Bru. For your life you durft not. Caf. Do not prefume too much upon my love; Bru. You have done that, you should be forry for. Which you denied me; was that done like Caffius ? When Marcus Brutus grows fo covetous, To lock fuch rafcal counters from his friends, Caf. I deny'd you not.' Bru. You did. Caf. I did not-he was but a fool, [heart. That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath riv'd my A friend fhould bear a friend's infirmities, But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. Bru. I do not, 'till you practise them on me. (29) Caf (28) By any indirectness.] This is a change of Mr. Pope's in both his editions for what reafon, I don't know. The old copies read, Indirection. It is a word elsewhere ufed by our poet; and Mr. Pofe has pafs'd it quietly, in Polonius of Hamlet. And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, With windlaces, and with affays of byafs, He is accus'd (29) I do not, till you practife them on me.] But, furely, this was a very poor excufe for the philofophick Brutus to make. for making his friend's faults greater than they were; he replies, I do not; till they were injurious to my self. Why, a friend could have no motive of intereft, or paffion, to aggravate a friend's faults, till they were directed against himself and that was the point he 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 Calius, For Caffius is a weary of the world; Hated by one he loves; brav'd by his brother; My spirit from mine eyes! -There is my dagger, When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dit him better Bru. Sheath your dagger; Be angry when you will, it fhall have scope; Caf. Hath Caftus liv'd To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, Caf. O Brutus! to justify himself upon, why he aggravated fuch faults: which, furely, is an unjust practice. I read therefore; Bru. I do not fill you practise them on me. i. e. "I deny the "charge; and muft tell you further, that this charge is an addition ་་ to your faults," This, if I mistake not, gives fenfe and propriety. Mr. Warburton. Bru. Bru. What's the matter? Caf. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour, which my mother gave me,, Makes me forgetful? Bru. Yes, Caffius, and from henceforth. When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, [A noife within Luc. within. You fhall not come to them. Post within. Nothing but death shall stay me. Caf. How now? what's the matter?^ Poet. For fhame, you Generals; what do you mean Love, and be friends, as two such men should be; For I have feen more years, I'm fure, than ye. Gaf. Ha, ha -how vilely doth this Cynick rhime Bru. Get you hence, firrah; fawcy 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, be gone. Enter Lucilius, and Titinius. [Exit Patt Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders Prepare to lodge their companies to-night. Caf. And come yourfelves, and bring Meffala with you Immediately to us. [Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius. Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine. Caf. I did not think, you could have been fo angry. Bru. O Caffius, I am fick of many griefs. Caf. Of your philofophy you make no use, If you give place to accidental evils. 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? infupportable and touching lofs! Upon what fickness ? Bru. Impatient of my abfence; And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony And (her attendants abfent) swallow'd fire. Caf. And dy'd fo? Bru. Even fo. Caf. O ye immortal Gods'! Enter Boy with Wine and Tapers. Bru. Speak no more of her: give me a bowl of wine. In this I bury all unkindness, Caffius. [Drinks, Caf. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. Fill, Lucius, 'till the wine o'er-fwell the I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. cup; Bru. Come in, Titinius ;-welcome, good Meffala, Enter Titinius, and Meffala, Now fit we close about this taper here, Mef. My felf have letters of the self-fame tenour. Mef. That by Profcription and bills of Outlawry, Have put to death an hundred Senators. Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree; Mine speak of fev'nty Senators that dy'd By their Profcriptions, Cicero being one. Cof. Cicero one? Mef. Cicero is dead; and by that order of profcription. Had you your letters from your wife, my lord? Bru. Bru. No, Meffala. Mef. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her? Mef. That, methinks, is ftrange. Bru. Why afk you? hear you ought of her in yours? Mef. No, my lord. Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. Mef. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell; For certain fhe is dead, and by strange manner. Bru. Why, farewel Porcia-we muft die, Meffala. With meditating that she must die once, I have the patience to endure it now. Mef. Ev'n fo great men great loffes fhould endure. Caf. I have as much of this in art as you, But yet my nature could not bear it fo. Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do you think Of marching to Philippi prefently? Cof. I do not think it good. Bru. Your reafon ? Caf. This it is: "Tis better, that the enemy feek us; So fhall he wafte his means, weary his foldiers, Bru. Good reafons muft of force give place to better. For they have grudg'd us contribution. By them fhall make a fuller number up; Come on refresht, new added, and encourag'd; These people at our back. Caf. Hear me, good brother Bru. Under your pardon.-You must note befide, That we have try'd the utmost of our friends; Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe; We, at the height, are ready to decline. There |