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 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 do that I shall be sorry for.

may

Bru.

should be sorry for.

You have done that you
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats;
For I am arm'd 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 you 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 answer'd 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 not.

Bru. You did.

Cas. I did not :-he was but a fool,

That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath rived my heart:

A friend should bear his friend's infirmities,
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

Bru. I do not, till you practice them on me.

Cas. You love me not.

Bru. I do not like your faults.

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;
Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observed,
Set in a note-book, learn'd and conn'd 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 Cæsar; for, I know,

When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'st him better Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius.

Bru. Sheathe your dagger:

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb
That carries anger, as the flint bears fire;
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again.

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief, and blood ill-temper'd vexeth him?

Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper❜d too.

Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand,

Bru. And my heart too.

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?

Bru. Yes, Cassius; and from henceforth,

When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

By a reference to the Play, our readers will find that there is now a slight interruption to the conversation. It is afterwards resumed, a portion of which we quote, to complete our extract.

Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.

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

Bru. No man bears sorrow better:-Portia is dead.

Cas. Ha! Portia !

Bru. She is dead.

Cas. How 'scaped I killing when I cross'd you so ?— O insupportable and touching loss !

Upon what sickness?

Bru. Impatient of my absence;

And grief that young. Octavius with

Mark Antony

Have made themselves so strong;-for with her death

That tidings came.-With this she fell distracted,

And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire.

Cas. And died so?

Bru. Even so.

Cas. O ye immortal gods!

Enter Lucius, with wine and taper.

Bru. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of

wine :

In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius.

[Drinks.

Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge:

Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup;

I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love.

[Drinks.

A FATHER'S ADVICE TO HIS SON.

FROM HAMLET.'

Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but being in,

Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,

But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy:

For the apparel oft proclaims the man;

And they in France, of the best rank and station,
Are most select and generous, chief in that.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be:

For loan oft loses both itself and friend,