Of late with passions of some difference,

Conceptions only proper to myself,

Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours.

But let not therefore my good friends be grieved—

Among which number, Cassius, be you one—

Nor construe any further my neglect

Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,

Forgets the shows of love to other men.

CASSIUS

Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion,

By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried

Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.

Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?

BRUTUS

No, Cassius, for the eye sees not itself

But by reflection, by some other things.

CASSIUS ’Tis just;

And it is very much lamented, Brutus,

That you have no such mirrors as will turn

Your hidden worthiness into your eye,

That you might see your shadow. I have heard

Where many of the best respect in Rome—

Except immortal Caesar—speaking of Brutus,

And groaning underneath this age’s yoke,

Have wished that noble Brutus had his eyes.

BRUTUS

Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,

That you would have me seek into myself

For that which is not in me?

CASSIUS

Therefor, good Brutus, be prepared to hear.

And since you know you cannot see yourself

So well as by reflection, I, your glass,

Will modestly discover to yourself

That of yourself which you yet know not of.

And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus.

Were I a common laughter, or did use

To stale with ordinary oaths my love

To every new protester; if you know

That I do fawn on men and hug them hard,

And after scandal them; or if you know

That I profess myself in banqueting

To all the rout: then hold me dangerous.

Flourish and shout within

BRUTUS

What means this shouting? I do fear the people

Choose Caesar for their king.

CASSIUS

Ay, do you fear it?

Then must I think you would not have it so.

BRUTUS

I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well.

But wherefore do you hold me here so long?

What is it that you would impart to me?

If it be aught toward the general good,

Set honour in one eye and death i’th’ other,

And I will look on both indifferently;

For let the gods so speed me as I love

The name of honour more than I fear death.

CASSIUS

I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,

As well as I do know your outward favour.

Well, honour is the subject of my story.

I cannot tell what you and other men

Think of this life; but for my single self,

I had as lief not be, as live to be

In awe of such a thing as I myself.

I was born free as Caesar, so were you.

We both have fed as well, and we can both

Endure the winter’s cold as well as he.

For once upon a raw and gusty day,

The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,

Said Caesar to me ‘Dar’st thou, Cassius, now

Leap in with me into this angry flood,

And swim to yonder point?’ Upon the word,

Accoutred as I was I plungèd in,

And bade him follow. So indeed he did.

The torrent roared, and we did buffet it

With lusty sinews, throwing it aside,

And stemming it with hearts of controversy.

But ere we could arrive the point proposed,

Caesar cried ‘Help me, Cassius, or I sinkl’

Ay, as Aeneas our great ancestor

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder

The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber

Did I the tired Caesar. And this man

Is now become a god, and Cassius is

A wretched creature, and must bend his body

If Caesar carelessly but nod on him.

He had a fever when he was in Spain,

And when the fit was on him, I did mark

How he did shake. ‘Tis true, this god did shake.

His coward lips did from their colour fly;

And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world

Did lose his lustre. I did hear him groan,

Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans

Mark him and write his speeches in their books,

‘Alas!’ it cried, ‘Give me some drink, Titinius’,

As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me

A man of such a feeble temper should

So get the start of the majestic world,

And bear the palm alone!

Flourish and shout within

BRUTUS Another general shout!

I do believe that these applauses are

For some new honours that are heaped on Caesar.

CASSIUS

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world

Like a Colossus, and we petty men

Walk under his huge legs, and peep about

To find ourselves dishonourable graves.

Men at sometime were masters of their fates.

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,