For I have found, since first we joined in hand,
My scath was yours, my welfare your addition;
And sure with me to loathe, and me to like,
Is seal of friendship. I have often told
Each patriot here my counsel, let me add,
My mind is whipped to madness, when I think
What foul disgrace will brood upon our souls
Unless we claim our liberty! For see,
My friends, how all the power and wealth of Rome
Are gathered in a heap, to share at random
With those who know no merit but their birth;
While we, possessed of every virtue else,-
Valour and wit, high minds and princely worth,—
Are termed the mob, the vulgar abject slaves
Of those, whose lords we should be deemed, if worth
Were rank, and genius ruled the state.
Their's all the wealth, the power, and the gauds,
The hovels ours, the prisons, and the courts.
How long, how long, shall we abide this scorn?
Had we not better far be lifeless dust
And buried out of sight, than crawl along,
As reptile slaves, a miserable life, trod down
By placemen fools, and then unpitied die,
Unhonoured at the last. Up! up! my friends!
The victory is our own! Our limbs are iron,
disease is theirs,
And our minds in tune:
And crude old age. Strike but the blow, and win
The laurel! Strike once! Strike home! and all is yours.
Strike! and strike boldly, friends! be this the spur
To goad you on,-the golden ease of those
Who loll in plenty, build upon the sea,
Dig mountains through, keep halls and country seats,
Buy toys and tablets, plate, and every trick
That fancy craves, or luxury conceives,
Yet keep their stores unspent; while we must sleep
In smoky huts, or 'neath some hedge-row shade,
Ground down with want, oppressed by giant debts,
Spurned, flouted, stripped of all that life holds dear,
And cast at length, like sea-weed on the shore,
The living mockery of men. Oh! 'twere enough
To boil the craven's blood, and strike a flame
From stony hearts of cold indifference.
Rise, then, in vigour rise! and from the heart
Bolt out the coward dross! The boon is on our lips,
It hangs within our palm; then grasp it firm!
The boon of liberty. Wealth, honour, fame,
Great Rome herself, with all her garlands, these,
These are the toys of victory. The time,
Your state, your perils, wants, the spoils I name,
More than my words will prick your valiant minds.
Me, if
you list, your leader make; if not,
E'en in the lowest ranks my thews and limbs
Are buckled to our cause; and we will shake
This rotten state so hard, the fruit of power
Shall tumble at our feet from its high perch
In rich exuberance; unless, perchance,
I strangely calculate, and you conclude
To serve as slaves, and not as heroes rule.
VII.—QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS.
Cas. 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, was slighted off.
Bru. You wronged yourself to write in such a case.
Cas. In such a time as this it is not meet
That every nice offence should bare his comment.
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 undeservers.
You know that you are Brutus that speak this,
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.
Bru. The name of Cassius honours this corruption,
And chastisement doth therefore hide its 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 honours For so much trash as may be graspèd thus ?I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.
Cas. Brutus, bait 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. O ye gods! ye gods! must I endure all this? Bru. All this? ay, more. Fret till your proud heart break;
Go, shew your slaves how choleric you are,
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?
Must I observe you? must I stand and crouch
Under you testy humour? 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.
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.
Bru. If you did, I care not.
Cas. When Cæsar lived, he durst not thus have moved Bru. Peace, peace; you durst not so have tempted him. Cas. I durst not?
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
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
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,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,
Dash him to pieces!
Cas. I denied you
Bru. You did.
Cas. I did not-he was but a fool
That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath rived my
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.
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 a-weary 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. Oh, 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 did'st at Cæsar; for I know,
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better
Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius.
Bru. Sheath your dagger.
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
O Cassius, you are yolkèd with a lamb
That carries anger as the flint bears fire;
Who, much enforced, shews 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.
[embracing.
Cas. O Brutus!
Bru. What's the matter?
Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me When that rash humour which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful?
Cas. Yes, Cassius; and, from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.
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