University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

BRUTUS, ANTHONY, DOLABELLA.
ANTHONY.
The pride, the rancorous ill-will betray'd
In this refusal, less th'impression bears
Of virtue's aweful image, than of rude
Ferocious manners. Cæsar's generous kindness,
But above all, his power, might claim, methinks,
More of respect, a more complying will.
To talk with him, at least, e'en Brutus self
Might condescend. Ah! didst thou know t'ward whom
Thou hast presumed to foster this resentment,
Didst thou but know, how would thy shuddering heart.—

BRUTUS.
I shudder now, but from thy language springs
Th'impassion'd feeling. Enemy to Rome,
Which thou hast sold, can thy vain fancy hope
By guile, or by corruption, to o'ercome
The firm resolves of Brutus?—Hence, away!
But unaccompanied by me; go, cringe
Under th'uplifted scourge! I know the scope
Of Anthony's designs, how low he bends,
And pants to be a slave.—A king thy aim!
And thou of Roman birth!

ANTHONY.
A human heart
At least is mine, and Brutus must confess,
That I was born susceptible of friendship.
Ne'er have I strove with curious search to gain
Those rare-existing qualities of mind,
Which, deem'd all-powerful to complete the heroe,
Form but a stern barbarian, whose fierce temper,
And haughtiness, unyielding and unmoved,
Pollute that virtue which he boasts t'enjoy,
And make her beauties loathsome.