Julius Caesar

Brutus

Words before blows; is it so, countrymen?

Octavius

Not that we love words better, as you do.

Brutus

Good words are better than bad strokes, Octavius.

Antony

In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good words.
Witness the hole you made in Caesar's heart,
Crying 'Long live! Hail, Caesar!'

Cassius

                                                        Antony,
The posture of your blows are yet unknown;
But, for your words, they rob the Hybla bees,
And leave them honeyless.

Antony

Not stingless too?

Brutus

O yes, and soundless too!
For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony,
And very wisely threat before you sting.

Cassius

Most noble brother, you have done me wrong.

Brutus

Judge me, you gods! Wrong I mine enemies?
And if not so, how should I wrong a brother?

Cassius

Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs,
And when you do them — 

Brutus

                                            Cassius, be content.
Speak your griefs softly. I do know you well.

Brutus

Must I give way and room to your rash choler?
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?

Cassius

O ye gods, ye gods! Must I endure all this?

Brutus

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? By the gods,
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.

Cassius

You love me not.

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.

Cassius

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 notebook, 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 heart.
Strike as thou didst at Caesar; for I know,
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better
Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius.

Brutus

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

Cassius

I did not think you could have been so angry.

Brutus

O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.

Cassius

Of your philosophy you make no use
If you give place to accidental evils.

Brutus

No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead.

Cassius

What! Portia?

Brutus

She is dead.

Messala

Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell,
For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.

Brutus

Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala.
With meditating that she must die once,
I have the patience to endure it now.

Messala

Even so great men great losses should endure.

Cassius

I have as much of this in art as you,
But yet my nature could not bear it so.

Brutus

Well, to our work alive. What do you think
Of marching to Philippi presently?

Cassius

I do not think it good.

Brutus

                                    Your reason?

Cassius

                                                           This it is:
'Tis better that the enemy seek us;
So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers,
Doing himself offense, whilst we, lying still,
Are full of rest, defense, and nimbleness.

Brutus

Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.
[Enter the Ghost of Caesar.]
How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here?
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes
That shapes this monstrous apparition.
It comes upon me. Art thou any thing?
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,
That mak'st my blood cold and my hair to stare?
Speak to me what thou art.

Ghost

Thy evil spirit, Brutus.

Brutus

                                      Why com'st thou?

Ghost

To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.

Brutus

Well; then I shall see thee again?

Ghost

Ay, at Philippi.

Brutus

Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then.

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