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By any indirection. I did send

To you for gold to pay my legións,

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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 to pieces!

Cassius.

Brutus. You did.

Cassius.

I denied you not.

I did not; he was but a fool

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That brought my answer back. Brutus hath rived my

heart:

A friend should bear his friend's infirmities,
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
Brutus. I do not, till you practise them on me.
Cassius. You love me not.

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Brutus. I do not like your faults. Cassius. A friendly eye could never see such faults. Brutus. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear As huge as high Olympus.

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Cassius. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, For Cassius is aweary of the world;

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Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother;
Checked like a bondman; all his faults observed,
Set in a note-book, learned, and conned by rote,
To cast into my teeth. Oh, I could weep
My spirit from mine eyes! [He unsheathes his dagger
and offers it to Brutus.] There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast; within, a heart
Dearer than Pluto's 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 Caesar; for, I know
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.

Brutus [rising].
Sheath your dagger: 106
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
Oh, Cassius, you are yokèd with a lamb
That carries anger as the flint bears fire;
Who, much enforcèd, shows a hasty spark

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Hath Cassius lived

And straight is cold again.

Cassius. To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him? Brutus. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered too. 115 Cassius. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.

Brutus. And my heart too.

Cassius.

Brutus.

[They embrace. O Brutus,What's the matter?

Cassius. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful?

Brutus.

Yes, Cassius; and, from henceforth, 120 When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

SCENE VI. THE DEATH OF BRUTUS.

In the battle which took place at Philippi, Brutus gave the word to charge too soon. Following up a slight success against Octavius' troops, he left Cassius' wing_unguarded, and Antony at once surrounded this, and took the camp. Cassius killed himself in despair. In a second fight Brutus was utterly defeated. With a remnant of his followers he seeks shelter in some rocky ground; and as night comes on, he sends one of his soldiers named Statilius to find out the number of the slain. Statilius passes through the ranks of the enemy and signals by torch-light that all is well, but on attempting to return is killed.

Enter Brutus, attended by Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and Volumnius.

Brutus. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock. [He sits down: Strato is worn out, and sleeps. Clitus. Statilius showed the torch-light, but, my lord, He came not back: he is or ta'en, or slain.

Brutus. Sit thee down, Clitus: slaying is the word; It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus.

[Whispering. Clitus. What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world. Brutus. Peace, then, no words.

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Clitus.

I'll rather kill myself.

Brutus [rising]. Hark thee, Dardanius. [Whispers.
Dardanius.
Shall I do such a deed?

Clitus [moving to Dardanius]. O Dardanius!
Dardanius. O Clitus !

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Clitus. What ill request did Brutus make to thee?
Dardanius. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates.
Clitus. Now is that noble vessel full of grief,
That it runs over even at his eyes.

Brutus. Come hither, good Volumnius; list a word. 15
Volumnius. What says my lord?
Brutus.

Why this, Volumnius:

The ghost of Caesar hath appeared to me
Two several times by night at Sardis once,
And this last night here in Philippi fields.
I know my hour is come.

Volumnius.

Not so, my lord. Brutus. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes;

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Our enemies have beat us to the pit: [Low alarums. It is more worthy to leap in ourselves,

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Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius,
Thou know'st that we two went to school together :
Even for that our love of old, I prithee,
Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it.
Volumnius. That's not an office for a friend, my lord.
[Alarum still.

Clitus. Fly, fly, my lord; there is no tarrying here 30
Brutus. Farewell to you; and you;
and you,

Volumnius. [He shakes hands with each of them. Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep; Farewell to thee too, Strato. Countrymen, My heart doth joy, that yet in all my life

I found no man but he was true to me.

I shall have glory by this losing day,
More than Octavius and Mark Antony
By this vile conquest shall attain unto.

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So, fare you well at once; for Brutus' tongue
Hath almost ended his life's history;

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Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest, That have but laboured to attain this hour.

[Alarum. A cry is heard, Fly, fly, fly!'

Clitus. Fly, my lord, fly.

Brutus.

Hence, I will follow.

[Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius, and Volumnius.

I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord:
Thou art a fellow of a good respect;

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Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it:
Hold then my sword-and turn away thy face-
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?
Strato. Give me your hand first: [they clasp hands]
fare you well, my lord. [Strato holds the sword.
Brutus. Farewell, good Strato. [He runs on his sword.]
Caesar, now be still;

I killed not thee with half so good a will.

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[Dies.

Alarum. Retreat. Enter Octavius, Antony, and their army, with Messala and Lucilius, two friends of Brutus, prisoners.

Octavius. What man is that?

Messala. My master's man. Strato, where is thy

master?

Strato. Free from the bondage you are in, Messala :
The conquerors can but make a fire of him;
For Brutus only overcame himself,

And no man else hath honour by his death.
Lucilius. So Brutus should be found.

Messala [to Strato].

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How died my master?

Strato. I held the sword, and he did run on it.

Antony. This was the noblest Roman of them all: 60

All the conspirators, save only he,

Did that they did in envy of great Caesar;

He only, in a general honest thought

And common good to all, made one of them

His life was gentle, and the elements

So mixed in him that Nature might stand up
And say to all the world 'This was a man!

Octavius. According to his virtue let us use him,

With all respect and rites of burial.

Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie,
Most like a soldier, orderèd honourably.

So, call the field to rest, and let's away,

To part the glories of this happy day.

S

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[Exeunt, the soldiers setting their spears beneath the body and carrying it off.

L

XIV. A NOBLE REVENGE

BY PHILIP MASSINGER

Rutilio, an Italian, flying from his native land, reaches Lisbon, and is forced into a street fight with a young Portuguese nobleman whom he runs through and leaves for dead. To escape capture, he rushes through an open door into a house hard by. It belongs to Guiomar, sister of Manuel du Sosa, the governor of Lisbon, and mother of Duarte, a gifted and high-spirited young man, but overbearing and quarrelsome. The feuds which he wantonly provokes cause his mother great anxiety.

The scene is a bedroom in the house of Guiomar.

Enter Guiomar and her Servants.

Guiomar. He's not i' the house?

Servants.

Guiomar.

No, madam.

Haste and seek him,

Go all, and everywhere; I'll not to bed
Till you return him. Take away the lights too;
The moon lends me too much to find my fears,
And those devotións I am to pay

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Are written in my heart, not in this book,
And I shall read them there without a taper.

[She kneels in prayer. Exeunt Servants with lights. Enter Rutilio. He moves cautiously, feeling his way, and speaks in a low voice.

ΙΟ

Rutilio. I am pursued; all the ports are stopped too; Not any hope to escape; behind, before me, On either side, I am beset-cursed fortune !— Redeemed from one affliction to another. Would I had made the greedy waves my tomb And died obscure and innocent! not, as Nero, Smeared o'er with blood. Whither have my fears brought

me ?

I am got into a house; the doors all open;
This, by the largeness of the room, the hangings,
And other rich adornments glistering through
The sable mask of night, says it belongs

To one of means and rank. No servant stirring?

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