caffius?
Should I have anfwer'd Caius Caffius lo?

When Marcus Brutus grows fo covetous,

To lock such rascal 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 fhould 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 O&avius, come;

Revenge

Revenge your felves alone on Caffius,
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 fpirit 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 beeft 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 worft, thou lov'dft him better

Than ever thou lov'dft Caffius.

Bru. Sheath your dagger;

Be angry when you will, it fhall have scope;
Do what you will, difhonour fhall be humour.
O Caffius, you are yoaked 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 fpoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.
Caf. Do you confess so much? give me your hand.
Bru. And my heart too.
[Embracing

· Caf. O Brutus !

Bru. What's the matter?

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

Bru. Yes, Caffius, and from henceforth

When you are over-earneft 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.

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 mean? Love, and be friends, as two fuch men fhould be; For I have seen more years, I'm fure, 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.

Bru. I'll know his humour, when he knows his

time;

What should the wars do with these jingling fools?
Companion, hence.

Caf. Away, away, begone.

Enter Lucilius, and Titinius.

[Exit Poet.

Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders

Prepare to lodge their companies to night.

Caf. And come your felves, and bring Messala with

you

Immediately to us. [Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius. Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine.

Caf. I did not think, you could have been fo angry. Bru. O Caffius, I am fick of many griefs.

Caf. Of your philofophy you make no use,

If you give place to accidental evils.

Bru. No man bears forrow better-Porcia's dead. Caf. Ha! Porcia!

Bru. She is dead.

Caf. How 'fcap'd I killing, when I croft you fo? O infupportable and touching lofs!

Upon what fickness ?

Bru. Impatient of my absence;

And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony Have made themselves fo ftrong: (for with her death That tydings came) With this the fell distract,

And (her Attendants abfent) swallow'd fire.

Caf. And dy'd fo?

Bru. Even fo.

Caf. O ye immortal Gods!

Enter Boy with Wine and Tapers.

Bru. Speak no more of her: give me a bowl of wine. In this I bury all unkindness, Caffius.

[Drinks.

Caf. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. Fill, Lucius, 'till the wine o'er-fwell the cup;

I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love.

Bru. Come in, Titinius ;-welcome, good Meala.
Enter Titinius, and Meffala.

Now fit we close about this taper here,
And call in queftion our neceffities.
Caf. Oh Porcia! art thou gone?
Bru. No more, I pray you.-
Meffala, I have here received letters,
That young Octavius, and Mark Antony,
Come down upon us with a mighty Power,
Bending their expedition tow'rd Philippi.

Mef. My felf have letters of the felf-fame tenour.
Bru. With what addition?

Mef. That by Profcription and bills of Outlawry, Otavius, Antony, and Lepidus

Have put to death an hundred Senators.

Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree;

Mine fpeak of fev'nty Senators that dy'd

By their Profcriptions, Cicero being one.

Caf. Cicero one?

Mef. Cicero is dead; and by that order of profcription.

Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?

Bru. No, Meffala

Mef. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?

Bru. Nothing, Meffala.

Mef. That, methinks, is ftrange.

Bru. Why ask you? hear you aught of her in yours? Mef. No, my lord.

Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. Mef. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell; For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.

Bru.

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