Chapter 50

Cassius. 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, were slighted off. Brutus. You wronged yourself to write in such a case. Cas. At such a time as this, it is 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 chastisement doth therefore hide his 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 honors For so much trash as may be graspéd 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 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 farther! 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, 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? 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. Did I say, 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 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;-- 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! Can. 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 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 aweary 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 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, then lovedst him better Than ever thou lovedst Cassius! Brat. Sheathe your dagger; Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. O Cassius, you are yokéd with a lamb That carries anger, as the flint bears fire; Who, much enforcéd, 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, from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. Shakespeare.

CCCXXLXIV.

DOGBERRY'S CHARGE.

DOGBERRY--VERGES--THE WATCH.

Dog. Are you good men and true? Ver. Yea, or else it were a pity but they should suffer salvation, body and soul. Dog. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the prince's watch. Ver. Well, give them their charge, neighbor Dogberry. Dog. First, who think you the most desartless man to be constable? 1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; for they can write and read. Dog. Come hither, neighbor Seacoal. God hath blessed you with a good name: to be a well-favored man is the gift of fortune, but to write and read comes by nature. 2 Watch. Both which, master constable,-- Dog. You have; I knew it would be your answer. Well, for your favor, sir, why, give God thanks, and make no boast of it; and for your writing and reading, let that appear when there is no need of such vanity. You are thought here to be the most senseless and fit man for the constable of the watch; therefore, bear you the lantern. This is your charge;--you shall comprehend all vagrom men; you are to bid any man stand, in the prince's name. 2 Watch. How, if he will not stand? Dog. Why, then, take no note of him, but let him go; and presently call the rest of the watch together, and thank God you are rid of a knave. Ver. If he will not stand when he is bidden he is none of the prince's subjects. Dog. True, and they are to meddle with none but the prince's subjects.--You shall also make no noise in the streets: for, for the watch to babble and talk, is most tolerable, and not to be endured. 2 Watch. We will rather sleep than talk: we know what belongs to a watch. Dog. Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman; for I cannot see how sleeping should offend: only, have a care that your bills be not stolen.--Well, you are to call at all the ale-houses, and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. 2 Watch. How, if they will not? Dog. Why, then, let them alone till they are sober; if they make you not then the better answer, you may say, they are not the men you took them for. 2 Watch. Well, sir. Dog. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your office, to be no true man; and, for such kind of men, the less you meddle or make with them, why, the more is for your honesty. 2 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him? Dog. Truly, by your office, you may; but, I think, they that touch pitch will be defiled: the most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is, and steal out of your company. Ver. You have been always called a merciful man, partner. Dog. Truly, I would not hang a dog, by my will; much more a man who hath any honesty in him. Ver. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse, and bid her still it. 2 Watch. How, if the nurse be asleep, and will not hear us. Dog. Why, then, depart in peace, and let the child wake her with crying: for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes, will never answer a calf when it bleats. Ver. 'T is very true. Dog. This is the end of the charge. You, constable, are to present the prince's own person: if you meet the prince in the night, you may stay him. Ver. Nay, by 'r lady, that, I think, he cannot. Dog. Five shillings to one on 't, with any man that knows the statues, he may stay him: marry, not without the prince be willing: for, indeed, the watch ought to offend no man, and it is an offence to stay a man against his will. Ver. By 'r lady, I think, it be so. Dog. Ha, ha, ha! Well, masters, good night: an there be any matter of weight chances, call up me: keep your fellows' counsels and your own, and good-night.--Come, neighbor. 2 Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge: let us go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and then all to bed. Dog. One word more, honest neighbors: I pray you, watch about Signior Leonato's door, for the wedding being there tomorrow there is a great coil to-night.--Adieu; be vigilant, I beseech you. Shakespeare.

CCCLXXV.

INDIGESTION.

DR. GREGORY--PATIENT.

[SCENE.----DR. GREGORY'S STUDY. ENTER A PLUMP GLASGOW MERCHANT.]

Pa. Good morning, Dr. Gregory! I'm just come into Edinburg about some law business, and I thought when I was here, at any rate, I might just as weel take your advice, sir, about my trouble. Dr. Pray, sir, sit down. And now, my good sir, what may your trouble be? Pa. Indeed, Doctor, I'm not very sure; but I'm thinking it's a kind of weakness that makes me dizzy at times, and a kind of pickling about my stomachs;--I'm just na right. Dr. You are from the West country, I should suppose, sir? Pa. Yes, sir, from Glasgow. Dr. Ay; pray, sir, are you a glutton? Pa. God forbid, sir; I'm one of the plainest men living in all the West country. Dr. Then, perhaps, you are a drunkard? Pa. No, Dr. Gregory; thank God, no one can accuse me of that. I'm of the Dissenting persuasion, Doctor, and an Elder; so you may suppose I'm na drunkard. Dr. I'll suppose no such thing till you tell me your mode of life. I'm so much puzzled with your symptoms, sir, that I would wish to hear in detail what you do eat and drink. When do you breakfast, and what do you take at it? Pa. I breakfast at nine o'clock; take a cup of coffee, and one or two cups of tea, a couple of eggs, and a bit of ham or kipper salmon, or, may be, both, if they're good, and two or three rolls and butter. Dr. Do you eat no honey, or jelly, or jam, at breakfast? Pa. Oh, yes, sir! but I don't count that as anything. Dr. Come, this is a very moderate breakfast. What kind of a dinner do you make? Pa. Oh, sir, I eat a very plain dinner indeed; some soup, and some fish, and a little plain roast or boiled; for I dinna care for made dishes; I think, some way, they never satisfy the appetite. Dr. You take a little pudding, teens and afterwards some cheese. Pa. Oh, yes! though I don't care much about them. Dr. You take a glass of ale and porter with your cheese? Pa. Yes, one or the other; but seldom both. Dr. You West-country people generally take a glass of Highland whiskey after dinner. Pa. Yes, we do; it as good for digestion. Dr. Do you take any wine during dinner? Pa. Yes, a glass or two of sherry; but I'm indifferent as to wine during dinner. I drink a good deal of beer Dr. What quantity of port do you drink? Pa. Oh, very little; not above half a dozen glasses or so. Dr. In the West country it is impossible, I hear to dine without punch? Pa. Yes, sir, indeed, 't is punch we drink chiefly; but for myself unless I happen to have a friend with me, I never take more than a couple of tumblers or so, and that's moderate. Dr. Oh, exceedingly moderate indeed! You then, after this slight repast, take some tea and bread and butter? Pa. Yes, before I go to the counting-house to read the evening letters. Dr. And on your return you take supper, I suppose. Pa. No, sir, I canna be said to take supper; just something before going to bed;--a rizzard haddock, or a bit of toasted cheese, or a half-hundred of oysters: or the like o' that and may be, two thirds of a bottle of ale; but I take no regular supper. Dr. But you take a little more punch after that? Pa. No, sir, punch does not agree with me at bedtime. I take a tumbler of warm whiskey-toddy at night; it is lighter to sleep on. Dr. So it must be, no doubt. This, you say, is your every day life; but, upon great occasions, you perhaps exceed a little? Pa. No, sir, except when a friend or two dine with me, or I dine out, which, as I am a sober family man, does not often happen. Dr. Not above twice a week? Pa. No; not oftener. Dr. Of course you sleep well and have a good appetite? Pa. Yes, sir, thank God, I have; indeed, any ill-health that I have is about meal-time. Dr. [Assuming a severe look, knitting his brow, and lowering his eyebrows.] Now, sir, you are a very pretty fellow indeed. You come here and tell me you are a moderate man; but upon examination, I find by your own showing that you are a most voracious glutton. You said you were a sober man; yet, by your own showing, you are a beer-swiller, a dram-drinker, a wine-bibber, and a guzzler of punch. You tell me you eat indigestible suppers, and swill toddy to force sleep. I see that you chew tobacco. Now, sir, what human stomach can stand this? Go home, sir, and leave your present [course of ] riotous living, and there are hopes that your stomach may recover its tone, and you be in good health, like your neighbors. Pa. I'm sure, Doctor, I 'm very much obliged to you [taking out a bundle of bank-notes], I shall endeavor to. Dr. Sir, you are not obliged to me:--put up your money, sir. Do you think I 'll take a fee for telling you what you know as well as myself? Though you 're no physician, sir, you are not altogether a fool. Go home, sir, and reform, or, take my word for it, your life is not worth half a year's purchase.

CCCLXXVI.

THE TWO ROBBERS.

[Alexander THE great, in his tent. A man with a fierce countenance, chained and fettered, brought before him.] Alex. What! art thou the Thracian robber, of whose exploits I have heard so much? Rob. I am a Thracian, and a soldier. Alex. A soldier!--a thief, a plunderer, an assassin! the pest of the country! I could honor thy courage; but I must detest and punish thy crimes. Rob. What have I done of which you can complain? Alex. Hast thou not set at defiance my authority; violated the public peace, and passed thy life in injuring the persons and the properties of thy fellow-subjects? Rob. Alexander, I am your captive I must hear what you please to say, and endure what you please to inflict. But my soul is unconquered; and if I reply at all to your reproaches, I will reply like a free man. Alex. Speak freely. Far be it for me take the advantage of my power, to silence those with whom I deign to converse. Rob. I must; then, answer your question by another. How have you passed your life? Alex. Like a hero. Ask Fame, and she will tell you. Among the brave, I have been the bravest; among sovereigns, the noblest; among conquerors, the mightiest. Rob. And does not Fame speak of me, too? Was there ever a bolder captain of a more valiant band? Was there ever-- but I scorn to boast. You yourself know that I have not been easily subdued. Alex. Still, what are you, but a robber--a base dishonest robber? Rob. And what is a conqueror? Have not you, too gone about the earth like an evil genius: blasting the fair fruits of peace and industry; plundering, ravaging, killing without law, without justice, merely to gratify an insatiable lust for dominion? All that I have done to a single district, with a hundred followers you have done to whole nations, with a hundred thousand. If I have stripped individuals, you have ruined kings and princes. If I have burned a few hamlets, you have desolated the most flourishing kingdoms and cities of the earth. What is then the difference, but that as you were born a king, and I a private man, you have been able to become a mightier robber than I? Alex. But if I have taken like a king, I have given like a king. If I have subverted empires, I have founded greater. I have cherished arts, commerce, and philosophy. Rob. I, too, have freely given to the poor what I took from the rich. I have established order and discipline among the most ferocious of mankind; and I have stretched out my protecting arm over the oppressed. I know, indeed, little of the philosphy you talk of; but I believe neither you nor I shall ever atone to the world for the mischief we have done it. Alex. Leave me.--Take off his chains, and use him well. Are we, then, so much alike? Alexander to a robber?--Let me reflect. Dr. Aiken.

CCCLXXVII.

THE MISER.

LOVEGOLD--JAMES.

Love. Where have you been? I have wanted you above an hour. James. Whom do you want, sir,--your coachman or your cook? for I am both one and t' other. Love. I want my cook. James. I thought, indeed, it was not your coachman; for you have had no great occasion for him since your last pair of horses were starved; but your cook, sir, shall wait upon you in an instant. [ Puts off his coachman's great-coat and appears as a cook.] Now sir, I am ready for your commands. Love. I am engaged this evening to give a supper. James. A supper, sir! I have not heard the word this half-year; a dinner, indeed, now and then; but, for a supper, I'm almost afraid, for want of practice, my hand is out. Love. Leave off your saucy jesting, and see that you provide a good supper. James. That may be done with a good deal of money, sir. Love. Is the mischief in you? Always money! Can you say nothing else but money, money, money? My children, my servants, my relations, can pronounce nothing but money. James. Well, sir; but how many will there be at table? love. About eight or ten; but I will have supper dressed but for eight; for if there be enough for eight, there is enough for ten. James. Suppose, sir, at one end, a handsome soup; at the other, a fine Westphalia ham and chickens; on one side, a fillet of veal; on the other, a turkey, or rather a bustard, which may be had for about a guinea-- Love. Zounds! is the fellow providing an entertainment for my lord mayor and the court of aldermen? James. Then a ragout-- Love. I'll have no ragout. Would you burst the good people you dog? James. Then pray, sir, what will you have? Love. Why, see and provide something to cloy their stomachs: let there be two good dishes of soup-maigre; a large suet pudding; some dainty, fat pork-pie, very fat; a fine, small lean breast of mutton, and a large dish with two artichokes. There; that's plenty and variety. James. O, dear-- Love. Plenty and variety. James. But, sir, you must have some poultry. Love. No; I'll have none. James. Indeed, sir, you should. Love. Well, then,--kill the old hen, for she has done laying. James. Mercy! sir, how the folks will talk of it; indeed, people say enough of you already. Love. Eh! why, what do the people say, pray? James. Oh, sir, if I could be assured you would not be angry. Love. Not at all; for I'm always glad to hear what the world says of me. James. Why, sir, since you will have it, then, they make a jest of you everywhere; nay, of your servants, on your account. One says, you pick a quarrel with them quarterly, in order to find an excuse to pay them no wages. Love. Poh! poh! James. Another says, you were taken one night stealing your own oats from your own horses. Love. That must be a lie; for I never allow them any. James. In a word, you are the bye-word everywhere; and you are never mentioned, but by the names of covetous, stingy, scraping, old-- Love. Get along, you impudent villain! James. Nay, sir, you said you would n't be angry. Love. Get out, you dog! you-- Fielding.

CCCLXXVIII.

THE LETTER.