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Brutus. If thou deny me this, thou giv'st me nothing. Yes, Titus, since the gods have so decreed That I must lose thee, I will take the advantage Of thy important fate; cement Rome's flaws, And heal her wounded freedom with thy blood. I will ascend myself the sad tribunal, And sit upon my son — on thee, my Titus: Behold thee suffer all the shame of death, The lictor's lashes, bleed before the people; Then, with thy hopes and all thy youth upon thee, See thy head taken by the common axe, Without a groan, without one pitying tear (If that the gods can hold me to my purpose), To make my justice quite transcend example. Titus. Scourged like a bondman! But I deserve it all; yet, here I fail; The image of this suffering quite unmans me. O, Sir! O, Brutus! must I call you Yet have no token of your tenderness? No sign of mercy? What! not bate me that? Can you resolve on all the extremity

Ha! a beaten slave!


Of cruel rigor? To behold me, too;

To sit, unmoved, and see me whipped to death!
Is this a father?

Ah, Sir, why should you make my heart suspect
That all your late compassion was dissembled ?
How can I think that you did ever love me?

Brutus. Think that I love thee, by my present passion,
By these unmanly tears, these earthquakes here;
These sighs, that twitch the very strings of life;
Think that no other cause on earth could move me
To tremble thus, to sob, or shed a tear,

Nor shake my solid virtue from her point,
But Titus' death. O, do not call it shameful
That thus shall fix the glory of the world.
I own thy suffering ought to unman me thus,
To make me throw my body on the ground,
To bellow like a beast, to gnaw the earth,
To tear my hair, to curse the cruel fates
That force a father thus to kill his child!

Titus. O, rise, thou violated majesty !
I now submit to all your threatened vengeance.
Come forth, ye executioners of justice!
Nay, all ye lictors, slaves, and common hangmen,
Come, strip me bare, unrobe me in his sight,
And lash me till I bleed! Whip me, like furies!
And, when you 've scourged me till I foam and fall,


For want of spirits, grovelling in the dust,
Then, take my head, and give it to his justice:
By all the gods, I greedily resign it!

CATO'S SOLILOQUY ON IMMORTALITY. — Addison. Born, 1672; died, 1719.

Ir must be so. - Plato, thou reasonest well!
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?

Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
'Tis the divinity that stirs within us,

'Tis Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man.

Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried being,
Through what new scenes and changes must we pass!
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me;
But shadows, clouds and darkness, rest upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us,
And that there is, all Nature cries aloud
Through all her works, He must delight in virtue;
And that which He delights in must be happy.
But when? or where? This world was made for Cæsar.

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I'm weary of conjectures, this must end 'em.

Thus am I doubly armed. My death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to my end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secure in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amid the war of elements,

The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.


Cassius. That you have wronged me, doth appear in this:
You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella,
For taking bribes here of the Sardians;
Wherein my letters (praying on his side,
Because I knew the man) were slighted off.

Brutus. You wronged yourself to write in such a case.


Cas. At such a time as this, it is not meet
every nice offence should bear its comment.
* The dagger.

+ Plato's Treatise

Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
Are much condemned to have an itching palm;
To sell and mart your offices for gold,
To rndeservers.

Cas. I an itching palm?

You know that you are Brutus that speak this,
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last!
Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption,
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head

Cas. Chastisement!

Bru. Remember March, the Ides of March remember
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake?
What villain touched his body, that did stab,
And not for justice? — What! shall one of us,
That struck the foremost man of all this world,
But for supporting robbers, shall we now
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes,
And sell the mighty space of our large honors
For so much trash as may be graspéd thus ? –
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,
Than such a Roman!

Cas. Brutus, bay not me!

I'll not endure it. You forget yourself,
To hedge me in: I am a soldier, I,
Older in practice, abler than yourself
To make conditions.

Bru. Go to! you are not, Cassius.
Cas. I am.

Bru. I say you are not!

Cas. Urge me no more: I shall forget myself: Have mind upon your health; tempt me no further! Bru. Away, slight man!

Cas. Is 't possible?

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak.

Must I give way and room to your rash choler?

Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?

Cas. Must I endure all this?

Bru. All this? ay, more! Fret till your proud heart break!

Go, show your slaves how choleric you are,
And make your bondmen tremble! Must I budge?
Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch
Under your testy humor?

You shall digest the venom of your spleen,
Though it do split you; for, from this day forth,
I'll use you for my mirth,- yea, for my laughter,
When you are waspish!

Cas. Is it come to this?

Bru. You say you are a better soldier: Let it appear so; make your vaunting true, And it shall please me well. For mine own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men. Cas. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus ; I said, an elder soldier, not a better. Did I say better?

Bru. If you did, I care not!

Cas. When Cæsar lived, he durst not thus have moved me Bru. Peace, peace: you durst not so have tempted him! Cas. I durst not?

Bru. No.

Cas. What? durst not tempt him?

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
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats;
For I am armed 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
denied me;
For I can raise no money by vile means:
By Heaven, 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

Το you for gold to pay my legions,

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!

Cas. I denied you not.

Bru. You did.

Cas. I did not: - he was but a fool
That brought my answer back. -
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities,
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me.
Cas. You love me not.

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Brutus hath rived my heart.

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 aweary of the world:

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. 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
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. Sheathe your dagger:

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor.
O Cassius, you are yokéd with a lamb,
That carries anger as the flint bears fire:
Who, much enforcéd, shows a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again.

Cas. Hath Cassius lived

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him?

Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered, too.
Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.
Bru. And my heart, too.

Cas. O Brutus!

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


Tago. What! be you hurt, Lieutenant ?
Cassio. Past all surgery!

Iago. Marry, Heaven forbid!

Cassio. Reputation! reputation! reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself; and what remains is bestial. My reputation, Iago, my reputation!

Iago. As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound: there is more offence in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving. What, man! There are ways to recover the General again. Sue to him, and he is yours.

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