For taking bribes here of the Sardians;
Wherein, my letters (praying on his side,
Because I knew the man) were slighted off.

Brutus. You wronged yourself, to write in such a case. Cas. At such a time as this, is it not meet That every nice offence should bear its 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.

Cas. I an itching palm?

You know that you are Brutus that speak this,
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.
Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption,
And chas'tisement doth therefore hide its head.

Bru. Remember March, the ides of March remember! Did not great Julius bleed for justice's 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 honors,
For so much trash as may be grasped thus?
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,
Than such a Roman.

Cas. Brutus, bay 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 're 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. Must I endure all this?

Bru. All this! Ay, more. break:

Fret till your proud heart

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?

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.

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 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 you denied me:
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 in pieces.

Cas. I denied you not.

Bru. You did.

Bru. I do not, till you practise 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;
Checked like a bondman; all his faults observed,
Set in a note-book learned and conned, by rote,

To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep

My spirit from my 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 lovedst him better Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.

Bru. Sheath 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 enforced, shows 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.

Cas. O Brutus !

Bru. What's the matter?

Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humor which my mother gave me, Makes me forgetful?

Bru. Yes, Cassius; and henceforth,

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

LESSON CLV.

Reply of Rob Roy MacGregor to Mr. Osbaldistone.-
W. SCOTT.

You speak like a boy—like a boy, who thinks the old gnarled oak can be twisted as easily as the young sapling. Can I forget that I have been branded as an outlaw, stigmatized as a traitor, a price set on my head as if I had been a wolf, my family treated as the dam and cubs of the hill-fox, whom all may torment, vilify, degrade, and insulť; the very name which came to me from a long and noble line of martial ancestors, denounced, as if it were a spell to conjure * up the devil with?

And they shall find that the name they have dared to proscribe that the name of MacGregor is a spell to raise the wild devil withal. They shall hear of my vengeance, that would scorn to listen to the story of my wrongs. The miserable Highland drover, bankrupt, barefooted, stripped of all, dishonored and hunted down, because the avarice of others grasped at more than that poor all could pay, shall burst on them in an awful change. They that scoffed at the groveling worm, and trod upon him, may cry and howl when they see the stoop of the flying and fiery-mouthed dragon.. But why do I speak of all this?-only, ye may opine, it frets my patience to be hunted like an otter, or a seal, or a salmon upon the shallows, and that by my very friends and neighbors and to have as many sword-cuts made, and pistols flashed at me, as I had this day in the ford of Avondow, would try a saint's smper, much more a Highlander's, who are not famous for that good gift, as you may have heard. But one thing bides with me of what Nicol said. I'm vexed for the bairns -I'm vexed when I think of Robert and Hamish living their father's life - but let us say no more of

*

* Pron. kŭn'jur.