Cas. In such a time as this, it is not meet You know that you are Brutus that speak this, Cas. Chastisement! Bru. Remember March, the ides of March remember! Cas. To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I, Bru. Cas. I am. Go to; you are not, Cassius. 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. O ye gods! ye gods! Must I endure all this? Bru. All this? ay, more: Fret, till your proud heart break; Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, 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 for. 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, For certain sums of gold, which you denied me; And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring To 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, I did not: he was but a fool That brought my answer back.- Brutus hath rived my heart: But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. Bru. I do not like your faults. Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, For Cassius is a-weary of the world: Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother; My spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger, When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better Bru. That carries anger, as the flint bears fire; Cas. Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered too. Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand. Cas. Bru. O Brutus! 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. - William Shakespeare. SHAN VAN VOCHT Shan Van Vocht: an Irish phrase meaning the Poor Old Woman; here personifying Ireland. The song was written just before the Irish rebellion of 1798. The sainted isle of old, The parent and the mould Of the beautiful and bold, Has her sainted heart waxed cold? Says the Shan Van Vocht. Oh! the French are on the say, Says the Shan Van Vocht; And where will they have their camp? Says the Shan Van Vocht. On the Currach of Kildare; The boys they will be there With their pikes in good repair, Says the Shan Van Vocht. Then what will the yeomen do? Says the Shan Van Vocht. And what color will they wear? What color should be seen, And will Ireland then be free? Says the Shan Van Vocht. Anonymous. Friends! RIENZI TO THE ROMANS I come not here to talk. Ye know too well |