CAS. Ay,. do you fear it?

Then must I think you would not have it so.

BRU. I would not, Cassius: yet I love him well.
But wherefore do you hold me here so long?
What is it that you would impart to me?
If it be aught toward the gen'ral good,
Set Honour in one eye, and Death 'i th' other,
And I will look on Death indifferently:
For let the gods so speed me, as I love

The name of honour, more than I fear death.
CAS. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
As well as I do know your outward favour.
Well, honour is the subject of my story,-
I cannot tell what you and other men
Think of this life; but for my single self,
I had as lief not be, as live to be
In awe of such a thing as I myself.

1 was born free as Caesar, so were you;
We both have fed as well; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he.
For once upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tiber chafing with his shores,
Cæsar says to me, Dar'st thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point?-Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,

And bade him follow; so indeed he did.
The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it.
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside,
And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point propos'd,
Cæsar cry'd, Help me, Cassius, or I sink.
1, as Æneas, our great ancestor,

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear; so from the waves of Tiber

Did I the tired Cæsar: and this man

Is now become a god, and Cassius is

A wretcl ed creature: and must bend his body,
If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him.
He had a fever when he was in Spain,
And when the ft was on him, 'I did mark

How

How he did shake. 'Tis true, this god did shake; His coward lips did from their colour fly,

And that same eye, whose bend does awe the world,
Did lose its lustre ; I did hear him groan:

Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,
Alas! it cried-Give me some drink, Titinius-
As a sick girl. Ve gods, it doth amaze me,
A man of such a feeble temper should

So get the start of the majestic world,
And bear the palm alone.

BRU. Another general shout!

I do believe, that these applauses are

For some new honours that are heap’d on Cesar.
CAS. Why man, he doth bestride the narrow world-
Like a Colossus; and we petty men,

Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves dishonourable graves.

Men at some times are masters of their fates;
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Brutus and Cæsar-what should be in that Cæsar?
Why should that name be sounded more than yours?
Write them together: yours is as fair a name:
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em,
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar.
Now, in the name of all the gods at once,
Upon what meats does this our Cæsar feed,
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art sham'd;
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods.'
When went there by an age, since the great
flood,
But it was fam'd with more than one man?
When could they say, till now, that talkid of Rome,
That her wide walls encompass'd but one man ?
Oh! you and I have heard our fathers say,
There was a Brutus, one that would have brook'd
Th' eternal devil to keep his state in Rome

As easily as a king.

BRV. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous ; What you would work me to, I have some aim: How I have thought of this, and of these times, I shall recount hereafter; for this present, I would not (so with love I might entreat you) Be any further mov'd. What you have said, I wii consider; what you have to say, I will with patience hear; and find a time Both meet to hear, and answer such high things. Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this: Brutus had rather be a villager,

han to repute himself a son of Rome Under such hard conditions as this time Is like to lay upon us,

CAS. I am glad that my weak words

Have struck butthus much show of fire from Brutus.

-0000

SHAKSPEARE.

CHAP. XVI.

BELLARIUS, GUIDERIUS AND ARVIRAGUS,

BEL. A GOODLY day! not to keep house with

such

Whose roof's as low as ours: see, boys! this gate Instructs you how t' adore the heav'ns; and bows to

you

To morning's holy office. Gates of monarchs
Are arch'd so high, that giants my jet through,
And keep their impious turbans on, without
Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heav'n!
We house i' th' rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.

GUID. Hail, heav'n!

ARV Hail, heav'n!

BEL. Now for our mountain sport, up to yond

hill

Your legs are young. I'll tread these flats. Consider, When you above perceive me like a crow,

That

That it is place which lessens and sets off;
And you may then revolve what tales I told you
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war;
That service is not service, so being done,
But being so allow'd. To apprehend thus,
Draws us a profit from all things we see ;
And often to our comfort shall we find
The sharded beetle in a safer hold,
Than is the full-wing'd eagle. Oh, this life
Is nobler than attending for a check;
Richer than doing nothing for a bauble;
Prouder than rustling in unpaid for silk.

Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his book uncross'd- -no life to ours.

GUID. Out of your proof you speak; we, poor, unfledg'd,

Have never wing'd from view o'th' nest; nor know
What air's from home. Haply this life is best,
If quiet life is best; sweeter to you,

That have a sharper known; well corresponding
With your stiff age; but unto us it is
A cell of ign'rance; travelling abed;
A prison for a debtor that not dares
To stride a limit.

ARV. What should we speak of,

When we are old as you? When we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December? How,
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing;
We're beastly; subtle as the fox for prey,
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat,
Our valour is to chase what flies: our cage
We make a choir, as doth the prison'd bird,
And sing out bondage freely.

BEL. How you speak!

Did you but know the city's usuries,

And felt them knowingly; the art o' th' court,'
As hard to leave, as keep; whose top to climb,
Is certain falling; or so slipp'ry, that

The fear's as bad as falling; the toil of war;
A pain that only seems to seek out danger
U 3

I' th'

I' th' name of fame and honour; which dies i' the

search,

And hath as oft a sland'rous epitaph,

As record of fair act; nay, many times,

:

Doth ill deserve by doing well what's worse,
Must curt'sy at the censure.-Oh, boys, this story
The world might read in me: my body's mark'd
With Roman swords; and my report was once
First with the best of note. Cymbeline lov'd me,
And when a soldier was the theme, my name
Was not far off: then was as a tree,

Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But in one night,
A storm, or robb'ry, call it what you will,
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay my leaves;
And left me bare to weather,

GUID. Uncertain favour!

BEL. My fault being nothing, as I have told you oft,

But that two villains (whose false oaths prevail'd
Before my perfect honour) swore to Cymbeline,
I was confed 'rate with the Romans: so

Follow'd my banishment; and, these twenty years,
This rock and these demesnes have been my world;
Where I have liv'd at honest freedom, paid
More pious debts to heav'n, than in all

The fore-end of my time-But up to th' mountains!
This is not hunter's language; he that strikes
The ven'son first shall be the lord o' the feast;
To him the other two shall minister,

And we will fear no poison, which attends

In place of greater state.

I'll meet you in the valleys.

SHAKSPEARE

BOOK