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In that one woman I have lost for ever!
No sun shall ever usher forth my honors,
Or gild again the noble troops that waited
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell;
I am a poor, fallen man, unworthy now

To be thy lord and master. Seek the king,

That sun I pray may never set; I've told him

What and how true thou art; he will advance thee:

Some little memory of me will stir him,

I know his noble nature, not to let

Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell,

Neglect him not; make use now,

For thine own future safety.

Crom. O my lord,

and provide

Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego
So good, so noble, and so true a master?
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron,
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord.
The king shall have my service; but my prayers
For ever, and for ever, shall be yours.

Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries, but thou hast forced me,
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman

Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell,
And when I am forgotten, as I shall be,

And sleep in dull, cold marble, where no mention
Of me must more be heard, say then I taught thee –
Say, Wolsey, that once rode the waves of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor,
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ;
A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it.
Mark but my fall, and that which ruined me:
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that sin fell the angels: how can man then,
Though the image of his Maker, hope to win by 't?
Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that wait thee;

Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not.
Let all the ends thou aim'st at, be thy country's,

Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell,

Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king

And prithee lead me in

There take an inventory of all I have,

To the last penny- 'tis the king's. My robe,
And my integrity to heaven, are all

I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.

Crom. Good sir, have patience.

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Cassius. Will you go see the order of the course?
Brutus. Not I.

Cas. I pray you, do.

Bru. I am not gamesome; I do lack some part

Of that quick spirit that is in Anthony ;

Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;
I'll leave you.

Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late ;
I have not from your eyes that gentleness,
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. Cassius,

Be not deceived; if I have veiled my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am,

Of late, with passions of some difference,
Conceptions only proper to myself,

Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviours:
But let not therefore my good friends be grieved;
Among which number, Cassius, be you one;
Nor construe any further my neglect,

Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,

Forgets the shows of love to other men.

Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion; By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.

Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?
Bru. No Cassius, for the eye sees not itself,

But by reflection by some other things.

Cas. 'Tis just;

And it is very much lamented, Brutus,

That you have no such mirrors 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 Cæsar) speaking of Brutus,
And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
Have wished that noble Brutus had his eyes.

Bru. Into what dangers would you lead
That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me?

me, Cassius,

Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear,
And since you know you cannot see yourself
So well as by reflection, I, your glass,

Will modestly discover to yourself

That of yourself which you yet know not of.

And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus;

Were I a common laugher, or did use
To stale with ordinary oaths my love
To every new protester; or 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 banqueting

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 it?

Then I must think you would not have it so.

Bru. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well:—

But wherefore do you hold me here so long?

What is it that you would impart to me?
If it be aught toward the general good,
Set honor in one eye, and death in the other,
And I will look on both indifferently:

For, let the gods so speed me, as I love

The name of honor more than I fear death.
Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,

As well as I do know your outward favor.
Well, honor is the subject of my story. -
I cannot tell what and other men
you

Think of this life; but, for my single self,

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, Darest thou, Cassius, now,
Leap in with me into this angry flood,

And swim to yonder point? - Upon the word,
Accoutered as I was, I plunged in,

And bade him follow: so, indeed, he did.

The torrent roared, and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews; throwing it aside,
And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point proposed,
Cæsar cried, Help me, Cassius, or I sink.
I, as Æneas, our great ancestor,

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder

The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tyber

Did I the tired Cæsar: and this man,

Is now become a god; and Cassius is

A wretched creature, and must bend his body,
If Cæsar carelessly 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 coward lips did from their color fly;
And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world,
Did lose its lustre: I did hear him groan :
Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,
Alas! it cried-Give me some drink, Titinius
As a sick 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 honors 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 dishonorable graves.

Men at some times 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?

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