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And show of love as I was wont to have ;
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.

BRU. Caffius,
Be not deceived : if I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon myself, Vexed I am
Of late with paffion of some difference,
Conceptions only proper to myself;
Which give some foil perhaps to my behaviour;
But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd,
Among which number, Caffius, be you one;
Nor conftrue any farther my neglect,
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
Forgets the show of love to other men.

Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much miftook your paffior ;
By means whereof, this breaft of mine hath buried.
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you fee your face ?

Bru. No, Cassius ; for the eye fees not itself,
But by reflection from some other thing.

CAS. 'Tis juft.
And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no such mirror as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye,

That you might see your shadow. I have heard,
Where many of the best respect in Rome,
(Except immortal Cæfar) speaking of Brutus,
And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.
Bxv. Into what dangers would you lead me, Caffius,


That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me ?

Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear ;
And since


cannot fee yourself
So well as by reflection I, your glass
Will modestly discover to yourself
That of yourself which yet you know not of
And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus :
Were I a common laugher, or did use
To ftale with ordinary oaths my love
To every new protestor ; if you know,
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard,
And after scandal them ; or if you know,
That I profess myself in banquetting
To all the rout; then hold me dangerous.

Bru. What means this shouting? I do fear the people
Choose Cæsar for their king.

CAS. Ay, do you fear?
Then must I think you would not have it so.

Bry, I would not, Callius ; yet I love him well,
But wherefore do you hold me here so long?
What is it that you would impart to me?
Ifit be aught toward the general good,
Set Honour in one eye, and Death i'th' other,
And I will look on Death indifferently :
For let the gods so speed me, as I love
The name of Honour more than I fear Death.
Cas. I know that virtue to be in


As well as I do know your outward favour.
Well, honour is the subject of my story. ----
I cannot tell what


and other men Think of this life ; but for my fingle self


I had

I had as lief not be, as live to be
In awe of such a thing as I myself.
I was born free as. Cæsar; so were you ;
We both have fed as well ; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he.
For once upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tyber chafing with his shores,
Cæsar says to me, Dar'st thou, Caffius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point ?-Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,
And bid him follow ; fo indeed he did.
The torrent roard, and we did buffet it
With lusty finews ; throwing it aside,
And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point propos'd,
Cæfar cry'd, help me, Caffius, or I fink,
I, as Æneas, our great ancestor,
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear ; fo from the waves of Tyber
Did I the tired Cæfar: and this man
Is now become a god; and Caffius is
A wretched creature, and must bend his body,
If Cæfar careless but nod on him.
He had a fever when he was in Spain,
And when the fit was on him, I did mark
How he did shake. 'Tis true, this god did shake;
His cowards lips did from their colour fly,
And that same eye whose bend does awe the world,
Did lose its luftre; I did hear him

groan :
Ay, and that tongueof his, that bade the Romans
Marķ him, and write his speeches in their books.
Alas! it cry’d-Give me some drink, Titinius


As a fick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,
A man of such a feeble temper should
So get the start of the majestic world,
And bear the palm alone.

Bru. Another general shout !
I do believe, that these applauses are
For some new honours that are heaped on Cæsar.
Cas. Why man,

he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves dishonourable

graves. Men at sometimes are masters of their fates; The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. Brutus and Cæsar-what should be in that Cæsar? Why should that name be founded, more than yours Write them together ; your's is as fair a name : Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ? Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with 'em, Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar. Now, in the names of all the gods at once, Upon what meats does this our Cæsar feed, That he is grown fo great ? Age, thou art ham'd ; Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods. When went there by an age, since the great flood But it was fam'd with more than with one man ? When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome,1 That her wide walls encompass”d but one man ? Oh! you and I have heard our fathers say There was a Brutus, one that would have brook'd Th' eternal devil, to keep his state in Rome As easily as a king

Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous ;

you would work me to, I have some aim :
How I have thought of this and of these times,
I shall recount hereafter ; for this present,
I would not (so with love I might intreat you)
Be any further mov'd. What you have said,
I will confider; what you have to fay, ,
I will with patience hear ; and find a time,
Both meet to hear, and answer fuch high things
Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this;
Brutus had rather be a villager,
Than to repute himself a son of Rome
Under such hard conditions as this time
Is like to lay upon us.

CAS. I am glad that my weak words
Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus.


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GOODLY day! not to keep house, with such

Whose roof's as low as ours : see ! boys, this gate Instructs


how t'adore the heav'ns; and bows, you
To mornings, holy office. Gates of monarchs
Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet through,
And keep their impious turbands on, without
Good morrow to the sun.' Hail, thou fair heav'n!
We house i' th' rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.

Guid. Hail, Heav'n!
Arv. Hail, Heav'n!

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