a When thou didst hate him worst, thou loy'dst him better Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius. Bru. Sheath your dagger Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb That carries anger, as the flint bears fire; Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again. Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd 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 O Brutus! What's the matter? Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour, which my mother gave me, Makes me forgetful? Bru. Yes, Cassius; and, henceforth, your [Noise within. Poet. [within.] Let me go in to see the generals; There is some grudge between them, 'tis not meet They be alone. Cas. Luc. [within.] 'You shall not come to them. Enter Poet. Cas. How now? What's the matter? mean? Love, and be friends, as two such men should be; For I have seen more years, I am sure, than ye. Cas. Ha, ha; how vilely doth this cynic rhime! time: Away, away, be gone. [Exit Poet. Enter LUCILIUS and TITINIUS. Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders Prepare to lodge their companies to-night. Cas. And come yourselves, and bring Messala with you Immediately to us. [Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius. Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine. Cas. I did not think, you could have been so angry. Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use, If you give place to accidental evils. Bru. No man bears sorrow better :-Portia is dead. SO? Impatient of my absence; And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony Have made themselves so strong ;--for with her death Cas. And died so ? Enter LUCIUS, with wine and tapers. wine: In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. [Drinks. Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge:Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'er-swell the cup; I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. [Drinks. Re-enter TITINIUS, with MESSALA. Bru. Some in, Titinius :-Welcome, good Mes sala, Now sit we close about this taper here, And call in question our necessities. VOL. XI. S Cas. Portia! art thou gone ? - No more, I pray you. Mes. Myself have letters of the self-same tenour. Bru. With what addition? Mes. That by proscription, and bills of outlawry, Brų. Therein our letters do not well agree; Cus. Cicero one? Ay, Cicero is dead, letters from your wife, That, methinks, is strange. yours? Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell : Messala : e, my lord? a With meditating that she must die once, dure. think Cas. I do not think it good. Your reason? This it is: better. Hear me, good brother. a |