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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
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,
[Noise within. Poet. [within.] Let me go in to see the generals; There is some grudge between them, 'tis not meet They be alone.
Luc. [within.] 'You shall not come to them.
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!
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.
Impatient of my absence; And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony Have made themselves so strong ;--for with her
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.
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,
That, methinks, is strange.
Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell :
e, my lord?
With meditating that she must die once,
Cas. I do not think it good.
This it is:
Hear me, good brother.