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 To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you denied me: Was that done like Cassius? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, Cas. Bru. You did. Cas. I denied you not. I did not he was but a fool That brought my answer back.—Brutus hath riv'd my heart: But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. Bru. I do not like your faults. Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, For Cassius is a-weary of the world : Hated by one he loves; brav'd by his brother; When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better Bru. Sheath your dagger : Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. Cas. Cas. Bru. O Brutus ! 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. Shakspeare (Julius Cæsar'). OTHELLO'S ACCOUNT OF HIS COURTSHIP OF DESDEMONA. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, And little of this great world can I speak, In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience, 105 I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms, For such proceeding I am charg'd withal,— I won his daughter Her father lov'd me; oft invited me; Still question'd me the story of my life, From year to year,-the battles, sieges, fortunes, I ran it through, even from my boyish days, Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach; And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, And portance* in my travel's history: Wherein of antres† vast, and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, It was my hint to speak,—such was the process;— And of the Cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things to hear But still the house affairs would draw her thence; Which ever as she could with haste despatch, She'd come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse: which I observing, And often did beguile her of her tears, She swore,-In faith, 't was strange, 't was passing strange; * Conduct, behaviour. Caves. From Lat. antrum. OTHELLO'S ACCOUNT OF HIS COURTSHIP. 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wish'd That Heav'n had made her such a man: she thank'd me; And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, I should but teach him how to tell my story, And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake : She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd; And I lov'd her that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft I have us'd. Shakspeare ('Othello"). 107 SCENE FROM AS YOU LIKE IT.' The Forest of ARDEN. Enter DUKE Senior, AMIENS, and other Lords, in the dress of Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Ami. I would not change it: Happy is your grace, Into so quiet and so sweet a style. Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,— Being native burghers of this desert city, Should, in their own confines, with forked heads 1 Lord. Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out Duke S. But what said Jaques ? Did he not moralise this spectacle ? 1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. First, for his weeping into the needless stream; 'Poor deer,' quoth he, 'thou mak'st a testament As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more To that which had too much.' Then being there alone, Left and abandon'd of his velvet friend; ''T is right,' quoth he; 'thus misery doth part And never stays to greet him; 'Ay,' quoth Jaques, |