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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 :
No, Cassius, 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 Brucus grows so covetous,
To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,
Dash him to 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 rived my heart : :
A friend should bear a 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.
Bru. 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 a weary 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. O, 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.
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 ;
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,
A straight is cold again.
Cas. Hath Cassius lived
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.
Cas. O Brutus!
Bru. What's the matter ?
Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me,
When that rash humor, which my mother gave me,
Makes me forgetful ?
Bru. Yes, Cassius; and, henceforth,
When you are over earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.
Brakenbury. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day ?
Clarence. O, I have pass'd a miserable night,
So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams,
That, as I am a Christian faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night,
Though ’twere to buy a world of happy days;
So full of dismal terror was the time.
Brak. What was your dream, my lord ? I pray you tell me.
Clar. Methought that I had broken from the tower,
And was embark’d to cross to Burgundy,
And in my company my brother Gloucester,
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd toward England,
And cited up a thousand heavy times,
During the wars of York and Lancaster,
That had befallen us. As we pass'd along
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,
Methought that Gloucester stumbled, and in falling,
Struck me (that sought to stay him) overboard,
Into the tumbling billows of the main.
Lord, Lord, methought, what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of waters in my ears!
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes !
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels;
All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea.
Some lay in dead men's sculls; and in those holes
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,
As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,
That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mock’ the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death,
To gaze upon the secrets of the deep ?
Clar. Methought I had ; and often did I strive
To yield the ghost; but still the envious flood
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
To find the empty, vast, and wand'ring air;
But smother'd it within my panting bulk,
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.
Brak. Awaked you not with this sore agony ?
Clar. O, no; my dream was lengthen’d after life;
O, then began the tempest to my soul;
I pass’d, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
The first that there did greet my stranger soul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,
Who cried aloud — "What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ?”
And so he vanish’d. Then came wand'ring by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood, and he shriek’d out aloud —
“Clarence is come, false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,
That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury!
Seize on him, furies ! take him to your torments.!"-
With that, methought a legion of foul fiends
Environ’d me, and howl'd into mine ears
Such hideous cries, that with the very noise
I trembling waked; and for a season after
Could not believe but that I was in hell;
Such terrible impression made my dream. .
Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.
Clar. O Brakenbury, I have done those things That now give evidence against my soul, . For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me ! O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds,
Yet execute thy wrath on me alone :
O spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children !
I pray thee, Brakenbury, stay by me:
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.
Iago. My noble lord —
Othello. What dost thou say, Iago ?
Iago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady,
Know of your love ?
Oth. He did, from first to last. Why dost thou ask?
Iago. But for a satisfaction of my thought;
No further harm.
Oth. Why of that thought, Iago!
Iago. I did not think he had been acquainted with her.
Oth. O yes; and went between us very oft. -
Iago. Indeed !
Oth. Indeed ! ay, indeed ; — Discern’st thou aught in that? Is he not honest ?
Iago. Honest, my lord ?
Oth. Ay, honest,
Iago. My lord, for aught I know.
Oth. What dost thou think?
Iago. Think, my lord ?
Oth. Think, my lord !
By heaven, he echoes me,
As if there were some monster in his thought
Too hideous to be shown. — Thou dost mean something :
I heard thee say but now — Thou likedst not that,
When Cassio left my wife; what didst not like?