Caf. I am.

Bru. I fay, you are not.

Caf. Urge me no mor, I fhall forget myself

Have mind upon your health

Bru. Away, flight man!

Caf. Is't poffible?

-tempt me no farther.

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak.

Muft I give way and room to your rash choler?
Shall I be frighted, when a madman ftares ?

Caf. O Gods! ye Gods! muft I endure all this? Bru. All this! ay, more. Fret, 'till your proud heart break;

Go, fhew your flaves how cholerick you are,
And make your bondmen tremble. Muft I budge?
Must I observe you? muft I stand and crouch
Under your tefty humour? by the Gods,
You shall digeft the venom of your fpleen,
Tho' it do fplit you: For, from this day forth,
I'll ufe you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,
When you are wafpish.

Caf. Is it come to this?

Bru. You fay, you are a better foldier;
Let it appear fo;
; make your Vaunting true,
And it fhall pleafe me well.

For mine own part,
I fhall be glad to learn of noble men.
Caf. You wrong me every way-
Brutus ;

I faid an elder foldier; not a better.

-you wrong me,

Caf. When Cafar liv'd, he durft not thus have mov'd me.

Bru. Peace, peace, you durft not so have tempted him.

in faying, You are not Caffius; i. e. You are no longer that brave, difinterested, philofophic Caffius, whofe character was made up of honour and patriotifm; but are funk down to the impotency and corruption of the times.

WARBURTON.

There is no danger of mifinterpretation, nor much need of expofitions. Caffius had not faid he was an abler foldier, but a foldier whofe longer experience made him more able to make conditions,

Caf.

Caf. I durft not!

Bru. No.

Caf. What? durft not tempt him?
Bru. For your life you durft not.

Caf. Do not prefume too much upon my love;
do that, I fhall be forry for.

I may

Bru. You have done that, you should be forry for. There is no terror, Caffius, in your threats;

For I am arm'd fo ftrong in honefty,

That they pafs by me, as the idle wind,

Which I refpect not.

I did fend to you

For certain fums of gold, which you deny'd me;
For I can raife no money by vile means;

By heaven, I had rather coin my heart,

And drop my blood for drachma's, (5) than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash,
By any
Indirection. I did fend

To you for gold to pay my legions,

Which you deny'd me. Was that done like Caffius? Should I have anfwer'd Caius Caffius fo?

When Marcus Brutus grows fo covetous,

To lock fuch rafcal counters from his friends,
Be ready, Gods, with all your thunderbolts,
Dafh him to pieces.

Caf. I deny'd you not.

Bru. You did.

Caf. I did not

-he was but a fool,

That brought my anfwer back.Brutus hath riv'd

my heart.

A friend should bear a friend's infirmities,

But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

(9) Bru. I do not, 'till you practise them on me.

(5)

-than to wring

Caf.

From the hard hands of peasants their vile trafb,] This is a noble fentiment, altogether in character, and expreffed in 2 manner inimitably happy.. For to wring, implies both to get unjustly, and to ufe force in getting: And hard hands fignify both the peafant's great labour and pains in acquiring, and his great unwillingness to quit his hold.

(6) Bru. I do not, 'TILL you practise them on me.] But was

Caf. You love me not.

Bru. I do not like your faults.

Caf. A friendly eye could never fee fuch faults. Bru. A flatt'rer's would not, tho' they do appear As huge as high Olympus.

Caf. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come ; Revenge yourselves alone on Caffius,

For Caffius is a weary of the world;

Hated by one he loves; brav'd by his brother;
Check'd like a bondman; all his faults obferv'd;
Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote,
To caft into my teeth. O, I could weep

My fpirit from mine eyes!There is my dagger,
And here my naked breaft within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' Mine, richer than gold;
(7) If that thou be'ft a Roman, take it forth.

I, that

But

this talking like Brutus? Caffius complained that his friend made his infirmities greater than they were. To which Brutus replies, mot till thofe infirmities were injuriously turned upon me. was this any excufe for aggravating his friend's failings? ShakeSpeare knew better what was fit for his hero to say, and certainly wrote and pointed the line thus,

I do not. STILL you praise them on me.

i. e. I deny your charge, and this is a fresh injury done me. WARBURTON.

The true meaning, which will make all emendation unneceffary, is this; I do not look for your faults, I only fee them, and mention them with vehemence, when you force them into my notice, by practising them on me.

(7) If that thou BE'ST A ROMAN, take it forth, &c.] But why is he bid to rip out his heart, if he were a Roman ? There is no other sense but this, If you have the courage of a Roman. But this is fo poor, and fo little to the purpose, that the reading may be justly fufpected. The occafion of this quarrel was Caf fus's refufal to fupply the neceffities of his friend, who charges it on him as a difhonour and crime, with great afperity of language. Caffius, to fhew him the injuftice of accufing him of avarice, tells him he was ready to expofe his life in his fervice; but at the fame time, provoked and exafperated at the other's reproaches, he upbraids him with the feverity of his temper, that would pardon nothing, but always aimed at the life of the offender; and delighted in his blood, though a Roman, and attached to him by the strongest bonds of alliance; hereby

obliquely

I, that deny'd thee gold, will give my heart;
Strike as thou didst at Cefar; for I know,

When thou didst hate him worft, thou lov'dft him

better

Than ever thou lov'dft Caffius.

Be

Bru. Sheath your dagger;

angry when you will, it fhall have fcope;
Do what you will, difhonour fhall be humour.
O Caffius, you are yoked with a Lamb,
That carries anger as the flint bears fire;
Who, much enforced, fhews a hafty spark,
And ftraight is cold again.

Caf. Hath Caffius liv'd

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth him?
Bru When I fpoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.
Caf. Do you confefs fo much? give me your hand
Bru. And my heart too.
[Em braci
Caf. O Brutus!

Bru. What's the matter?

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

Bru. Yes, Caffius, and from henceforth When you are over-earneft with your Brutus, He'll think, your mother chides, and leave you

fo.

A noife within Poet. [within.] Let me go in to fee the Generals; There is fome grudge between 'em, 'tis not meet They be alone.

obliquely infinuating the cafe of Cafar. The fenfe being thus explained, it is evident we should read,

If that thou NEEDST A ROMAN's, take it forth.

i. e. if nothing but another Roman's death can fatisfy the unrelenting severity of your temper, take my life as you did Cæfar's. WARB.

I am not fatisfied with the change propofed, yet cannot deny, that the words, as they now ftand, require fome interpretation. I think he means only, that he is fo far from avarice, when the caufe of his country requires liberality, that if any man fhould wish for his heart, he would not need enforce his defire any otherwife, than by fhewing that he was a Roman.

VOL. IX.

D

Luc.

Luc. [within.] You fhall not come to them.

Poet. [within.] Nothing but death fhall stay me.

Enter Poet.

Caf. How now? what's the matter? Poet. For fhame, you Generals; what do you mean Love, and be friends, as two fuch men should be; For I have seen more years, I'm fure, than ye.

?

Caf. Ha, ha-how vilely doth this Cynick rhime Bru. Get you hence, firrah; faucy fellow, hence. Caf. Bear with him, Brutus, 'tis his fashion.

Bru. I'll know his humour, when he knows his time;

What should the wars do with these jingling fools ? Companion, hence.

Caf. Away, away, begone.

SCENE IV.

Enter Lucilius, and Titinius.

[Exit Poet.

Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders Prepare to lodge their companies to-night.

Caf. And come yourselves, and bring Messala with

you

Immediately to us.
Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine.
Caf. I did not think, you could have been fo
Bru. O Caffius, I am fick of many griefs.
Caf. Of your philofophy you make no use,
you give place to accidental evils.

[Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius.

If

angry.

Bru. No man bears forrow better. Porcia's dead. Caf. Ha! Porcia!

Bru. She is dead.

Caf. How 'fcap'd I killing, when I croft you fo? O infupportable and touching lofs!

Upon what fickness?

Bru. Impatient of my abfence;

And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony Have made themselves fo ftrong, (for with her death

That