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 further. 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? aye, more; fret, till your proud heart break; Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, Must I budge? 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. I Cas. What? durst not tempt him? Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love; Bru. You have done that you should be sorry me; And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring To you for gold to pay my legions, for. Which you denied me was that done like Cassius? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, Cas. I denied you not. Bru. You did. Cas. I did not:- -he was but a fool That brought my answer back. heart; Brutus hath rived my A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, 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 ap pear 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; When thou did'st hate him worst, thou lovedst him better Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. Bru. Sheathe your dagger: Be angry when thou will, it shall have scope; Cas. Hath Cassius lived To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus ! When grief or 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 tco. Cas. O Brutus ! Bru. 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, THE DIVER. (FREDERICK SCHILLER.) Translated from the German by Lord Lytton. "Oh, where is the knight or the squire so bold, And o'er it already the dark waters flow: He spoke, and the cup from the terrible steep, I ask ye again-to the deep below?" And the knights and the squires that gathered around, Stood silent—and fixed on the ocean their eyes; They looked on the dismal and savage profound, And the peril chilled back every thought of the prize. And thrice spoke the monarch-"The cup to win, Is there never a wight who will venture in?" And all as before heard in silence the king Till a youth, with an aspect unfearing but gentle, 'Mid the tremulous squires, stept out from the ring, Unbuckling his girdle, and doffing his mantle ; And the murmuring crowd, as they parted asunder, On the stately boy cast their looks of wonder. As he strode to the marge of the summit, and gave Casts roaringly up the charybdis again; And it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars, And flood upon flood hurries on, never ending. And at last there lay open the desolate realm! Through the breakers that whitened the waste of the swell, Dark-dark yawned a cleft in the midst of the whelm, The path to the heart of the fathomless hell. Round and round whirled the waves-deep and deeper still driven, Like a gorge through the mountainous main thunder-riven. The youth gave his trust to his Maker! Before That path through the riven abyss closed again— Hark! a shriek from the crowd rang aloft from the shore, And, behold! he is whirled in the grasp of the main ! And o'er him the breakers mysteriously rolled, And the giant-mouth closed on the swimmer so bold. O'er the surface grim silence lay dark and profound, thee-well!" And still ever deepening that wail as of woe, If thou should'st in those waters thy diadem fling, And cry, "Who may find it shall win it, and wear;' God's wot, though the prize were the crown of a king— A crown at such hazard were valued too dear. For never did lips of the living reveal, What the deeps that howl yonder in terror conceal. |