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Sir C. All conceit, my dear! I was perfectly right. Lady R. No such thing, Sir Charles; the diamond was the play.

Sir C. Po! Po! Ridiculous! The club was the card, against the world.

Lady R. Oh! no, no, no-I say it was the diamond. Sir C. Madam, 1 say it was the club.

Lady R. What do you fly into such a passion for ? Sir G. Death and fury! Do you think I don't know what I'm about? I tell you once more, the club was the judgment of it.

Lady R. May be so-have it your own way.

Sir C. Vexation! You're the strangest woman that ever lived; there's no conversing with you.--Look 'e here, my Lady Racket-'tis the clearest case in the world I'll make it plain in a moment.

Lady R. Well, Sir; ha, ha, ha!

Sir C. I had four cards left-a trump had led-they were six-no, no, no-they were seven, and we nine then, you know-the beauty of the play was to

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Lady R. Well, nw, 'tis amazing to me, that you can't see it. Give me leave, Sir Charles-your left hand adversary had led his last trump-and he had before finessed the club, and roughed the diamond-now if you had put on your diamond

Sir C. But, Madam, we play'd for the odd trick.
Lady R. And sure the play for the odd trick-
Sir C. Death and fury! Can't you hear me?
Lady R. Go on, Sir.

Sir C. Hear me, I say. Will you hear me?
Lady R. I never heard the like in my life.

Sir C. Why then you are enough to provoke the patience of a Stoic. Very well, madam! You know no more of the game than your father's leaden Hercules on the top of the house. You know no more of whist than he does of gardening.

Lady R. Ha, ha, ha!

Sir C. You're a vile woman, and I'll not sleep another night under one roof with you.

Lady R. As you please, Sir.

Sir C. Madam, it shall be as I please-I'll order my

chariot this moment. [Going.] I know how the cards should be played as well as any man in England, that let me tell you-[Going.] And when your family were standing behind counters, measuring out tape, and bartering for Whitechapel needles, my ancestors, my ancestors, Madam, were squandering away whole estates at cards; whole estates, my lady Racket-[She hums a tune] Why, then, by all that's dear to me, I'll never exchange another word with you, good, bad, or indifferent. Look ye, my lady Racket-thus it stood- -the trump being led it was then my business

Lady R. To play the diamond, to be sure.

Sir C. I have done with you forever; and so you may tell your father.

*

Lady R. What a passion the gentleman is in! Ha! -ha! I'll promise him I'll not give up my judgment.

Re-enter Sir Charles.

Sir C. My lady Racket-look 'ye. Ma'am, once more, out of pure good nature

Lady R. Sir, I am convinced of your good nature. Sir C. That and that only, prevails with me to tell you the club was the play.

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Lady R. Well, be it so-I have no objection. Sir C. 'Tis the clearest point in the worldnine, and

we were

Lady R. And for that very reason, you know the club was the best in the house.

Sir C. There's no such thing as talking to you. You're a base woman-I'll part with you forever, you may live here with your father, and admire his fantastical evergreens, till you grow as fantastical yourself—I'll set out for London this instant-Stops at the door] The club was not the best in the house.

Lady R. How calm you are! Well, I'll go to bed. Will you come? You had better-Poor Sir Charles. [Looks and laughs, then exit.} Sir C. That case is provoking-[Crosses the opposite door where she went out.] I tell you the diamond was not the play; and here I take my final leave of you[Walks back as fast as he can] I am resolved upon it and I know the club was not the best in the house.

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VIII. Brutus and Cassius.-SHAKESPEARE.
HAT you have wrong'd me doth appear in
this;

Cas.

You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella
For taking bribes here of the Sardians ;
Wherein my letter (praying on his side,
Because I knew the man) was slighted of.

Bru. You wrong'd yourself to write in such a case.
Cas. At such a time as this, is it not meet
That every nice offence should bear its comment?
Bru. Yet 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.

Cas. I an itching palm?

You know that you are Brutus that speak this,
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.

Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption,
And chastisement doth therefore hide its head.

Cas. Ghastisement !

Bru. Remember March, the Ides of March remember.
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake?
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.

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Cas. Brutus, bay not me :

I'll not endure it. You forget yourself
To hedge me in: I am a soldier,

Older in practice, abler than yourself
To make conditions.

Bru. Go to! You are not, Cassius.
Cas. I am.

Bru. I say you are not.

Cas. Urge me no more: I shall forget myself: Have mind upon your health: tempt me no farther

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. Must I endure all this!

Bru. All this? Ay more.
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!

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.

Cas. Is it come to this?

Fret till your proud heart

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Bru. You say you are a better soldier;
Let it appear so; make your vaunting true,
And it shall please me well. For my own part,
I shall be glad to learn of noblemen.

Cas. You wrong me every way; you wrong me, Bru

tus;

I said an elder soldier, not a better.

Did I say better?

Bru. If you did I care not.

Cas. When Cæsar liv'd he durst not thus have mov'd

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 ;
I had rather coin my heart,

FF

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.

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 answered 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 in pieces.

Cas. I denied you not.

Bru. You did.

Cas. I did not; he was but a fool

That brought my answer back. Brutus hath riv'd my heart.

A friend should bear a friend's infirmities;

But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
Bru. I do not. Still you practice them on me.
Cas. You love me not.

Bra. I do not like your

faults.

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they did appear As huge as high Olympus.

Cas. Come, Anthony! And young Octavius, come! Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius: For Cassius is a weary of the worldHated by one he loves; brav'd by his brother; Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observ❜d, Set in a note book, learn'd and conn'd by rote— To cast into my teeth. There is my dagger, And here my naked breast-within, a heart Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold; If that thou need'st a Roman's, 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 lov'st him better Than ever thou lov'st Cassius.

Bru. Sheath your dagger,

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;

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