Hear me, for I will speak.
Must I give way and room to your rash choler?
Shall I be frightened when a madman stares?
CAS. 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 humour? 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 Caesar lived, he durst not thus, have moved me.
BRU. Peace, peace! You durst not so have tempted him.
CAS. I _durst_ not?
BRU.
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