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 did appear
As huge as high Olympus.
CAS. Come, Antony! and young Octavius, come!
Revenge yourself alone on Cassius,
For Cassius is a-weary of the world--
Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother;
Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observed,
Set in a note-book, learn'd and conn'd by rote,
To cast into my teeth. Oh, 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 need'st a Roman's, take it forth!
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart.
Strike as thou didst at Caesar; for I know
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.
BRU. Sheath your dagger;
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
O, Cassius, you are yoked with a man
That carries anger as the flint bears fire,
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again.
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