Act 4, Scene 3

Original Text

*Inside Brutus's tent.* 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. CASSIUS. In such a time as this it is not meet That every nice offence should bear his comment. BRUTUS. 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. CASSIUS. I an itching palm! You know that you are Brutus that speaks this, Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.

Modern English

*Inside Brutus's tent.* CASSIUS. The proof that you've wronged me is right here: you publicly condemned Lucius Pella for taking bribes from the Sardians, even though I wrote letters on his behalf because I knew the man, and you ignored them completely. BRUTUS. You were wrong to write letters defending that kind of behavior. CASSIUS. In times like these, we can't afford to scrutinize every minor offense. BRUTUS. Let me tell you something, Cassius. You yourself are widely criticized for having sticky fingers — for selling political appointments for gold to people who don't deserve them. CASSIUS. Me? Sticky fingers? You'd better remember that it's Brutus saying this to me — otherwise, by the gods, those words would be your last.

Original Text

BRUTUS. 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 honours For so much trash as may be grasped thus? I had rather be a dog and bay the moon Than such a Roman. CASSIUS. Brutus, bait 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. BRUTUS. Go to! You are not, Cassius. CASSIUS. I am. BRUTUS. I say you are not.

Modern English

BRUTUS. Remember March. Remember the Ides of March. Didn't great Julius bleed for the sake of justice? Every man who stabbed him — did any of them do it for a reason other than justice? So are we, the men who struck down the greatest man in the world for enabling corruption — are we now going to dirty our own hands with cheap bribes and sell off the vast honor we've earned for whatever loose change we can grab? I'd rather be a dog howling at the moon than that kind of Roman. CASSIUS. Don't push me, Brutus! I won't stand for it. You're overstepping. I am a soldier — more experienced and more capable than you at making the tough calls. BRUTUS. No, you are not, Cassius. CASSIUS. I am. BRUTUS. I say you're not.

Original Text

CASSIUS. Urge me no more; I shall forget myself. Have mind upon your health. Tempt me no farther. BRUTUS. Away, slight man! CASSIUS. Is't possible? BRUTUS. Hear me, for I will speak. Must I give way and room to your rash choler? Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? CASSIUS. O ye gods, ye gods! Must I endure all this? BRUTUS. 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.

Modern English

CASSIUS. Don't push me any further, or I'll lose control. Watch yourself. Don't test me. BRUTUS. Back off, you lightweight. CASSIUS. You can't be serious. BRUTUS. Listen to me, because I will have my say. Am I supposed to step aside for your reckless temper? Should I cower because a lunatic glares at me? CASSIUS. Oh gods, oh gods! Do I have to take this? BRUTUS. This? And more. Go ahead — seethe until your proud heart bursts. Go take out your temper on your slaves and make your servants shake with fear. Am I supposed to flinch? Am I supposed to bow down to you? Am I supposed to crouch under your petty moods? By the gods, you will swallow your own venom, even if it tears you apart. Because from now on, when you get this irritable, I'll treat it as entertainment.

Original Text

CASSIUS. 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 notebook, 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 Pluto's 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 Caesar; for I know, When thou didst hate him worst, thou loved'st him better Than ever thou loved'st Cassius. BRUTUS. Sheathe 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 lamb That carries anger as the flint bears fire, Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark And straight is cold again.

Modern English

CASSIUS. Fine then — Antony and young Octavius, come get me! Take your revenge on Cassius, because Cassius is tired of this world — hated by the one he loves, defied by his own brother, scolded like a servant, every flaw catalogued, written down in a notebook, memorized, and thrown back in my face. Oh, I could weep until my very spirit pours out through my eyes! Here — my dagger. And here — my bare chest. Inside it beats a heart more precious than a gold mine. If you're truly a Roman, take it. I, who denied you money, will give you my heart. Stab me, the way you stabbed Caesar — because I know that even when you hated him most, you loved him more than you've ever loved Cassius. BRUTUS. Put your dagger away. Be angry whenever you want — I'll allow it. Do whatever you please — I'll chalk your bad behavior up to mood. Cassius, you're paired with a man like a lamb, who carries anger the way flint carries fire — you have to strike it hard to get a spark, and the spark goes out immediately.

Original Text

CASSIUS. Hath Cassius lived To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him? BRUTUS. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered too. CASSIUS. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand. BRUTUS. And my heart too. CASSIUS. O Brutus! BRUTUS. What's the matter? CASSIUS. Have not you love enough to bear with me When that rash humour which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful? BRUTUS. Yes, Cassius, and from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

Modern English

CASSIUS. Has Cassius lived long enough only to become a joke to his Brutus, something to laugh at when grief and bad temper get to him? BRUTUS. When I said that, I was in a bad state myself. CASSIUS. You admit it? Then give me your hand. BRUTUS. And my heart with it. CASSIUS. Oh, Brutus — BRUTUS. What is it? CASSIUS. Don't you care enough about me to put up with it when the short temper I inherited from my mother makes me say things I shouldn't? BRUTUS. Yes, Cassius. And from now on, whenever you get too heated with your Brutus, he'll just assume your mother is scolding him, and let it go.

Original Text

BRUTUS. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. CASSIUS. Of your philosophy you make no use If you give place to accidental evils. BRUTUS. No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead. CASSIUS. Ha! Portia? BRUTUS. She is dead. CASSIUS. How scaped I killing when I crossed you so? O insupportable and touching loss! Upon what sickness? BRUTUS. Impatient of my absence, And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony Have made themselves so strong — for with her death That tidings came — with this she fell distract And, her attendants absent, swallowed fire. CASSIUS. And died so? BRUTUS. Even so. CASSIUS. O ye immortal gods!

Modern English

BRUTUS. Cassius — I'm weighed down by so many griefs. CASSIUS. You're not putting your Stoic philosophy to much use if you let circumstances defeat you like this. BRUTUS. No man handles sorrow better than I do. Portia is dead. CASSIUS. What? Portia? BRUTUS. She's dead. CASSIUS. How did I escape your killing me when I was provoking you like that? What an unbearable, devastating loss! What happened? What illness? BRUTUS. She couldn't stand my being away, and she was overwhelmed by the news that Octavius and Mark Antony have grown so powerful — that report arrived along with the news of her death. In her despair, with her servants out of the room, she swallowed burning coals. CASSIUS. And that killed her? BRUTUS. Yes. CASSIUS. Oh, immortal gods!

Original Text

BRUTUS. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine. In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. CASSIUS. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup. I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. *Enter Titinius and Messala.* BRUTUS. Come in, Titinius. Welcome, good Messala. Now sit we close about this taper here And call in question our necessities. MESSALA. I have here received letters That young Octavius and Mark Antony Come down upon us with a mighty power, Bending their expedition toward Philippi. BRUTUS. With what addition? MESSALA. That by proscription and bills of outlawry, Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus Have put to death an hundred senators.

Modern English

BRUTUS. Say nothing more about her. Give me some wine. With this drink, I put all bitterness between us to rest, Cassius. CASSIUS. My heart is thirsty for that noble toast. Fill it up, Lucius — let the wine overflow the cup. I can never drink enough of Brutus's friendship. *Titinius and Messala enter.* BRUTUS. Come in, Titinius. Welcome, Messala. Let's gather close around this candle and discuss what we need to do. MESSALA. I've received letters reporting that Octavius and Mark Antony are marching toward us with a massive army, heading straight for Philippi. BRUTUS. Any other news? MESSALA. Through execution orders and lists of outlaws, Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus have put a hundred senators to death.

Original Text

BRUTUS. Good reasons must of force give place to better. The people 'twixt Philippi and this ground Do stand but in a forced affection, For they have grudged us contribution. The enemy, marching along by them, By them shall make a fuller number up, Come on refreshed, new-added, and encouraged; From which advantage shall we cut him off If at Philippi we do face him there, These people at our back. There is a tide in the affairs of men Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat, And we must take the current when it serves Or lose our ventures. CASSIUS. Then, with your will, go on. We'll along ourselves and meet them at Philippi.

Modern English

BRUTUS. Sometimes good reasoning has to yield to better. The people between Philippi and where we are now only support us because they have to — they've resented having to contribute supplies. The enemy, marching past them, will pick up fresh recruits along the way, arriving rested, reinforced, and energized. We can cut off that advantage if we meet them at Philippi, with those reluctant people behind us rather than in between. There is a tide in the affairs of men which, caught at its highest point, carries you to success. Miss it, and the entire journey of your life is stuck in shallow water and hardship. Right now we're riding on just such a high tide, and we have to ride the current while it's with us or lose everything we've staked. CASSIUS. All right then — if that's your decision, let's go. We'll march out ourselves and meet them at Philippi.

Original Text

*Later. The others have left. Brutus reads alone. Enter the Ghost of Caesar.* BRUTUS. How ill this taper burns! Ha, who comes here? I think it is the weakness of mine eyes That shapes this monstrous apparition. It comes upon me. Art thou any thing? Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, That mak'st my blood cold and my hair to stare? Speak to me what thou art. GHOST. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. BRUTUS. Why com'st thou? GHOST. To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi. BRUTUS. Well, then I shall see thee again? GHOST. Ay, at Philippi. BRUTUS. Why, I will see thee at Philippi then. Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest. Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. *The Ghost vanishes.* *Exeunt.*

Modern English

*Later that night. The others have gone. Brutus reads alone by candlelight. The Ghost of Caesar appears.* BRUTUS. This candle is burning strangely. Wait — who's there? It must be my tired eyes creating this monstrous vision. It's coming toward me. Are you real? Are you some god, some angel, or some devil that makes my blood run cold and my hair stand on end? Tell me — what are you? GHOST. Your evil spirit, Brutus. BRUTUS. Why have you come? GHOST. To tell you that you'll see me at Philippi. BRUTUS. Then I'll see you again? GHOST. Yes. At Philippi. BRUTUS. Then I'll see you at Philippi. Now that I've found my courage, you disappear. Evil spirit, I wish we could have talked longer. *The Ghost vanishes.* *He exits.*

Julius Caesar

Act 4, Scene 3

Act 4, Scene 3